The Book of Illusions

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"Six months after losing his wife and two young sons in an airplane crash, Vermont professor David Zimmer spends his waking hours in a blur of alcoholic grief and self-pity. Then, watching television one night, he stumbles upon a clip from a lost film by the silent comedian Hector Mann. Zimmer's interest is piqued, and soon finds himself embarking on a journey around the world to study the works of this mysterious figure, who vanished from sight in 1929." "Who was Hector Mann? An Argentinian-born comic genius, with a signature white suit and
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The Book of Illusions: A Novel

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Overview

"Six months after losing his wife and two young sons in an airplane crash, Vermont professor David Zimmer spends his waking hours in a blur of alcoholic grief and self-pity. Then, watching television one night, he stumbles upon a clip from a lost film by the silent comedian Hector Mann. Zimmer's interest is piqued, and soon finds himself embarking on a journey around the world to study the works of this mysterious figure, who vanished from sight in 1929." "Who was Hector Mann? An Argentinian-born comic genius, with a signature white suit and fluttering black mustache, a master of "backpedals and dodges...sudden torques and lunging pavanes...double takes and hop-steps and rhumba swivels." Presumed dead for sixty years, he had flashed briefly across American movie screens, tantalizing the public with the promise of a brilliant future, and then, just as the silent era came to an end, he walked out of his house one January morning and was never heard from again." Zimmer's research leads him to write the first full-length study of Hector's films. When the book is published the following year, a letter turns up in Zimmer's mailbox bearing a return address from a small town in New Mexico - supposedly written by Hector's wife: "Hector has read your book and would like to meet you. Are you interested in paying us a visit?" Is the letter a hoax, or is Hector Mann still alive? Torn between doubt and belief, Zimmer hesitates, until one night a strange woman appears on his doorstep and makes the decision for him, changing his life forever.
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Editorial Reviews

From Barnes & Noble
The Barnes & Noble Review
Paul Auster is a superb memoirist (The Invention of Solitude), an original, sometimes enigmatic novelist (The New York Trilogy), and a screenwriter responsible for such idiosyncratic creations as Smoke and Lulu on the Bridge. The Book of Illusions brings together his gift for fluid, evocative prose and his ongoing fascination with the aesthetics of film to produce a dark, moving meditation on the power -- and fragility -- of art.

College professor David Zimmer succumbs to an extended, near-suicidal depression when his wife and sons die in a plane crash. While mindlessly channel-surfing one drunken evening, he stumbles across a clip from a silent comedy starring Hector Mann, a mysterious figure who disappeared in 1929. Intrigued -- then ultimately obsessed -- by Mann, Zimmer devotes himself to a rigorous examination of Mann's 12 films and eventually publishes a critical study on them. When the book comes out, a stranger contacts Zimmer, informing him that Mann is very much alive and inviting him to the filmmaker's private hideaway in New Mexico. What follows is a complex, constantly surprising story -- a narrative of Zimmer's cross-country journey and a series of revelations about the guilty secret that warped Mann's life, changing him from an ambitious artist to a reclusive genius living in a self-contained world.

Packed with narrative pleasures -- most notably the detailed analyses of Mann's films, descriptions so precise and thoroughly real it's difficult to believe the films don't actually exist -- The Book of Illusions is an intelligent, elegantly written novel that displays Auster's prodigious talent for creating dark atmosphere and exposing the mysterious connections between art and life. Bill Sheehan

