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Moon Palace
Marco Stanley Fogg is an orphan, a child of the sixties, a quester tirelessly seeking the key to his past, the answers to the ultimate riddle of his fate. As Marco sets out on a journey from the canyons of Manhattan to the deserts of Utah, he encounters a gallery of characters and a series of events as rich and surprising as any in modern fiction.
Beginning during the summer that men first walked on the moon, and moving backward and forward in time to span three generations, Moon Palace is propelled by coincidence and memory, and illuminated by marvelous flights of lyricism and wit. Here is the most entertaining and moving novel yet from an author well known for his breathtaking imagination.
Beginning during the summer that men first walked on the moon, and moving backward and forward in time to span three generations, Moon Palace is propelled by coincidence and memory, and illuminated by marvelous flights of lyricism and wit. Here is the most entertaining and moving novel yet from an author well known for his breathtaking imagination.
320 pages, Paperback
First published February 1, 1989
995 people are currently reading
19604 people want to read
About the author
Paul Auster
228 books12.1k followersPaul Auster was the bestselling author of 4 3 2 1, Bloodbath Nation, Baumgartner, The Book of Illusions, and The New York Trilogy, among many other works. In 2006 he was awarded the Prince of Asturias Prize for Literature. Among his other honors are the Prix Médicis Étranger for Leviathan, the Independent Spirit Award for the screenplay of Smoke, and the Premio Napoli for Sunset Park. In 2012, he was the first recipient of the NYC Literary Honors in the category of fiction. He was also a finalist for the International IMPAC Dublin Literary Award (The Book of Illusions), the PEN/Faulkner Award (The Music of Chance), the Edgar Award (City of Glass), and the Man Booker Prize (4 3 2 1). Auster was a member of the American Academy of Arts and Letters and a Commandeur de l’Ordre des Arts et des Lettres. His work has been translated into more than forty languages. He died at age seventy-seven in 2024.
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September 6, 2021
MOON PALACE
Non il miglior Auster che ho letto: questo Moon Palace, come poi è stato intitolato anche in italiano a partire dall’edizione Einaudi, mi ha lasciato un po’ d’amaro in bocca.
Troppo arzigogolato, trama forzata e troppo elaborata al limite dell’inverosimile.
Il che è tutto dire riferendosi a uno come Auster che delle trame che giocano tra casualità e assurdo ha fatto la sua filosofia ed estetica narrativa.
Con una madre che muore sotto le ruote di un autobus quando lui ha undici anni, un padre mai conosciuto – gli è stato detto che è morto prima della sua nascita, ma sarà poi vero – cresciuto dallo zio Victor, fratello della rimpianta madre defunta, zio musicista girovago sempre in viaggio per concerti e serate, locali e piccoli palcoscenici, ma anche angoli di strada, che ovviamente muore prima che il protagonista, M.S.Fogg, che sta per Marcus Stanley Fogg, prima che lui possa sentirsi affrancato e indipendente.
Come eredità zio Victor gli lascia 1492 libri – che sembrano tanti, ma tanti non sono – 1492 come l’anno in cui Cristoforo Colombo approdò in America e che da allora si chiama ‘scoperta dell’America’, e si festeggia ogni 12 ottobre alias Columbus Day – e insieme ai libri, zio Victor lascia al nipote il suo clarino.
Ma M.S. avrebbe bisogno di soldi per proseguire gli studi. Per non finire clochard a Central Park, come invece succede.
Nonostante abbia venduto i 1492 libri, per i quali, presumo sia riuscito al massimo, ma proprio con generosità, a incassare qualche centinaio di dollari.
Arriva l’amico a salvarlo dalla strada (dal parco, che comunque è altrettanto freddo e ostico), e una ragazza sino-americana, che ovviamente si chiama Kitti Wu, e con la quale ovviamente scatta storia di sensi e sentimento.
A questo punto M.S. può iniziare a risorgere, come piace tanto agli americani convincerci che a casa loro succeda un giorno sì e l’altro pure: incontra un ottantenne su sedia a rotelle che gli offre lavoro, e che a me evoca tanto Mr Arkadin di Orson Welles: questo vecchiarello, tale Mr Effing, è fissato e afflitto dai ricordi. Così incarica M.S.Fogg di seguirli e inseguirli, ricostruirli e verificarli, chiarirglieli.
