The Book of Illusions
 |
| Picador Press |
Paul Auster
2003
“It was one of the most sublimely exhilarating moments of my life. I was half a step in front of the real, an inch or two beyond the confines of my body, and when the thing happened just as I thought it would, I felt my skin had become transparent. I wasn't occupying space anymore so much as melting into it. What was around me was also inside me, and I had only to look into myself in order to see the world.”
As I continue to fill the gaps in my collection of the bibliography of Paul Auster, my fandom has definitely increased remarkably over the past few months thanks to reading firstly the recently-reviewed Oracle Night, and now the book he wrote just prior to that- and subject of this review, obviously- the uniquely curious The Book of Illusions. I noticed this specifically recently when briefly skimming through reader reviews posted on Goodreads, and became curiously angry with the few people who chose to give Illusions a poor score; unfair of me I know, since everyone has the right to their opinion, and art by its very nature is subjective, but after just finishing the book myself the idea of people massively negatively criticising it drove me somewhat insane, especially since said criticisms were all exactly the same, exactly the same in fact as any criticisms I ever see of Auster novels; that they're self-absorbed and pretentious. Well first of all, yes Auster certainly is absorbed with particular philosophical and post-modern concepts he addresses from different angles in most of his books, but he's so adept at it and each effort so rich with individual attributes that you might as well criticise Dickens for being overly concerned with Victorian England, or Orwell for worrying about fascism.
While I don't like to begin a review with a bit of a whiny complaint, the truth is that I enjoyed The Book of Illusions so much for so many reasons that I can't help biting back at such harsh criticism. I found this book to be one of Paul Auster's very best efforts (that I've read so far, at least), particularly for its ability to stick with Auster's trademark introspective, often noir-ish post-modern take on murky issues of identity and narrative power without slowing down the genuinely outstanding, constantly intriguing plot. Auster creates a rich backstory for two very different, but somehow similar main characters and brings it to the forefront with a developing human drama that somehow sits comfortably between real human drama and uncontrolled surrealism, containing elements of magical realism without ever pushing too far into that genre.
The book begins with a tale of human tragedy that sets the stage for things to come. First person narration from lead character Robert Zimmer (who, like so many Auster leads, is a curious amalgamation of the author's own traits) introduces his life as a ruined mess. Once happily married with two children, writer and professor Zimmer's immediately family were all killed simultaneously in a commercial airplane crash, leaving Zimmer absolutely devastated, unable to work, unable to talk to other people, unable to do anything bar wander his now-otherwise empty home and drink very heavily. Zimmer is clearly heading towards suicide, until a moment of chance saves him; while drunkenly watching television he comes across an old silent film by a comedian named Hector Mann, and, miraculously, it makes him laugh for the first time in months. At that moment a spark of obsessive compulsive behaviour saves his life and gives it meaning, as Zimmer decides to find out more about the man who bought about a moment of happiness to him. He discovers that Mann's career in Hollywood was mysterious cut short through his abrupt vanishing and presumed death. As it happens, Zimmer discovers that very recently a previously unseen set of Hector Mann films has been mysteriously sent to various museums and film houses across the world, and from that moment Zimmer decides to watch every one of those films and write a book about Mann's career.
Eventually Zimmer achieves his goal, becoming a foremost expert on the works of the comedian, but that's really only the start of the novel. After his book is published, Zimmer receives a letter out of the blue purporting to be from Hector Mann's wife. Fifty years after Hector Mann's presumed death, Zimmer is told that he is alive somewhere, and he wishes to meet the man who so expertly wrote about his life. Zimmer is naturally suspicious, but a visit from a young woman (and future love interest) claiming to be part of Mann's family finally changes his mind, and inevitably wraps him into a fifty year plot involving murder, deceit, and the last, never before seen films of Hector Mann. I found this plot to be gripping, eerie in places and constantly tragic, but involving honourable, likable characters that somehow balance out the tragedy with uplifting hope for the future. Auster meticulously lays out the foundations for the plot's present through detailed descriptions of a murky past, essentially making Robert Zimmer and Hector Mann equally important as characters, and interesting reflections of themselves as a similar character archetype.