Jonathan Yardley
One of our most inventive and least predictable authors.
The Washington Post Book World
Richard Locke
A literary original who is perfecting a genre of his own.
The Wall Street Journal
The New Yorker
Auster, a master of narrative sleight-of-hand and cerebral formalism, has now turned to the theme of disappearance. David Zimmer, a professor of comparative literature, loses his wife and two children in a plane crash; he is considering suicide when he sees a silent-film clip that makes him laugh. He learns that the film's director, Hector Mann, inexplicably went missing in 1929, and when Zimmer writes an academic study of Mann's lost work he is drawn into a pleasingly noirish sequence of events (involving shots of tequila, a pearl-handled gun, and an attractive woman with a distinctive birthmark) that lead him to the dying director, in New Mexico. By the book's end, Mann's disappearance has become a springboard for Zimmer's deepest questions about the burden of art. Most movingly, though, Auster's novel shows how swiftly the guy ropes of identity can be cut by a simple sentence: "A plane falls from the sky, and all the passengers are killed."
Paul Evans
David Zimmer is shattered. On the eve of his tenth wedding anniversary, his wife and two young sons are killed in a plane crash, plunging him into despair. "I remember very little of what happened to me that summer," he recounts. "For several months, I lived in a blur of alcoholic grief and self-pity, rarely stirring from the house, rarely bothering to eat or shave or change my clothes.... whenever any of my friends came around, I always invited them in, but their tearful embraces and long, embarrassed silences didn't help. It was better to be left alone, I found, better to gut out the days in the darkness of my own head."

One night, however, while anesthetizing his hurt with television, he startles himself with a foreign sound—his own laugh. The laughter is provoked by Hector Mann, an obscure silent movie comedian whose last film was released in 1928. David resolves to seek out every film Hector made—somehow they might save his life.

From this gripping beginning emerges The Book of Illusions, Paul Auster's tenth novel and certainly his best. An indefatigable worker, Auster has written much: poems, memoirs, nonfiction, translations of French poetry and prose. He wrote screenplays for the ultrahip indie films Smoke and Blue in the Face, starring Harvey Keitel, and himself directed the baffling, arty Lulu on the Bridge (also starring Keitel).

Auster made his name in the mid-'80s with the New York Trilogy, three lean novels that conflated film noir and the work of Franz Kafka. The style was skeletal and literary, the themes almost textbook postmodern—dislocation, confusion, identity—and the books, which were critically hailed, soldmoderately. What distinguished them, however, from most experimental fare was Auster's gift for narrative. It's a skill he has only sharpened over the years; Timbuktu, his most recent novel, was as flamboyantly unorthodox as his early work (its hero was a dog) and scored as a bestseller.

The Book of Illusions doesn't shy away from big ideas or literary references. There are allusions aplenty to Nathaniel Hawthorne, one of Auster's favorite writers, and protagonist David is a comparative literature professor at work on a translation of aphoristic nineteenth-century memoirist Chateaubriand. But story here is at the steering wheel, and the novel surges ahead. That narrative charge and some of Auster's best prose, along with vivid characterization, give the book the drive and dazzle reminiscent of the classic hardboiled yarns of Raymond Chandler and Dashiell Hammett.

Hector Mann may be Auster's finest creation. It's hard in fiction to portray artistic genius—the giant exception is Thomas Mann's Dr. Faustus—but Auster deftly summarizes the clown's brilliance: "Every now and then, Hector's mustache would twitch in consternation, as if to punctuate the proceedings with a faint groan or mumbled aside. It wasn't slapstick and anarchy so much as character and pace, a smoothly orchestrated mixture of objects, bodies, and minds." And, thrillingly, Hector's a mystery man. After his last movie, he'd simply—poof!—vanished.

Zimmer's quest, then, and the novel's intricate plot, evolves into a search for Hector himself as well as his movies, and Zimmer discovers amazing stuff. Hector's past unreels as a saga of disguise (his given name, Chaim Mandelbaum, is only one of his aliases), conflict (his studio boss is a rip-off artist), romantic intrigue (Hector is torn between two lovers, the sweet Brigid and the sultry Frieda) and murder.

There's also the salvific power of love and the strange fascination of Hector's self-flagellating efforts to redeem himself from his past sins. The compulsive moviemaker makes a vow: If he can't stop himself from creating new films, he'll at least promise himself never to show them in public. For David, who himself had written an academic study on "Rimbaud, Dashiell Hammett, Laura Riding, J.D. Salinger, and others—poets and novelists of uncommon brilliance who, for one reason or another, had stopped," this self-abnegation is tantalizing.

The Book of Illusions, like much of Auster's fiction, offers a tale within a tale—David's story of loss, love and renewal is at least as significant as Hector's. The narratives intersect elaborately, and as David travels farther into Hector's darkness, his own shadows deepen—for the first time in his life, a gun is pointed at him; he hops planes to weird destinations; he falls in love again; he endures a loved one's suicide.