Al che M.S. avrà modo di scoprire verità insospettate sul suo passato e le sue origini.
Ho letto che alcuni personaggi di questo romanzo ritornano in opere successive di Auster: David Zimmer, amico di M.S., diventa il protagonista di Il libro delle illusioni, e la donna di cui è innamorato, a causa della quale ogni giorno apre la cassetta delle lettere in attesa di una sua lettera, Anne Blume, sarà la narratrice di Nel paese delle ultime cose. Rimandi e richiami, giochini letterari, che sicuramente appassionano i suoi fan: io invece, mhhh…
Trovo che ci sia più che sufficiente mondo à la Auster nel concatenarsi di storie diverse, autonome e separate come connesse e intrecciate – nel ruolo del caso - nella solitudine del protagonista - nella sua ricerca d’identità (qui, e altrove, non solo sua, non appannaggio unicamente del protagonista). Come dicevo, non è il miglior Auster che ho letto. E credo sia tra quelli che mi hanno spinto ad abbandonarlo dopo averlo frequentato piuttosto intensamente (sette libri letti nell’arco di cinque anni. Poi più niente.)
Non il miglior Auster che ho letto: questo Moon Palace, come poi è stato intitolato anche in italiano a partire dall’edizione Einaudi, mi ha lasciato un po’ d’amaro in bocca.
Troppo arzigogolato, trama forzata e troppo elaborata al limite dell’inverosimile.
Il che è tutto dire riferendosi a uno come Auster che delle trame che giocano tra casualità e assurdo ha fatto la sua filosofia ed estetica narrativa.
Con una madre che muore sotto le ruote di un autobus quando lui ha undici anni, un padre mai conosciuto – gli è stato detto che è morto prima della sua nascita, ma sarà poi vero – cresciuto dallo zio Victor, fratello della rimpianta madre defunta, zio musicista girovago sempre in viaggio per concerti e serate, locali e piccoli palcoscenici, ma anche angoli di strada, che ovviamente muore prima che il protagonista, M.S.Fogg, che sta per Marcus Stanley Fogg, prima che lui possa sentirsi affrancato e indipendente.
Come eredità zio Victor gli lascia 1492 libri – che sembrano tanti, ma tanti non sono – 1492 come l’anno in cui Cristoforo Colombo approdò in America e che da allora si chiama ‘scoperta dell’America’, e si festeggia ogni 12 ottobre alias Columbus Day – e insieme ai libri, zio Victor lascia al nipote il suo clarino.
Ma M.S. avrebbe bisogno di soldi per proseguire gli studi. Per non finire clochard a Central Park, come invece succede.
Nonostante abbia venduto i 1492 libri, per i quali, presumo sia riuscito al massimo, ma proprio con generosità, a incassare qualche centinaio di dollari.
Arriva l’amico a salvarlo dalla strada (dal parco, che comunque è altrettanto freddo e ostico), e una ragazza sino-americana, che ovviamente si chiama Kitti Wu, e con la quale ovviamente scatta storia di sensi e sentimento.
A questo punto M.S. può iniziare a risorgere, come piace tanto agli americani convincerci che a casa loro succeda un giorno sì e l’altro pure: incontra un ottantenne su sedia a rotelle che gli offre lavoro, e che a me evoca tanto Mr Arkadin di Orson Welles: questo vecchiarello, tale Mr Effing, è fissato e afflitto dai ricordi. Così incarica M.S.Fogg di seguirli e inseguirli, ricostruirli e verificarli, chiarirglieli.
Al che M.S. avrà modo di scoprire verità insospettate sul suo passato e le sue origini.
