I never saw Paul Auster before Friday night at his Housing Works bookstore presentation, but I've been reading him for a while. Right now I'm taking two steps back and have delved into The New York Trilogy, the stories from which were published in the 80s. Some of the same elements which appear in most of his work are present in what I've read so far: there is some sort of emotionally disconnected male protagonist, many coincidental circumstances, and a text within a text, which is to say one of the characters has written a book which is discussed at length in the story. His books are for people who love to read, and for people who are constantly seeking catharsis. There is always some sort of self-discovery involved, and even if you can't connect with the revelation, it feels good to have been a witness to someone else's breakthrough. Your time was not ill-spent.

Anyway, it was interesting to see him in person, especially in such a cozy environment. It was dark at the Housing Works bookstore, and the smell of baked goods and coffee from the cafe portion set a nice tone. He's a good-looking man, tall, manicured, with an olive complexion (or perhaps he was just really tan, which is reasonable.) He has a smoky, deep voice and a distinct east coast accent. It's hard not to remember when you see him that he's not just an author, but an auteur as well, having written and directed three films. He looks like what a writer should look like, and he looks like someone famous, too. Paul Auster, the author, the auteur.

Yea, I thought he was hot. Shut up.

There were three things of note about the reading. The first is that the kid who introduced both Auster and Steven Dixon (who read later), was a complete moron. As Jeff Pruzan (who accompanied me) said, "His speech sounded like something rejected from NPR." The speech was all about how people who say they love Steven Dixon and Paul Auster usually have only read one of their books, and if they were real fans, they would have read them all. He said it was sort of like when you see people wearing a t-shirt for your favorite band, but they've never even heard them play live. Or something like that.

Also he said that the best way to read an author was to save all their books for one moment, and then read them all at once. So he essentially told us how we don't read enough, and that when we do read, we should read obsessively. He was one of those guys who looks like he likes Weezer and he went to an Ivy League school: short, slender, wearing the requisite preppy boy clothes and pricey kicks, with a 3rd grade hair cut and horn-rimmed glasses. I wonder if he's ever been beat up before. The worst part is, guys like that always end up with good jobs they slack at and hot girlfriends they never know how to fuck properly. Can't we send boys like him back to New Haven, or wherever they come from?

The second thing of note was that after the audience was fully confused/riled up by the kid's intro, Auster got up and said, "To the degree that I understood that introduction, I thought it was very good." And we all laughed.

And finally I just wanted to describe the incredible sensation of deja vu I had during the reading. When I was a kid, my family and I would have dinner on Sunday nights with my Aunt Renee and Uncle Morty in Highland Park. Uncle Morty was a tall, well-spoken man with olive skin, and a thick New England accent. Like all of my older male relatives, he smoked a pipe, so there was a deeper edge to his voice. I remember sitting in the living room after dinner - which was always darkened on Sunday nights - with him and listening to him talk about work or Israel or whatever, not really understanding what he was talking about because I was probably only 8 or 9, but just enjoying listening to him talk. The kitchen smelled of cookies or whatever my Aunt Renee was finishing up for our desserts, and fresh coffee percolating. It was soothing. And as I watched Paul Auster, standing in front of a stack of books, people relaxed on chairs all around him, I thought of Uncle Morty.

archives | w-w home | mail