Jammed with incident, coincidence, plot twists and surprises, the novel is a gleaming storytelling machine. It's also—and here's the postmodern touch—all about "texts." David not only pursues Hector but writes his biography; Hector keeps a journal; and Hector's movies are the "texts" that provide David both hope and motivation. Auster, himself a filmmaker, is especially good at critiquing and celebrating silent film artists:

"They had invented a syntax of the eye, a grammar of pure kinesis, and except for the costumes and the cars and the quaint furniture in the background, none of it could possibly grow old," he writes. "It was thought translated into action, human will expressing itself through the human body, and therefore it was for all time. Most silent comedies hardly even bothered to tell stories. They were like poems, like the renderings of dreams, like some intricate choreography of the spirit, and because they were dead, they probably spoke more deeply to us now than they had to the audiences of their time. We watched them across a great chasm of forgetfulness, and the very things that separated them from us were in fact what made them so arresting."

Auster's critical acuity, his yen for the philosophical and his love of language are all in extravagant display with The Book of Illusions. It's the sheer delight of Auster's joy in narrative that wins us over.
Publishers Weekly
David Zimmer, an English professor in Vermont, is trying to rebuild his life-after his family perishes in an airplane crash-by researching the work of Hector Mann, a minor figure from the era of silent movies, in this enigmatic, elliptical 10th novel, one of Auster's best. As in much of the writer's fiction, the narrative revolves around coincidence, fate and odd resonances. Mann's world, like Zimmer's, collapses in a single instant, and Mann, like Zimmer, embarks on self-imposed exile as a way to deal with his grief and do penance. Mann disappeared at the height of his career in 1929, but when Zimmer's book about him is published in the 1980s, it elicits a mysterious invitation: would Zimmer like to meet Mann, who is alive and has been working in secret as actor/director Hector Spelling? The skeptical scholar is lured from Vermont by Alma Grund, who grew up around Mann and is writing his biography. As Grund and Zimmer fall in love, she fills in the decades-long gap in Mann's life-a strange American odyssey that culminated on a ranch in New Mexico where he made movies he refused to screen for anyone. As in previous novels, Auster here makes the unbelievable completely credible, and his overall themes are very much of a piece with those of earlier works: the "mutinous unpredictability of matter" and the way storytellers shape and organize unpredictability. A darker and more somber mood shadows this book; Mann and Zimmer both are tragic figures-even melodramatic-and their stories are compelling. Auster is a novelist of ideas who hasn't forgotten that his first duty is to tell a good story. (Sept.) Forecast: Auster devotees will fall upon his latest with glee, recognizing it as a worthy successor to his classic New York Trilogy. The novel should do very well in the short run-it is a BOMC and QPB selection, and foreign rights have been sold in 16 countries-but its true success may be as a staple of Auster's backlist. Author tour. Copyright 2002 Cahners Business Information.
Library Journal
After his wife and two young sons are killed in a plane crash, comparative literature professor David Zimmer is unable to deal with his grief. By accident, he discovers the works of Hector Mann, an almost forgotten silent film comedian and director who disappeared in 1929. Writing a book about Hector's 12 short films brings a degree of order into David's life. Then David discovers that Hector is not only still alive but has been making films in secret on his New Mexico ranch. David's strange journey there leads to more chaos, death, and guilt. Like Auster's best works, such as The New York Trilogy, The Book of Illusions is a postmodern meditation on the nature of art, especially the question of which is more important, art or life, and whether they are inseparable for the artist. David's investigation into Hector's unusual life and the descriptions of his films are fascinating. Auster himself reads in a slightly halting manner, reminiscent of Rod Serling, though his often melodramatic tale might have been better served by a professional reader. Recommended for all collections.-Michael Adams, CUNY Graduate Ctr. Copyright 2003 Reed Business Information.
Kirkus Reviews
Auster's tenth novel is one of his finest: an elegant meditation on the question of whether an artist or his public "owns" the work he creates, and a thickly plotted succession of interlocking mysteries reminiscent of his highly praised New York Trilogy (The Locked Room, 1986, etc.). Narrator David Zimmer is a professor of comparative literature at a small Vermont college with an impressive resumé and a promising academic future, until his wife and young sons perish in a 1985 plane crash. Following an extended period of drunken despair (eloquently and harrowingly described), Zimmer indulges a casual interest in obscure silent film comedian hector Mann, whose disappearance in 1929 has never been explained. David researches and writes a book about Mann's films (occasioning several brilliant set pieces summarizing their contents), and in 1988 receives a letter from New Mexico informing him that Hector Mann is still alive, and is interested in meeting David. The novel picks up dizzying speed as that letter (ostensibly sent by Mann's protective wife Frieda Spelling) is followed by the appearance of Alma Grund (a beautiful young woman despite a disfiguring facial birthmark), who brings David to the (now nonagenarian) Mann's southwestern ranch, spins a lavish tale of scandal and self-exile that fills in a 60-year gap, and compulsively recapitulates the former comedian's various fateful ordeals, leaving Zimmer once again bereaved and alone. The heavy excess of plot never feels arbitrary or contrived, because Auster (Timbuktu, 1999, etc.) writes with such persuasive directness about both Zimmer's conflicted death-in-life and efforts to get beyond it, and Mann's understandably buried past and quietdesperation to order and give meaning to-and eventually extinguish-his accident-strewn personal history. Further dimensions are added by Zimmer's ironically thematically related intellectual pursuits, particularly his fascination with French writer Chateaubriand's elusive, many-leveled autobiography. In many ways, a summa of Auster's entire oeuvre, and a gripping and immensely satisfying novel in its own right. Author tour
From the Publisher