Ho letto che alcuni personaggi di questo romanzo ritornano in opere successive di Auster: David Zimmer, amico di M.S., diventa il protagonista di Il libro delle illusioni, e la donna di cui è innamorato, a causa della quale ogni giorno apre la cassetta delle lettere in attesa di una sua lettera, Anne Blume, sarà la narratrice di Nel paese delle ultime cose. Rimandi e richiami, giochini letterari, che sicuramente appassionano i suoi fan: io invece, mhhh…
Trovo che ci sia più che sufficiente mondo à la Auster nel concatenarsi di storie diverse, autonome e separate come connesse e intrecciate – nel ruolo del caso - nella solitudine del protagonista - nella sua ricerca d’identità (qui, e altrove, non solo sua, non appannaggio unicamente del protagonista). Come dicevo, non è il miglior Auster che ho letto. E credo sia tra quelli che mi hanno spinto ad abbandonarlo dopo averlo frequentato piuttosto intensamente (sette libri letti nell’arco di cinque anni. Poi più niente.)
July 11, 2012
This is a book about gettin' nekkid.
I discovered Paul Auster through the 1001 books list and then went on a big PA binge. I suppose I should have been more restrained because very soon all the PA plots and machinations and convoluted po-mo madness was churning in my brain. I'd given myself PAP. Yes, that well know literary syndrome, Paul Auster Poisoning.
This was my third consecutive read and I believe it can be directly attributed to the onset of a severe case of PAP. But I did enjoy this book (therefore equating PAP to eating too much cotton candy but still feeling compelled to go on eating more despite what various parts of your body are telling you). Moon Palace is weighty with symbolism and duality and as usual there is a synchronisty between a lot of his stories. But so are many of his books. Hence the PAP.
Protagonists Fogg , Effing and Barber all try at some point to reduce their lives to the most distilled essence possible. A bit like putting yourself through a life juicer in order to be left with only the purest extract. Fogg does this by relinquishing all of his possessions and becoming homeless, Effing by renouncing his past and creating a new one for himself and then later by distributing his wealth and Barber does a similar thing by relinquishing his home. Maybe its a form of unburdening as well as reduction.
All of the people in this book were seeking something and in each of their stories they seem to believe that by peeling off all the outer trappings of possession and wealth will they expose the core of themselves to world. They will be naked. See, I told you this was a book about being nekkid. Apologies if you were expecting a more titilating variety of nekkidity.
Ultimately making themselves as vulnerable as possible leads to their undoing either physically or emotionally. All in all a very satisfying novel, but let this be a warning to you all. Paul Auster should only be taken in small doses and be sure to let one plot settle before you gorge yourself on another.
I discovered Paul Auster through the 1001 books list and then went on a big PA binge. I suppose I should have been more restrained because very soon all the PA plots and machinations and convoluted po-mo madness was churning in my brain. I'd given myself PAP. Yes, that well know literary syndrome, Paul Auster Poisoning.
This was my third consecutive read and I believe it can be directly attributed to the onset of a severe case of PAP. But I did enjoy this book (therefore equating PAP to eating too much cotton candy but still feeling compelled to go on eating more despite what various parts of your body are telling you). Moon Palace is weighty with symbolism and duality and as usual there is a synchronisty between a lot of his stories. But so are many of his books. Hence the PAP.
Protagonists Fogg , Effing and Barber all try at some point to reduce their lives to the most distilled essence possible. A bit like putting yourself through a life juicer in order to be left with only the purest extract. Fogg does this by relinquishing all of his possessions and becoming homeless, Effing by renouncing his past and creating a new one for himself and then later by distributing his wealth and Barber does a similar thing by relinquishing his home. Maybe its a form of unburdening as well as reduction.
All of the people in this book were seeking something and in each of their stories they seem to believe that by peeling off all the outer trappings of possession and wealth will they expose the core of themselves to world. They will be naked. See, I told you this was a book about being nekkid. Apologies if you were expecting a more titilating variety of nekkidity.
Ultimately making themselves as vulnerable as possible leads to their undoing either physically or emotionally. All in all a very satisfying novel, but let this be a warning to you all. Paul Auster should only be taken in small doses and be sure to let one plot settle before you gorge yourself on another.
June 20, 2024
The narrator, M.S. Fogg, was not spared his life. He lost his mother in a traffic accident when he was still a child. Having no idea of his father's identity (is he still alive?), He leaves to live with his uncle. While entering the university, his musician uncle sets out again on the roads with his group. A trip from which he will not return. M.S. Fogg then found himself alone in the world. His savings are melting faster than expected, and he is on the streets.
