The Book of Illusions, by Paul Auster

I cried the day I finished Robertson Davies? last novel.

The man himself had died some years before, but I had postponed my grief temporarily because, well, there were still books of his to read and that was, after all, what he was to me- his books. A friend had introduced him to me in 95, and by 99, I?d consumed everything he?d every written- essays, plays, critiques. It felt most tragic that there was no more to breathe in. I?m not one who reads things a second time, for whatever reason.

Someone once asked me what sort of novel Robertson Davies wrote, and I found it quite difficult to answer. It came to me (quite recently actually, when I was reflecting apon the line: ?At this point, something happened which is the only thing in my life which could be called remarkable.?) that the answer is: Robertson Davies wrote books about men with relatively uninteresting lives, which briefly intersected with a remarkable life- and in telling the tale of that crossing, he would tell the complete story of the lives of both.

So I felt immense pleasure when my flatmate introduced me to Leviathan, by Paul Auster, a few months ago- he is another novelist you can?t really put your finger on in terms of ?Oh he writes about this or that?, a quality I really enjoy. Something else I also realized (again quite recently) is that as I get older, I become less and less interest in the plot of novels, and more and more interested in how they are written. I have come to appreciate a well written sentence far more than a well crafted twist! Auster would make an excellent short story teller, because he carves a remarkably rich sentences- what?s stunning is that he does so, again and again, for the length of a novel. I?ve already forgotten what Leviathan is about, but still recall some gorgeous sentences with great relish.

Since discovering Auster earlier this year, I?ve been in a bit of a mad rush to vacuum up all his works- I churned through three already. But then I remembered the fat of poor RD, and realized I shall have to pace myself- I?d like to be reading Auster well into my thirties, and shall hopefully not feel that emptiness of ?no more? anytime soon.

The Book of Illusions is the latest I?ve read, and, like Davies, Auster seems to repeat the overall theme of a less remarkable man encountering one of those people who are a ?force of nature?, and has his life irrevocably altered as a result ?this, in itself, is fairly common in male-authored fiction: just look at The Great Gatsby, or Brideshead Revisited- but Auster then goes on to tell the complete story of both the lives involved, through the medium of their interaction.

The protagonist in BoI is David Zimmer, a man whose wife and children have been killed in an aeroplane crash immediately prior to the opening of the novel. Rather than focus on David?s grief, the opener is merely the springboard for his discovery of Hector Mann, a Charlie Chaplin-like figure who mysteriously disappeared when silent movies were made obsolete by motion pictures began to feature audio. David, desperately looking for something to keep him sane, writes a book about Hector, just to keep his mind off his all-encompassing grief. This makes for a confusing opening, because you?re not really sure what the book is meant to be- first it?s about David, then there is a chapter which is entirely excerpted from David?s book about Hector, then the third chapter is the beginning of David?s translation of a French author! The plot focuses intensely, however, when David receives a letter from the wife of Hector Mann, asking him to come and meet him. What follows is not only the story of Hector?s disappearance, but the story of how David comes back from the edge of despair- and how some people never do. But more important than the plot, is that it?s a richly written book, with delicious sentences and elegant phrases, that, if you?re a literati like me, you can really get your teeth into.

If you like the sound of Book of Illusions, or think you might, leave a comment, and I'll mail you to get your mailing details, and I?ll send you my very own copy of BoI- provided you review it on your blog when you?ve read it, and then pass it to someone else. A slow-motion meme, if you will.

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