Finished - New York Trilogy, Paul Auster.
Sheesh, what a mind fuck.
I struggled for years with the idea of reading at more than a superficial level, more than the plot itself. I’m getting better at that now, I think mostly because I realise, with the help of my brother’s advice, that interpretation is up to the reader. This is true for any art.
It is impossible to read New York Trilogy at its most superficial level, the reader is forced into trying to understand what’s going on, and then into interpretations when that fails. You take away from it what you bring to it.
A superb work, it will stay with me for a long time. I am at the same time tempted to read more of his work and also reluctant to break any spell of his brilliance.
And what twists, jeeze. Bang. Bang.