Nevertheless, thanks to a friend from college, Zimmer and a young woman met by chance, Kitty Wu, who will manage to get out of this mess; he starts looking for a job and finds a place with an old disabled man looking for someone to write his memoirs. Julian Barber is a harsh and sometimes tyrannical older man. His life's story and imposture are about an older man who wishes to leave an inheritance to his son, who believed him dead for many years. M.S. Fogg lets himself embark on the life of this older man and respects his last wishes by coming into contact with his son, Solomon. A meeting should allow the latter to learn the truth about his father, ultimately enabling M.S. Fogg to discover his identity.
It is a book in which personal stories mix and where the pasts of some join that of others—a novel about the search for identity and the initiatory journey.
It is a delightful novel to discover. However, I found the story's coincidences a bit big, preventing me from buying into it.
Nevertheless, thanks to a friend from college, Zimmer and a young woman met by chance, Kitty Wu, who will manage to get out of this mess; he starts looking for a job and finds a place with an old disabled man looking for someone to write his memoirs. Julian Barber is a harsh and sometimes tyrannical older man. His life's story and imposture are about an older man who wishes to leave an inheritance to his son, who believed him dead for many years. M.S. Fogg lets himself embark on the life of this older man and respects his last wishes by coming into contact with his son, Solomon. A meeting should allow the latter to learn the truth about his father, ultimately enabling M.S. Fogg to discover his identity.
It is a book in which personal stories mix and where the pasts of some join that of others—a novel about the search for identity and the initiatory journey.
It is a delightful novel to discover. However, I found the story's coincidences a bit big, preventing me from buying into it.
August 14, 2020
أكتر من 300 صفحة من الحكي الممتع
بول أوستر أسلوبه جميل في السرد وقادرعلى جذب القارئ من البداية إلى النهاية
يحكي ماركو راوي الرواية عن حياته بكل تفاصيلها وتساؤلاتها وشخصياتها المتشابكة
سلسلة غريبة من الأحداث والصدف والاختيارات, وعرض لحالات ومشاعر انسانية مختلفة من اليأس والوحدة والعبث والسعادة والحب والصداقة
جولات في عالم الكتب, ورحلات لولايات كثيرة في أمريكا وملامح من الحياة والأحداث العامة في النصف الأول من القرن العشرين وحتى بداية السبعينيات.
السرد الممتع هو أجمل ما في الرواية, الأحداث متدفقة, تفاصيل الشخصيات مكتوبة بمهارة وخاصةً التحولات في شخصية الراوي وتقلبات عقله وأفكاره
والترجمة سلسة جدا للشاعر عبد المقصود عبد الكريم
بول أوستر أسلوبه جميل في السرد وقادرعلى جذب القارئ من البداية إلى النهاية
يحكي ماركو راوي الرواية عن حياته بكل تفاصيلها وتساؤلاتها وشخصياتها المتشابكة
سلسلة غريبة من الأحداث والصدف والاختيارات, وعرض لحالات ومشاعر انسانية مختلفة من اليأس والوحدة والعبث والسعادة والحب والصداقة
جولات في عالم الكتب, ورحلات لولايات كثيرة في أمريكا وملامح من الحياة والأحداث العامة في النصف الأول من القرن العشرين وحتى بداية السبعينيات.
السرد الممتع هو أجمل ما في الرواية, الأحداث متدفقة, تفاصيل الشخصيات مكتوبة بمهارة وخاصةً التحولات في شخصية الراوي وتقلبات عقله وأفكاره
والترجمة سلسة جدا للشاعر عبد المقصود عبد الكريم
January 30, 2008
What on earth?
This book was recommended to me by a person whose taste in literature I hold in high regard. That's why I was surprised to discover, halfway through the book, that it's a really terrible piece of pretentious writing. I felt no empathy with the main character -- a really spoiled, pretentiously "eccentric" kid with an Asian fetish trying to revel in the black aethetic of his free-fall into poverty. He's saved by Kitty Wu, the sexually precocious daughter of Chinese royalty or some such nonsense. She falls for the narrator for no other reason than the author apparently wanting her to do so. She seduces him with the line "Here comes the dragon lady" or thereabouts, which made me bristle to say the least. Then he dumps her and meets an old dude, and the old dude tells him some stories about the past. Then the book ends.