Interestingly. I found this book somewhat balanced in style between Auster's classic experiments using postmodernism techniques to explore the intangible questions of identity and reality, and his more recent efforts to ground his characters in realism through more relatable human drama. Everything in this book is technically possible (unlike the fantasy of of Mr. Vertigo, for example), with the overarching aura of surrealism surrounding the events powered by coincidence, or narrative fate. It's perhaps a more traditional way of progressing the plot than other Auster books (I think it could make a good low-key on-screen drama), but I found that it engaged me with the fate of the characters very well, and gave the mixed messages of tragedy and human resilience more power upon the novel's dramatic conclusion. Auster also cleverly uses the Hector Mann's Hollywood background and subsequent underground film making as another way to more directly present a few powerful, fantastical scenes packed with resonating symbolism entwined with the novel as a whole, within the context of Hector's films. It's very carefully composed, a labyrinthine arrangement of plot threads unfolding on each page.
So, as I always end up doing with Auster, I'm going to recommend this book to anyone looking for cutting edge contemporary literature by a master of the style. With a rounded, conclusive story that you don't always get from him, The Book of Illusions would probably be a great introduction to Auster for someone who likes the sound of what he does.
As I continue to fill the gaps in my collection of the bibliography of Paul Auster, my fandom has definitely increased remarkably over the past few months thanks to reading firstly the recently-reviewed Oracle Night, and now the book he wrote just prior to that- and subject of this review, obviously- the uniquely curious The Book of Illusions. I noticed this specifically recently when briefly skimming through reader reviews posted on Goodreads, and became curiously angry with the few people who chose to give Illusions a poor score; unfair of me I know, since everyone has the right to their opinion, and art by its very nature is subjective, but after just finishing the book myself the idea of people massively negatively criticising it drove me somewhat insane, especially since said criticisms were all exactly the same, exactly the same in fact as any criticisms I ever see of Auster novels; that they're self-absorbed and pretentious. Well first of all, yes Auster certainly is absorbed with particular philosophical and post-modern concepts he addresses from different angles in most of his books, but he's so adept at it and each effort so rich with individual attributes that you might as well criticise Dickens for being overly concerned with Victorian England, or Orwell for worrying about fascism.
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| I definitely prefer this cover. |
The book begins with a tale of human tragedy that sets the stage for things to come. First person narration from lead character Robert Zimmer (who, like so many Auster leads, is a curious amalgamation of the author's own traits) introduces his life as a ruined mess. Once happily married with two children, writer and professor Zimmer's immediately family were all killed simultaneously in a commercial airplane crash, leaving Zimmer absolutely devastated, unable to work, unable to talk to other people, unable to do anything bar wander his now-otherwise empty home and drink very heavily. Zimmer is clearly heading towards suicide, until a moment of chance saves him; while drunkenly watching television he comes across an old silent film by a comedian named Hector Mann, and, miraculously, it makes him laugh for the first time in months. At that moment a spark of obsessive compulsive behaviour saves his life and gives it meaning, as Zimmer decides to find out more about the man who bought about a moment of happiness to him. He discovers that Mann's career in Hollywood was mysterious cut short through his abrupt vanishing and presumed death. As it happens, Zimmer discovers that very recently a previously unseen set of Hector Mann films has been mysteriously sent to various museums and film houses across the world, and from that moment Zimmer decides to watch every one of those films and write a book about Mann's career.
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| Not too bad either. |
Interestingly. I found this book somewhat balanced in style between Auster's classic experiments using postmodernism techniques to explore the intangible questions of identity and reality, and his more recent efforts to ground his characters in realism through more relatable human drama. Everything in this book is technically possible (unlike the fantasy of of Mr. Vertigo, for example), with the overarching aura of surrealism surrounding the events powered by coincidence, or narrative fate. It's perhaps a more traditional way of progressing the plot than other Auster books (I think it could make a good low-key on-screen drama), but I found that it engaged me with the fate of the characters very well, and gave the mixed messages of tragedy and human resilience more power upon the novel's dramatic conclusion. Auster also cleverly uses the Hector Mann's Hollywood background and subsequent underground film making as another way to more directly present a few powerful, fantastical scenes packed with resonating symbolism entwined with the novel as a whole, within the context of Hector's films. It's very carefully composed, a labyrinthine arrangement of plot threads unfolding on each page.
So, as I always end up doing with Auster, I'm going to recommend this book to anyone looking for cutting edge contemporary literature by a master of the style. With a rounded, conclusive story that you don't always get from him, The Book of Illusions would probably be a great introduction to Auster for someone who likes the sound of what he does.
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