New York Trilogy by Paul Auster – The grimness of literature

 
It’s been a long time since I’ve read a book completely, partly because I’m lazy, partly because I’m tired, partly because I watch more movies, and another part I can not focus on people’s words. Other times when my own words that I want to talk about my love are filled up and override every other person’s words. 

I read a few dozen pages of 1Q84 vol. 3 of Murakami, continued to munch the hard-to-swallow dishes of Emmanuel Kant, a German philosopher, to read some pages of Urban Design for a major. I try to read chewing things better, I try to read Pao Pao’s Ao Pagoda, reread Marai Sandor’s pamphlet, continue to add to the book “6 people travel around the world James Michener … I keep wandering from one volume to another, and then left, leaving them floating in my head, like the way I want to buy my shoes, but to what I Also shook his head and walked out, fast, bored and sad. Until I met Paul Auster’s New York Trilogy, translated into English by Trinh Lu with the title “Tranquility with Literature,” I came in again, and naturally found shoes that fit in well with my feelings. I bought it, went it, got a little sneaky at the ankles for new shoes, but everything became more pure and comfortable. The New York Trilogy became the first book I read after too many unfinished series.

Paul Auster is a witch of word placement, word order, making things as simple as putting it together into a world full of chaos and illusory or unbelievable, then when the reader goes in In it, people find their own lost because the stream of events seemed as if nothing has made us crazy to search for understanding, and then again can not understand anything. The Newyork Trilogy is a collection of three stories, one that is often labeled as a detective, so to speak, because of the mysterious, detective, investigated, petty, like in a noir movie. There is a seemingly sensational story, and there are women who are like illusions that are as real as an entity, an eye for the story, a form of totem for Paul Auster to make a central story. Revolve around it, no matter how far he drags us, the woman, that totem, is the link that leads us back.

It is hard for people to say what he says is good or bad, or is it the end that Paul Auster turned into a joke when everything he wrote was obscure, ghostly, as if there is no head, no Finally, he led us to the door, to invite us to see the apartment that I intend to buy and stay, he turned around, laughing with a mysterious look and wrong home, so I The idiot can not know at the end of the house how the shape of the interior decorates the items.

This is a book that includes three stories: The glass city, the ghosts and the “locked room,” the New York Trilogy can be called an anthology that can be just a story with three distinct parts, It’s like the way Wang Jie told two unrelated stories in his movie “Chungking Express”. All in all, the point of the story is that New York, the individuals who live in it, and those who are losing themselves, are not becoming selfless, but become a bad thing. Death, an empty gap between self and non-self. And three unrelated stories that are still involved in a messy mess, Paul Auster lazy or hoax readers with the names, capitals used in this section, and then referred to In the other part as if accidentally and deliberately. They (Paul Crichton) called Paul’s books postmodern, postmodern, postmodern, surreal, and fictional, as well as away from Agatha’s other classic mysteries. Christie, Conan Doyle (actually I read quite a few authors of detective stories, these are the two most typical for the modern, modern detective I think I know) … And I myself do not Must be a professional reader (critics, editors, bookmakers …) postmodern concept for me to use here seems a bit pompous. Paul’s New York Trilogy, I like a closer and more accessible explanation for me, that is, the whimsical, humorous but evil. Why do I say cruel, because Paul almost put the character into a labyrinth with no escape, and then he also put himself into the wrong way, or rather the tantalizing reader ( In the labyrinth, when the character accepts to enter, there is always the thought of trying to find the heart of the labyrinth, where the crown of victory is. They wait, and then on the way to find it, they keep losing their way, lose themselves gradually, become no longer themselves but they can not turn back, like an arrow shot out, can not leave it Halfway down, people go in, deep down until they lose their essence. Only then did Paul Auster see how he laughed at his labyrinth, a new book that was closed, and the reader, not short of breath, felt insecure for simplicity. Surprisingly, when a personality is governed by another personality, or is driven by the story itself, and loses itself without knowing it.

Reading this work, like accepting both challenge and patience as well as non-backwardness to find the truth for ourselves (although there is no truth at all). Sometimes the author let his character sink in self-thought and lead us somewhere near the main narrative, endless thoughts of the past, About the characters in other works that the main character reads … brief and visual references but are unrelated, or related, also make the mind The reader is drawn to the nonsense of the pen, making the references both attractive in terms of information, while leading the way people associate and say nothing. The three stories are almost unrelated but they should read the same turn, they are surreal and teasingly involved until the last pages.

Every human being has at times been swept up in the vortex of something in life, rice, money, relationships, secrets … and when I get caught in it, it seems to come out It is very difficult and tired, sometimes we struggle to get to the bottom, sometimes we try to struggle to get out of the water, sometimes we are washed away without it. In time to get back to me, Detective Quinn of Glass City can not get up (to the last words that Paul wrote for us to read), character Lam (Blue) seems to have breathed in the last paragraph. Since I was able to place first and write my own story, I was probably the most resurrected character, after all. H lose yourself. All three of them are caught up in another person’s life, then sink deep into it like puppets, to the point where they can not force themselves to escape without crazy and drastic actions.

If each individual in this modern life is plagued with the existence of the self, making himself unhappy and sad, I think I should read Paul Auster, to see that our self is still in check. Control is not complete enough that you do not lose yourself in the way Paul let his characters sink in that busy New York City.

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