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A review by wmbogart
The Book of Illusions by Paul Auster
The plot is so, so up my alley. Our protagonist dives deep into an obscure silent-era auteur in a kind of trauma-avoidant mania. Love it. Done it myself, basically. Auster’s couching of his own theories around art/film in the protagonist’s analysis is enjoyable, if not quite as interesting as DeLillo’s in Americana and Underworld.
As Auster gets further into his “thriller” plot, I find myself enjoying the novel less and less. He frames the whole thing in his typical “tell/don’t show” narration. I struggle with it. Elements here are intentional retreads of his earlier work, but I’m not convinced they’re developed any more than they were in the New York Trilogy. The thriller elements don’t quite come off here for me in the way they did in Music of Chance. It probably goes without saying that he still has a problem writing women.
But he’ll bust out a great turn of phrase (tautology of desire, huh!), or make an interesting point, and I can convince myself to get back on board. His cultural reference points are basically my own, but I worry they do a lot of the heavy lifting. Far from my favorite Auster.
As Auster gets further into his “thriller” plot, I find myself enjoying the novel less and less. He frames the whole thing in his typical “tell/don’t show” narration. I struggle with it. Elements here are intentional retreads of his earlier work, but I’m not convinced they’re developed any more than they were in the New York Trilogy. The thriller elements don’t quite come off here for me in the way they did in Music of Chance. It probably goes without saying that he still has a problem writing women.
But he’ll bust out a great turn of phrase (tautology of desire, huh!), or make an interesting point, and I can convince myself to get back on board. His cultural reference points are basically my own, but I worry they do a lot of the heavy lifting. Far from my favorite Auster.