“That was my crime. Take it for what it was, but don’t let it interfere with the reading of this report. Trouble comes to all men, and each man makes his peace with the world in his own way.”
"Travels in the Scriptorium" –Paul Auster, p. 52.
This epithet is misleading. It is also a perfect example of why I am so critical of contemporary literature. Nothing in Paul Auster’s latest work gives any sense of conclusion. The crime is never explained. The protagonist, Mr. Blank, is exactly that, blank and boring. If you like reading literature that is about as interesting as a blank white wall than you will appreciate Auster’s austere piece. No questions are answered, only raised. Mr. Blank has no epiphany because his memory is gone. The reader is left in a whirlwind of confusion that is supposed to be mysterious and modern. Yet, the writing is too cold and automated to find interest in.
Other critics praise Auster for his storytelling abilities. Granted there are a few brief parts where Mr. Blank adlibs the end of an obscure manuscript, but this lasts a few paragraphs. What does this say about character development and leaving a lasting impression on the reader’s mind? Nothing. Nothing at all. There is no lasting impression. No profound conclusion that stays with the reader and passes on from generation to generation. When you can’t respect the main character despite his flaws then what is really the point of the novel? Instead of reveling in his economically written 140 pages, Auster should spend a little more time developing a storyline that intrigues. Saying this story is not so unlike the US today is insulting and unjustified given the few random similarities that were thrown in for good measure. Instead of trying to write to win like other contemporaries such Amis and McEwan, write something worth remembering, something readers won’t feel is a complete waste of time.
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