"A nearly flawless work . . . Auster will be remembered as one of the great writers of our time."--San Francisco Chronicle

"Mr. Auster's elegant, finely calibrated Book of Illusions is a haunting feat of intellectual gamesmanship."--The New York Times

"This noirish, layered tale will keep you guessing to the very end."--Time Out New York

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Product Details

  • ISBN-13: 9780312421816
  • Publisher: Picador
  • Publication date: 8/1/2003
  • Edition description: First Edition
  • Edition number: 1
  • Pages: 336
  • Product dimensions: 5.48 (w) x 8.38 (h) x 0.87 (d)

Meet the Author

PAUL AUSTER is the bestselling author of Travels in the Scriptorium, Oracle Night, and Man in the Dark, among many other works. I Thought My Father Was God, the NPR National Story Project Anthology, which he edited, was also a national bestseller. His work has been translated into more than thirty-five languages. He lives in Brooklyn, New York.

Biography

Much later, when he was able to think about the things that happened to him, he would conclude that nothing was real except chance. But that was much later. In the beginning, there was simply the event and its consequences.

This sentence from the opening of Paul Auster's first novel, City of Glass, could also serve as a template for the author's career, both in circumstance and theme. City of Glass is perhaps the best known of Auster's postmodern detective New York Trilogy, which is rounded out by Ghosts and The Locked Room. Though the novels nominally involve cases to be solved, at base they are about the mystery of identity and how easily it can be lost or altered. In City of Glass, a mystery writer mistakenly receives a phone call for detective Paul Auster and assumes his identity, becoming embroiled in a case. The trilogy was a welcome breath of fresh air for both detective stories and postmodernist writing, and it put Auster on the publishing map.

Setting out to write his subsequent novel, Auster kept in mind the subtitle "Anna Blume Walks Through the 20th Century." The result was a woman's post-apocalyptic urban journey, In the Country of Last Things. Subsequent works such as Moon Palace, The Music of Chance, Leviathan, and Mr. Vertigo offered heroes caught up in strange worlds, playing out their stories over existential subtexts. The Music of Chance carries references from Beckett's Waiting for Godot in its story about a drifter who ends up teaming with a card player named Jack Pozzi to hustle two wealthy eccentrics in a fateful poker game. In Mr. Vertigo, a boy who has the ability to levitate goes on the road in the 1920s as "the Wonder Boy," moving through a panorama of pre-Depression America.