This story felt like three stories sloppily sewn together into some terrible Frankenstein's monster. Kitty Wu is the most Orientalist character I've encountered in a book post-WW2. I came to think of the narrator as more and more of an asshole as the story went on.
People go nuts over this guy, Paul Auster. I just don't get it. Maybe this wasn't the right book, but I have a feeling the problem lies deeper, with the author. I certainly won't be picking up another of his books anytime soon.
This book was recommended to me by a person whose taste in literature I hold in high regard. That's why I was surprised to discover, halfway through the book, that it's a really terrible piece of pretentious writing. I felt no empathy with the main character -- a really spoiled, pretentiously "eccentric" kid with an Asian fetish trying to revel in the black aethetic of his free-fall into poverty. He's saved by Kitty Wu, the sexually precocious daughter of Chinese royalty or some such nonsense. She falls for the narrator for no other reason than the author apparently wanting her to do so. She seduces him with the line "Here comes the dragon lady" or thereabouts, which made me bristle to say the least. Then he dumps her and meets an old dude, and the old dude tells him some stories about the past. Then the book ends.
This story felt like three stories sloppily sewn together into some terrible Frankenstein's monster. Kitty Wu is the most Orientalist character I've encountered in a book post-WW2. I came to think of the narrator as more and more of an asshole as the story went on.
People go nuts over this guy, Paul Auster. I just don't get it. Maybe this wasn't the right book, but I have a feeling the problem lies deeper, with the author. I certainly won't be picking up another of his books anytime soon.
January 22, 2020
تستحق رواية قصر القمر الكثير من التقدير فى نسختها العربية بترجمتها الرائعة والسلسة.
وعن الرواية نفسها حدث ولا حرج: فالكاتب يتنقل بحرفية شديدة بين الاحداث بدون إزعاج أو ضوضاء إنتقال سلس ومرن بين صيغة المتكلم والمتكلم عنه/الراوى والمروى عنه فى ثلاث حكايات مختلفة ومترابطة الابن والجد والأب والأم فى جو مُلهم وجذاب يجعلك لا تنقل عينك عن الرواية لحين الانتهاء منها.
من أمتع الروايات التى قرأتها ومن أثقلها فلسفةً وعمقاً تغوص فى أعماق النفس البشرية وتقلباتها وإهتماماتها ونوازعها يُلقى الكاتب نظرة على تاريخ أمريكا منذ البدء بحروب الإبادة للسكان الأصليين وصراعات التقدم الحضارى كما فى صراع إديسون وتيسلا وحروب العصابات الباحثة عن المال والثراء فى القارة الناشئة.
نهاية الرواية عبقرية لماذا؟: كل هذه الصراعات التى لخص الكاتب نهايتها وزوالها وعدم وجود أى أثار لها بنهاية الرواية العبقرية بغرق الكهف تحت بحيرة كبيرة لتعلن نهاية عصر الصراعات وبداية عهد جديد من رأسمالية الرفاهة ومحو جزء كبير من تاريخ الولايات المتحدة لم يعد يتكلم عنه أحد..
شخصيات الرواية: سأتكلم فقط عن شخصيتين
1- الابن ماركو ستانلى فج هو شخصية الرواية المحورية وأهم أبطالها عرف منذ الصغر الفقد وعايشه (فقد الاب والام والخال والجد وأخيراً الحبيبة والطفل) فأصبح بالنسبة له بلا معنى. عاش الاستغناء ولم يبذل جهداً ليتغير بل ظل كما هو مستغنى عن المال الا ما يكفى الحاجة.
أضحت حبيبته جزء من حياته اعتاد على وجوده وكذلك خاله حتى أنه لم يحتفظ بما تبقى له من ذكرى خاله (مكتبة خاله والتى تجاوزت الالف كتاب) باعها ليطعم نفسه, إختصاراً لم يفعل فج شيئاً ليفيد نفسه لم يعمل لأجل العمل واستمرار الحياة بل كادت تكون حياته ثمناً للا مبالته وعدم اكتراثه.
