I'm fighting myself between giving this a 3 1/2 or a 4 star rating. I had never heard of Paul Auster before when I happened to run across this book in my local book store. I was intrigued by the title and the synopsis on the back of the book seemed curious. It sat on my shelf for a little while and was always something I looked forward to reading out of curiosity. I decided to read it because it isn't a very thick book, I thought I was in for a quick read and I was looking for a little mystery. I had no idea what I was in store for. Paul Auster is an amazing, gifted writer. I've posted various quotes because from the moment I started to read the first page, I knew this was different. This was an author who didn't just use simple adjectives but was almost a poet or an artist painting brush strokes upon the canvas of the readers mind. This, was character development at it's best. Auster had the ability to layer the characters through their actions and experiences and link you to them in such a way that you felt these people, you knew these people, you wondered if you'd become these people. Amazing, and I was in awe. This was a story within a story within a philosophy within an analyzation. I do like this type of dissection. I do like this kind of story under the story, the break down of the characters, however, one can go too far and I think by the end of the book I may have felt this way.I don't want to ruin the experience of the book by saying too much so I'll advise to read the synopsis, it is exactly correct. You will jump right into the book with a curiosity that will gnaw at you and take you deep into the book. The mystery carries you through close to the end. There are twists, turns, gasps, shocks, wows, head shakes of unbelievable proportion. It's like a movie. If it was movie I'd have to say it was a montage of scenes that it reminded me of Eddie and the Cruisers, slash Forest Gump, something thriller, slash something mysterious, slash a Joyce Carol Oats book, slash something I'd never experienced before. I'm having a hard time with my rating because by the talent of the writing alone, this is a great book but, alas, a story must be told and every book must be judged not just on it's potential but it's actual effect beginning, middle and end. The beginning and middle I enjoyed immensely. For me, the end fell quite flat. It seemed as if by this what was perfect writing we were carried barreling through the majority of the book with what I felt were wonderful quotes, perfect descriptions, mystery and thriller like wow factors. From the curiosity of the beginning to the answers and audacity of the middle, I thought this was a perfect read, only to be disappointed in the end. The reader is carried through the book with this underlined burning question and once it seems to be answered, or more like the source of the question snatched away unexpectedly.. let's just say this reader found herself getting impatient for the last page of the book. I found myself skimming the last 90 pages of the book not wanting to miss anything exciting that could pop up but also wondering, "Is this it?" There was one more small "happening" on the very last few pages but by this time, I had seriously lost interest and didn't much care. I had drunk all the deliciousness from this book and when you've tasted all the flavor, why toy around with the last little dregs. I had gorged myself on the delicacies of this plate, become full and the last little picked over crumbs just weren't appealing anymore. I had enough.Do I recommend this book? Absolutely. You must experience it. Maybe you'll gobble up the whole thing and live for each bit. My advice, be prepared for the possible deflation at the end and maybe it won't be such a shock. I will try other books by this author maybe the chemistry throughout will feel different for me.
What a run. I was wondering a couple of months ago if I’d be able to get together a decent top ten for ’08, now I’ve got the wonderful task of maybe naming a top twelve or so and still counting. The Latest wonder is Paul Auster’s Book of Illusions. Its action and storytelling is linear and straightforward; however, Illusions is nonetheless artful and complex. Oh, and by the way, I suddenly find myself with still another definition to add to my list of descriptions for Postmodernism. “Auster,” says the Powell’s website reviewer “could be postmodernism's poster child. Structurally overt, intellectually complex, metaphorically self-conscious, Auster explores surfaces in order to dig deep and borrows classical forms in order to reveal contemporary dissonance.” Exploring what that last sentence means could probably occupy a semester’s worth of seminar without achieving elucidation. But I digress. Professor David Zimmer loses wife and two sons in an airplane crash. Moreover, he’s the one who talked them into taking the particular flight responsible. Heavy with grief and guilt, he plunges into liquored-up isolation, eased somewhat by a sudden influx of cash from life insurance and a couple of other sources. He stumbles on a short film starring an obscure silent film actor who disappeared at the height of his career. The man’s films make him laugh for the first time since the tragedy. Being a professor, he starts his research and, predictably, his recovery. The predictability ends there. Zimmer publishes a book about the actor’s life and art (focusing on the art, investigating little about the disappearance/death) leaves it aside for another. Then the subject of the first book--the actor himself--emerges from the dead or disappeared. Maybe. It’s not clear which at first. The second book Zimmer has been working on is by and about the musings of a dead Frenchman circa the Revolution. It connects with events within and surrounding the first book in both subtle and obvious ways. Possibly “to reveal contemporary dissonance.” Whether all of this will result in the recovery or relapse of our erstwhile professor is unclear. Will he love again? Can he? The answers, even at the end, remain vague. It’s the search that seems to matter more than anything. And the choices. And the creation of the record of the search and discovery. Illusions is a fairly quick read, but it leaves echoes. I keep remembering scenes, lines, ideas. Wondering about I’m not exactly sure what, but it has to do with creation and art and destruction and the futility of aspirations of immortality. Or of destroying those aspirations. It’s a work that lives with you and a work that’s nice to live with. Try it.
What do You think about The Book Of Illusions (2003)?