Auster's ability to blur the line between fantasy and reality has resulted in unique stories that never operate solely as good yarns. The New York Times wrote of Leviathan -- a dead man's coincidence-ridden story, as narrated by his friend -- "Thus in the literary looking glass of Leviathan, in which things are not always what they seem, our pleasure in reading the story is enhanced by the challenge of making other connections." Auster's fondness for allegory has earned him both praise for his cleverness and criticism from reviewers who, even as they praise his talent, occasionally find him heavy-handed.

The director Philip Haas adapted The Music of Chance for the 1993 film starring James Spader and Mandy Patinkin. But it was Wayne Wang who drew Auster to the movie business in earnest, convincing him to write the screenplay for 1995's Smoke, which was adapted from the short story "Auggie Wren's Christmas Story." The film did well enough to get producer Miramax on board for a sequel bringing back star Harvey Keitel, Blue in the Face. This time, Auster not only wrote the script but co-directed with Wang; he later went full-fledged auteur with the 1998 film (also starring Keitel) Lulu on the Bridge.

In 1999, Auster made the unconventional choice of writing from a canine's point of view in Timbuktu -- although as Auster noted in the Guardian, Mr. Bones "is and isn't a dog." In telling the story of himself and his owner, a homeless "outlaw poet" named Willy G. Christmas, Mr. Bones offers a meditation on mortality, human relationships, and dreams. "If anything," Auster said in a chat with Barnes & Noble.com readers, "I thought of Willy and Mr. Bones as a rather screwball, nutty, latter-day version of Don Quixote and Sancho Panza, the befuddled knight-errant and his loyal squire." The New York Times called Timbuktu his "most touching, most emotionally accessible book."

Auster earned some of his best reviews with his tenth novel The Book of Illusions, about a widower who develops an obsession with an obscure silent-film star and is surprised with an invitation to meet the presumed-dead actor. Book magazine called it "certainly his best...the book [has] the drive and dazzle reminiscent of the classic hardboiled yarns of Raymond Chandler and Dashiell Hammett."

Auster is an author who, in both his fiction and his nonfiction, rekindles hope for the romantic, the coincidental, and the magical in everyday life. He does this not with fantastic story lines but by heightening the significance of twists and coincidences that happen to us all the time -- if we approach things in a certain light, our lives become like movies. Auster spins the projector.

Good To Know

Auster's wife Siri Hustvedt, whom he met in 1981, is also a novelist and essayist; writing about her novel The Blindfold, the Village Voice Literary Supplement called Hustvedt "a writer of strong, sometimes astonishing gifts." Auster's first wife was writer Lydia Davis.

Desperately poor in the late '70s and working unhappily as a French translator to make ends meet, Auster wrote a detective novel called Squeeze Play to make some money. He also invented a card game called Action Baseball that he tried to sell to game manufacturers. However, Squeeze Play is "not a legitimate book," he told the Guardian; it was published under a pseudonym. Later, an inheritance from his father allowed Auster the financial freedom to focus more on his writing.

Auster has enjoyed a remarkably international following, even in the days before his Hollywood projects raised his profile; his novels have been translated into several languages, and web sites from Germany to Japan pay him homage.

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    1. Also Known As:
      Paul Benjamin
    2. Hometown:
      Brooklyn, New York
    1. Date of Birth:
      February 3, 1947
    2. Place of Birth:
      Newark, New Jersey
    1. Education:
      B.A., M.A., Columbia University, 1970

Read an Excerpt

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. Except for a handful of historians and old-time movie buffs, few people seemed to know that he had ever existed. Double or Nothing, the last of the twelve two-reel comedies he made at the end of the silent era, was released on November 23, 1928. Two months later, without saying good-bye to any of his friends or associates, without leaving behind a letter or informing anyone of his plans, he walked out of his rented house on North Orange Drive and was never seen again. His blue DeSoto was parked in the garage; the lease on the property was good for another three months; the rent had been paid in full. There was food in the kitchen, whiskey in the liquor cabinet, and not a single article of Hector's clothing was missing from the bedroom drawers. According to the Los Angeles Herald Express of January 18, 1929, it looked as though he had stepped out for a short walk and would be returning at any moment. But he didn't return, and from that point on it was as if Hector Mann had vanished from the face of the earth.