2- الجد: يحتل الجد جزء مهم وكبير فى الرواية قدر ما لماضى الولايات المتحدة من أهمية وانعكاس فى حاضرنا فهو الماضى (ماضى الإبادة وصراعات التقدم المادى الحضارى وحروب العصابات (عصابات قُطاع الطرق و عصابات الاستحواذ على رؤس الأموال) ) الذى لا مفر منه الماضى الذى يشكل عقلية الحاضر وخطط المستقبل.
وعن الرواية نفسها حدث ولا حرج: فالكاتب يتنقل بحرفية شديدة بين الاحداث بدون إزعاج أو ضوضاء إنتقال سلس ومرن بين صيغة المتكلم والمتكلم عنه/الراوى والمروى عنه فى ثلاث حكايات مختلفة ومترابطة الابن والجد والأب والأم فى جو مُلهم وجذاب يجعلك لا تنقل عينك عن الرواية لحين الانتهاء منها.
من أمتع الروايات التى قرأتها ومن أثقلها فلسفةً وعمقاً تغوص فى أعماق النفس البشرية وتقلباتها وإهتماماتها ونوازعها يُلقى الكاتب نظرة على تاريخ أمريكا منذ البدء بحروب الإبادة للسكان الأصليين وصراعات التقدم الحضارى كما فى صراع إديسون وتيسلا وحروب العصابات الباحثة عن المال والثراء فى القارة الناشئة.
نهاية الرواية عبقرية لماذا؟: كل هذه الصراعات التى لخص الكاتب نهايتها وزوالها وعدم وجود أى أثار لها بنهاية الرواية العبقرية بغرق الكهف تحت بحيرة كبيرة لتعلن نهاية عصر الصراعات وبداية عهد جديد من رأسمالية الرفاهة ومحو جزء كبير من تاريخ الولايات المتحدة لم يعد يتكلم عنه أحد..
شخصيات الرواية: سأتكلم فقط عن شخصيتين
1- الابن ماركو ستانلى فج هو شخصية الرواية المحورية وأهم أبطالها عرف منذ الصغر الفقد وعايشه (فقد الاب والام والخال والجد وأخيراً الحبيبة والطفل) فأصبح بالنسبة له بلا معنى. عاش الاستغناء ولم يبذل جهداً ليتغير بل ظل كما هو مستغنى عن المال الا ما يكفى الحاجة.
أضحت حبيبته جزء من حياته اعتاد على وجوده وكذلك خاله حتى أنه لم يحتفظ بما تبقى له من ذكرى خاله (مكتبة خاله والتى تجاوزت الالف كتاب) باعها ليطعم نفسه, إختصاراً لم يفعل فج شيئاً ليفيد نفسه لم يعمل لأجل العمل واستمرار الحياة بل كادت تكون حياته ثمناً للا مبالته وعدم اكتراثه.
2- الجد: يحتل الجد جزء مهم وكبير فى الرواية قدر ما لماضى الولايات المتحدة من أهمية وانعكاس فى حاضرنا فهو الماضى (ماضى الإبادة وصراعات التقدم المادى الحضارى وحروب العصابات (عصابات قُطاع الطرق و عصابات الاستحواذ على رؤس الأموال) ) الذى لا مفر منه الماضى الذى يشكل عقلية الحاضر وخطط المستقبل.
August 21, 2025
لولا الحظر، ما كنت استمتعت بقراءة تلك العمل. فهى نوع من الروي القصصي الغير المعتاد بالنسبة لي، والذي لم أكن لأصبر على قراءته في نظام حياتي المتعجل في الأيام العادية.
قرأته مرتان..وبجانب استمتاعي الشديد به، رأيت بعض "الثغرات" في الحبكة التي أجاد أوستر تغطيتها ببراعة. فالحكاية قائمة على سلسلة من المصادفات البحتة التي لم تكن لتصدقها إذا سمعت عنها في الواقع. ولكن هنا كان واقعاً أشبه بالخيال. رُويت الحكاية وكأنها حلم. كل سطر من الرواية قد يكون واقعا وقد يكون خيالا.