David Zimmer is a teacher and writer whose wife and two young sons have been killed in an aeroplane crash. At his lowest ebb, suicidal and alcoholic, David sees a silent film on television and laughs for the first time since the tragedy. Thereafter, he develops a fascination with the actor featured in the old movie, Hector Mann - a minor star of silent comedies who vanished in 1929 and was never seen or heard of again. Travelling around the world in order to visit the film archives containing Hector's few movies, David channels his obsession into a book about the actor's work. However, the story really begins some time after this, when David receives a mysterious letter containing some startling news about Hector.The Book of Illusions displays many characteristics of Auster's typical style, most noticeably the constant presence of symbolism, the perceived significance of art and the line between reality and (as the title suggests) illusion. Here, rather than the emphasis being on language and writing, the focus is on Hector's films and their visual impact, though of course the power of storytelling is still key. When David discovers that Hector made some films that were never seen by anyone else, he questions whether art has any importance if it is not shared with and experienced by an audience. David's ruminations are mirrored in various ways throughout the narrative - David withdraws from life, shuts himself away and becomes invisible, so it seems ironic that he becomes obsessed with a silent movie star; Hector makes a film called 'Mr. Nobody' in which he literally becomes invisible, and then, in his real life, he disappears; another character, Alma, is made more visible by a large birthmark on her face, yet she feels this gives her the ability to instantly see others' true characters through their reactions to her appearance.There are elements of the story that are, from a distance, completely implausible. The manner of David and Alma's first meeting is really quite ridiculous, and certainly unbelievable, as is the speedy development of their relationship. But I think this is where the genius of Auster's writing really lies, in suspending the reader's disbelief and immersing you so deeply into the story that these strange events seem believable. I can imagine that the book won't work for everyone - some may find the lengthy descriptions of unseen, nonexistent films dull (I really enjoyed them), and there's a curious... quietness about it all - a very subdued feel. This is not a deeply thrilling novel, more of a restrained but haunting little tale. On balance I think I personally prefer Oracle Night, but there is plenty to recommend this story, especially for fans of the author. (If you're not already acquainted with Auster, I'd still recommend The New York Trilogy as a primer.)
—Blair
Just arrived from Australia through BM. Man has not one and the same life. He has many lives,placed end to end, and that is the cause of his misery.by ChateaubriandOpening Lines:Everyone thought he was dead. When my book about his films was published in 1988, Hector Mann had not been heard from in almost sixty years.After a terrible family tragedy, Professor David Zimmer starts a huge translation project, namely Chateaubriand's Memoires D'outre Tombe, a book of 2,000 pages.In the meantime, he becomes obsessed by a silent comedian Hector Mann who was living in a retired small village in New Mexico.When he finally meets Hector, his life will change forever.
—Laura
“Todos acreditavam que estava morto.”. Até David Zimmer, o personagem principal deste livro, achava que Hector Mann estava morto. Zimmer é um professor de Literatura Comparada numa Univerdade no Vermont, EUA. Com a morte da família num trágico acidente, o professor entra numa espiral de dor e depressão que este expia através da escrita de um livro sobre Hector Mann, um actor de segunda linha de filmes cómicos mudos. Terminado esse projecto, embrenha-se noutro numa tentativa de não pensar no passado ou até mesmo ficar dormente face à realidade. Essa dormência é quebrada por uma carta enviada por uma tal Frieda Spelling que o convidava a visitar o Blue Stone Ranch, no estado do Novo México, pois Hector Mann tinha lido o seu livro e gostaria muito de o conhecer. E é na vida de Hector que entramos, uma vida onde a fronteira entre o real e a ilusão, a verdade e a mentira, a comédia e a tragédia parece não existir. Uma vida que vai muito para além da magia do cinema.Julgo que a grande maioria dos meus leitores se vai identificar com a realidade que vou apresentar. Ler um determinado livro enquanto estudante e enquanto leitor recreativo é uma experiência completamente diferente. Na escola andamos à procura de figuras de estilo, de tipos de narrador, etc. e tal. O leitor recreativo lê o livro pelo enredo, pelo prazer em conhecer aquela história que o autor ali nos apresenta. Fazendo uso a uma referência a “Numa noite de Inverno um viajante” de Italo Calvino, é bem mais divertido ser-se Ludmilla a ser-se Lotária (para perceber a diferença, é ler o livro se faz favor). Mas deixo-me de divagações e passo ao cerne da questão, ou seja, este livro. Durante uma boa parte da leitura deste “Livros das Ilusões”, o leitor parece que está realmente sentado numa sala de cinema a ver filmes, tal é a minúcia na descrição das cenas dos filmes de Hector Mann. Aliás, todos os momentos descritivos são caracterizados por essa mesma minúcia. Mas ao contrário do que pode parecer, não é um livro maçador. Muito pelo contrário, salvo uma pequena excepção. É uma narrativa muito fluída e com um vocabulário acessível. A excepção de que falo prende-se com o capítulo onde se conta a vida pessoal de Hector Mann. Para mim é demasiado longo, são cerca de 70 páginas onde personagens e cidade aparecem em catadupa e aí sim, torna-se cansativo para o leitor. Se o autor tivesse introduzido uma pequena pausa que não perturbasse em demasia o ritmo narrativo, isso permitiria ao leitor um espaço de manobra para respirar. Mas isso é apenas uma pequena turbulência num voo tão aprazível por entre as suas páginas. Voo esse onde não é necessário recorrer a Xanax. Em suma, uma história bem contada que agradará a muitos.
—Isabel Maia
