Rather, Auster is after a multitiered examination of the implications of fate. Don’t let that deceive you, however: This is not a roman à clef. Its protagonist, Archie Ferguson, shares aspects of his creator’s biography. “Perhaps it is just as well,” he observes in “Winter Journal,” “to put aside your stories for now and try to examine what it has felt like to live inside this body from the first day you can remember being alive until this one.”Īuster’s new novel “4321” - his first in seven years – might take that observation as an epigraph. The books that have followed, including the novel “Sunset Park” and the memoir “Winter Journal,” feel more digressive, as if, in entering them, we have also entered the back and forth of Auster’s mind. Yet somewhere around his 2005 novel, “The Brooklyn Follies,” Auster began to loosen his language, becoming discursive and accessible. To engage with these books, we must be willing to read between the lines.
Think about “The New York Trilogy,” the three novels of which (“City of Glass,” “Ghosts,” “The Locked Room”) don’t fill 500 pages combined, or his slim, magnificent debut, “The Invention of Solitude,” an impressionistic account of the author’s relationship with his dead father. Digital Replica Edition Home Page Close Menuīy David L.
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