For several ears following his disappearance, various stories and rumors circulated about what had happened to him, but none of these conjectures ever amounted to anything.  The most plausible ones -- that he had committed suicide, or fallen victim to foul play -- could neither be proved nor disproved, since no body was ever recovered.  Other accounts of Hector's fate were more imaginative, more hopeful, more in keeping with the romantic implications of such a case.  In one, he had returned to his native Argentina and was now the owner of a small provincial circus.  In another, he had joined the Communist Party and was working under an assumed name as an organizer among the dairy workers in Utica, NY.   In still another,  he was riding the rails as a Depression hobo.  If Hector had been a bigger star, the stories no doubt would have persisted.  He would have lived on in the things that were said about him, gradually turning into one of those symbolic figures who inhabit the nether zones of collective memory, a representative of youth and hope and the devilish twists of fortune.  But none of that happened, for the fact was that Hector was only just beginning to make his mark in Hollywood when his career ended. He had come too late to exploit his talents fully, and he hadn't stayed long enough to leave a lasting impression of who he was or what he could do.  A few more years went by, and little by little people stopped thinking about him.  By 1932 or 1933, Hector belonged to an extinct universe, and if there were any traces of him left, it was only as a footnote in some obscure book that no one bothered to read anymore.  The movies talked now, and the flickering dumb shows of the past were forgotten.  No more clowns, no more pantomimists, no more pretty flapper girls dancing to the beat of unheard orchestras.  They had been dead for just a few years, but already they felt prehistoric, like creatures who had roamed the earth when men still lived in caves.

I didn't give much information about Hector's life in my book. The Silent World of Hector Mann was a study of his films, not a biography, and whatever small facts I threw in about his onscreen activities came directly from the standard sources: film encyclopedias, memoirs, histories of early Hollywood. I wrote the book because I wanted to share my enthusiasm for Hector's work. The story of his life was secondary to me, and rather than speculate on what might or might not have happened to him, I stuck to a close reading of the films themselves. Given that he was born in 1900, and given that he had not been seen since 1929, it never would have occurred to me to suggest that Hector Mann was still alive. Dead men don't crawl out from their graves, and as far as I was concerned, only a dead man could have kept himself hidden for that long.

The book was published by the University of Pennsylvania Press eleven years ago this past March. Three months later, just after the first reviews had started to appear in the film quarterlies and academic journals, a letter turned up in my mailbox. The envelope was larger and squarer than the ones commonly sold in stores, and because it was made of thick, expensive paper, my initial response was to think there might be a wedding invitation or a birth announcement inside. My name and address were written out across the front in an elegant, curling script. If the writing wasn't that of a professional calligrapher, it no doubt came from someone who believed in the virtues of graceful penmanship, a person who had been schooled in the old academies of etiquette and social decorum. The stamp was postmarked Albuquerque, New Mexico, but the return address on the back flap showed that the letter had been written somewhere else -- assuming that there was such a place, and assuming that the name of the town was real. Top and bottom, the two lines read: Blue Stone Ranch; Tierra del Sueño, New Mexico. I might have smiled when I saw those words, but I can't remember now.  No name was given, and as I opened the envelope to read the message on the card inside, I caught a faint smell of perfume, the subtlest hint of lavender essence.

 Dear professor Zimmer, the note said.  Hector has read your book and would like to meet you.  Are you interested in paying us a visit?  Yours sincerely, Frieda Spelling (Mrs. Hector Mann).

I read it six or seven times. Then I put it down, walked to the other end of the room, and came back. When I picked up the letter again, I wasn't sure if the words would still be there. Or, if they were there, if they would still be the same words.  I read it six or seven more times, and then, still not sure of anything, dismissed it as a prank. A moment later, I was filled with doubts, and the next moment after that I began to doubt those doubts.  To think one thought meant thinking the opposite thought, and no sooner did that second thought destroy the first thought than a third thought rose up to destroy the second. Not knowing what else to do, I got into my car and drove to the Post office. Every address in America was listed in the zip code directory, and if Tierra del Sueño wasn't there, I could throw away the card and forget all about it. But it was there. I found it in volume one on page 1933, sitting on the line between Tierra Amarilla and Tijeras, a proper town with a post office and its own five-digit number. That didn't make the letter genuine, of course, but at least it gave it an air of credibility, and by the time I returned home, I knew that I would have to answer it. A letter like that can't be ignored. Once you've read it, you know that if you don't take the trouble to sit down and write back, you'll go on thinking about it for the rest of your life.