النقطة التي أجهدت عقلي في محاولة فهمها، وللأسف لم أستطع. هى علاقة القمر بأحداث الرواية. هل كان الأبطال الثلاثة يمثلون "القمر-الأرض-الشمس"؟ أم هى علاقة "الماضي-الحاضر-المستقبل" كما تم وصفها في إحدى جمل الرواية؟ لم أفهم هذه النقطة للأسف.
لفت أحد القراء الأفاضل هنا في مراجعته انتباهي الى نقطة لم انتبه لها في شخصية "ماركو فج" وهى شخصيته الأنانية، أو اللامبالاية بأي خسارة. وأيضا لفت انتباهي إلى علاقة ذلك بخسارته الأولى لأمه ثم خاله، والتي جعلته يعلم نفسه عدم التعلق بأي شىء تجنبا لألم الفقد.
اعتقد من بين الثلاث شخصيات-الجد والأب والحفيد-تعاطفت تماما مع الأب "سولمن بربر". فلم تكن الحياة عادلة معه بأي حال من الأحوال. ذكرني كثيرا بشخصية "عزرا تل" في روايتي المفضلة "عشاء في مطعم المشتاقين للأهل". الإنسان الذي استسلم تماما لرياح اقداره الظالمة بدون أي محاولة جدية منه للتدخل في تغييرها.
قصة حب كيتي وو وستانلي فج من أصدق وأجمل قصص الحب التي قرأتها. وإن كانت نهايتها كسرت قلبي.
قرأته مرتان..وبجانب استمتاعي الشديد به، رأيت بعض "الثغرات" في الحبكة التي أجاد أوستر تغطيتها ببراعة. فالحكاية قائمة على سلسلة من المصادفات البحتة التي لم تكن لتصدقها إذا سمعت عنها في الواقع. ولكن هنا كان واقعاً أشبه بالخيال. رُويت الحكاية وكأنها حلم. كل سطر من الرواية قد يكون واقعا وقد يكون خيالا.
النقطة التي أجهدت عقلي في محاولة فهمها، وللأسف لم أستطع. هى علاقة القمر بأحداث الرواية. هل كان الأبطال الثلاثة يمثلون "القمر-الأرض-الشمس"؟ أم هى علاقة "الماضي-الحاضر-المستقبل" كما تم وصفها في إحدى جمل الرواية؟ لم أفهم هذه النقطة للأسف.
لفت أحد القراء الأفاضل هنا في مراجعته انتباهي الى نقطة لم انتبه لها في شخصية "ماركو فج" وهى شخصيته الأنانية، أو اللامبالاية بأي خسارة. وأيضا لفت انتباهي إلى علاقة ذلك بخسارته الأولى لأمه ثم خاله، والتي جعلته يعلم نفسه عدم التعلق بأي شىء تجنبا لألم الفقد.
اعتقد من بين الثلاث شخصيات-الجد والأب والحفيد-تعاطفت تماما مع الأب "سولمن بربر". فلم تكن الحياة عادلة معه بأي حال من الأحوال. ذكرني كثيرا بشخصية "عزرا تل" في روايتي المفضلة "عشاء في مطعم المشتاقين للأهل". الإنسان الذي استسلم تماما لرياح اقداره الظالمة بدون أي محاولة جدية منه للتدخل في تغييرها.
قصة حب كيتي وو وستانلي فج من أصدق وأجمل قصص الحب التي قرأتها. وإن كانت نهايتها كسرت قلبي.
June 6, 2017
Moon Palace is unquestionably classic Auster, and a great starting point, his writing style might not be to everyone's liking but for me he is the most natural of storytellers.This centres on Marco Stanley Fogg (another great name!) and follows him on a journey from a crummy New York apartment to the vast landscapes of the American west and beyond, after becoming intrigued by a story told to him by his old eccentric employer who he cares for. There is rarely a dull moment to be had and as storytelling goes this is seriously good. Drawing you in right from the start, you never really know where his stories are going or where they are going to end up, that's a gift worth sharing. Far accessible than say The New York Trilogy, this is a great place to start for the Auster virgin.
Moving, oddly humorous and obscure. A totally absorbing novel.
Moving, oddly humorous and obscure. A totally absorbing novel.