I haven't kept a copy of my answer, but I remember that I wrote it by hand and tried to make it as short as possible, limiting what I said to just a few sentences. Without giving it much thought, I found myself adopting the flat, cryptic style of the letter I had received.  I felt less exposed that way, less likely to be taken as a fool by the person who had masterminded the prank -- if indeed it was a prank. Give or take a word or two, my response went something like this: Dear Frieda Spelling.  I would like to meet Hector Mann. But how can I be sure he's alive?  To the best of my  knowledge, he hasn't been seen in more than a half century.  Please provide details. Respectfully yours, David Zimmer.

We all want to believe in impossible things, I suppose, to persuade ourselves that miracles can happen.  Considering that I was the author of the only book ever written on Hector Mann, it probably made sense that someone would think I'd jump at the chance to believe he was still alive.  But I wasn't in the mood to jump.  Or at least I didn't think I was.  My book had been born out of a great sorrow, and now that that book was behind me, the sorrow was still there. Writing about comedy had been no more than a pretext, an odd form of  medicine that I had swallowed every day for over a year on the off chance that it would dull the pain inside me. To some  extent, it did.  But Frieda Spelling (or whoever was posing as Frieda Spelling) couldn't have known that. She couldn't have known that on June 7, 1985, just one week short of my tenth wedding anniversary, my wife and two sons had been killed in a plane crash. She might have seen that the book was dedicated to them (For Helen, Todd, and Marco -- In Memory), but those names couldn't have meant anything to her, and even if she had guessed their importance to the author, she couldn't have known that for him those names stood for everything that had any meaning in life -- and that when the thirty-six-year-old Helen and the seven-year-old Todd and the four-year-old Marco had died, most of him had died along with them.

Copyright © 2002 Paul Auster

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Average Rating 4.5
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Sort by: Showing all of 15 Customer Reviews
  • Posted October 27, 2008

    more from this reviewer

    The Book of Illusions

    A bit of an old school read here, and by old school I mean, more mid 20th Century, not freaking Shakespeare, but you can definitely tell in the way tell in the way this book unfolds. That is not necessarily a bad thing, but it does have a bit of the slower pace that the older folks may feel more comfortable with and that the younger folks might get frustrated at. That is not a bad thing, you just need to learn to hone your patience and focus¿grasshoppah!<BR/><BR/>The story here is about a dude that is pretty much in the dumps. His wife and kids are dead, literally all of them left his life in the same tragic accident and he has figured that alcohol poisoning over the months will be the solution to his problems. That is until he decides to throw himself head first into a research assignment regarding an actor/director of the silent era, who is pretty much unknown. Working on it not because he is interested, but because he is postponing putting the bullet to his head by doing this, the dude pretty much puts together the kick-ass-most book regarding the subject. And wouldn¿t you know it, this man, whom they all thought was dead, given his mysterious disappearance, happens to be alive¿except¿well, now he is really dying. And then things really get good!<BR/><BR/>A very fun read, this one, but as I said, a bit old school in feel, sort of like reading Camus. Not that they have anything in common (or maybe they do and my ignoramus self does not realize it), but that is how it sort of felt, like reading The Plague all over again. The story unfolds sort of in two, the story of the dude writing the book and dealing with¿dammit I should just use their actual names. The dude is henceforth known as David and he is writing a book about Hector Mann, who was believed dead. And so you are getting two stories here for the price of one, the one in the present dealing with David and old Hector and the one in the past that examines the enigma that is young Hector and the interesting and unique life he has led. All in all a very worthwhile read, which may not have all the thrills you may want from a book, but gives an interesting insight on us humans and grief¿my only complaint, was the predictability on the love thing that happens between David and what¿sherface¿I saw it coming a mile away.

    1 out of 1 people found this review helpful.

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  • Anonymous

    Posted December 19, 2005

    I would learn English just to read Paul Auster's books.

    Dear reader, I love Paul Auster. I just finished reading all off his novels. I wish I could meet him once and ask him questions. If something I am happy for that I speak English (my English is not to great. From my six years living in New York) is so I can read Paul Auster in the original version of the books words exactly as he wrote them. It was the best I ever got from my English learning experience. I can¿t say which novel I liked the most because every time I started a new one I found better than the last one. Maybe if I decide to read them again I¿ll do it in chronological order and see what happens. I can¿t wait for Brooklyn Foleys to came out. Here Paul, you have got one more typical fan of yours. Forever. Alejandro.

    1 out of 1 people found this review helpful.

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  • Anonymous

    Posted February 21, 2008

    Unbelievable Read!

    I wanted this book to go on forever. The descriptions of the movies and their maker were so real, as if you could go find them and see them. This book was a true work of art. BRAVO!!!

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  • Anonymous

    Posted January 21, 2007

    Something of a Wonder

    I had pneumonia late last year, and, during those moments of extreme chill and fever, I picked this one up and managed to work my way through it in, oh, about a day or so. The story appealled to me as a fan of silent comedians, particularly Buster Keaton, and I had expected to find some parallel of that within this book. That is, the triumphs and treacheries that seep into a star's life between one film and another. And in a way, I guess I got what I expected, but there was so much more. In his book, Auster unwinds an odyssey within an odyssey Zimmer's story, and that of Hector Mann. Sad and surreal, this is definitely one worth picking up.

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  • Anonymous

    Posted December 25, 2006

    Exceedingly Dark

    This is the first book by Paul Auster that I have read. The title grabbed my attention, and when I found out that a lot of the action centered around a silent film comedian--I'm a huge Buster Keaton fan--I had to pick it up. I had a fever when I read it, so I can't really account for my emotional attachment. It was dark, and yet I couldn't put it down. It jibed with some of my personal philosophies, and yet it resonated with them in other places. Well thought out, and surprisingly epic for something so short. I reccomend this book, and that it's readers never contract pneumonia.

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  • Anonymous

    Posted February 6, 2006

    Great read!

    This is a perplexing book and completely different from the author's recent 'The Brooklyn Follies' (which is what prompted me to pick up more of his books). While I feel that some of the pages seem redundant and unnecessary, the story is really engrossing and I found myself unable to put it down. The story is written in such a way that the reader will find him/herself on a dramatic rollercoaster ride inside the head of the main character, Dr. David Zimmer. A really great read.

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  • Anonymous

    Posted January 16, 2003

    well written,suspenceful and mysterious

    Paul Auster writes a masterful tale about a silent film star who dissappears from the scene following a bizarre turn of events, and the writer, a mournful college professor whose curiosity in this dissappearence allows him to learn to live life again. Anyone who likes good, intelligent writing will enjoy this suspenceful and heartening tale. The characters are fascinating and the take on how an artist views his own work within a context of overwhelming guilt is both tragic and powerfully real. By the end of the book one wishes the characters in this work of fiction were real and could be more fully experienced. BRAVO!

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  • Anonymous

    Posted September 9, 2002

    If you think you could write, read this book first

    Most avid readers, I think, secretly harbor the idea that they could write a successful novel. After reading this book, I am not so sure. The plot development, the flashback references, the circular twists all show the talent of the author. It is hard to believe that the films that are a central part of the story are not real. I am no film buff, but this is a must read for anyone who appreciates an author who did his homework.

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  • Anonymous

    Posted September 5, 2002

    Read "The Land of Laughs" instead

    Auster ought to be ashamed of himself. This book is such an obvious steal from Jonathan Carroll's wonderful novel THE LAND OF LAUGHS that it is embarrassing. Structurally, plot, characters... it is astonishing that Auster would have the chutzpah to do something this brazen at this point in his career. Not to mention his book is nowhere near as compelling and thought provoking as Carroll's earlier marvel. Raed this and then THE LAND OF LAUGHS and you'll see for yourself. Auster and Carroll have often been compared throughout their interesting careers and when you read these two books you'll see why. For my money, Carroll has always come out the clear victor.

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    Posted December 15, 2008

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    Posted December 11, 2013

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    Posted August 22, 2010

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    Posted April 27, 2009

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    Posted January 21, 2010

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    Posted April 27, 2009

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