February 9, 2017
_Moon Palace_
Reading this books was a pleasure <3
I tried reading this in the summer but i was going out all the time and i was working and i was having so much fun (SUMMER I NEED YOU, PLZ COME BACK) so reading was not in my plans at all. I picked it up about a week ago and i must admit that i kind of fell in love with Auster's writing and Auster's story.
The way he uses the first person narrative is so well done that i started thinking all over again about narration techniques. Authors who are genuinly talented and use the first person narrative are a bliss. I loved everything that he gave in this one.
Marco Stanley Fogg. This character split me in half. Or even more pieces. I liked him in the beggining, then disliked him, then liked him again, then disliked him again. In the end i would say that i feel sorry for him but also i don't. I know i am not making any sense but that's how i feel about him. All the characters had depth, all of them seemed real, both with their sins and their virtues. The story was interesting, the stories within the story were interesting, all of it was beautifully written and given to us. I won't say anyhting more. I loved this. I want to read more of his works.
Reading this books was a pleasure <3
I tried reading this in the summer but i was going out all the time and i was working and i was having so much fun (SUMMER I NEED YOU, PLZ COME BACK) so reading was not in my plans at all. I picked it up about a week ago and i must admit that i kind of fell in love with Auster's writing and Auster's story.
The way he uses the first person narrative is so well done that i started thinking all over again about narration techniques. Authors who are genuinly talented and use the first person narrative are a bliss. I loved everything that he gave in this one.
Marco Stanley Fogg. This character split me in half. Or even more pieces. I liked him in the beggining, then disliked him, then liked him again, then disliked him again. In the end i would say that i feel sorry for him but also i don't. I know i am not making any sense but that's how i feel about him. All the characters had depth, all of them seemed real, both with their sins and their virtues. The story was interesting, the stories within the story were interesting, all of it was beautifully written and given to us. I won't say anyhting more. I loved this. I want to read more of his works.
October 10, 2024
4,5
Постмодернистский текст Остера интертекстуален, интермедиален и фрагментарен, как и положено; он наполнен символизмом, и главным символом, исходя даже из названия является Луна. В книге три героя, казалось бы не связанные между собой, но только после смерти главный герой Марко Стэнли Фогг узнает, что Сол Барбер и Эффинг были его биологическими отцом и дедом соответственно. Мне совсем не понравилась та глубинная отчуждённость, которая не позволяет героям выбраться из своего кокона одиночества, и это не только "наследственная" черта представителей линии Эффинг-Барбер-Фогг, но и Китти, которая прерывает беременность "ради любви", но в действительности страшащаяся установить крепкую связь, нитью которой стал бы ребенок. И это, если вдуматься, ужасно, что целых три поколения брошенных отцами детей, жили, взрослели, и встретились буквально перед смертью, как совершенно чужие люди. И здесь, мне кажется, заключён символизм Луны. Луна - символ одиночества, это единственный спутник Земли, связанный с ней невидимыми гравитационными силами. Роман увлекателен, вставную часть об Эффинге даже можно смело отнести к приключенческой литературе.
И все же, по моему внутреннему ощущению, есть определенная ненатуральность, и возможно, виной тому Луна. Красивая ассоциация есть, и человеческая психология выстроена в согласии с этой ассоциацией. Но люди всё-таки не такие.
Вот, например, реакция Фогга на известие об обретении отца. "Наверное, не стоит и говорить, что приступ того бешеного гнева, которых охватил меня на кладбище, прошел без следа, но все же, хотя сомнений почти не осталось, я как-то не мог в глубине души поверить, что Барбер — мой отец. Да, было ясно, то в 1946 году он провел ночь с моей мамой; и было так же ясно, что в через девять месяцев родился я. Но где доказательства, что она спала только с Барбером? Скорее всего, было именно так. Но ведь мама одновременно могла встречаться и с двумя мужчинами. А если так, то, возможно, забеременела она от второго. Только это предположение кое-как позволяло мне не признавать Барбера отцом, но я вцепился в него изо всех сил. Пока оставалась хотя бы капля сомнения, я не мог заставить себя поверить в это. Такая реакция была странной, но сейчас, обдумывая ту ситуацию, я понимаю ее истоки. Двадцать четыре года вопрос оставался невыясненным и, главное, был принципиально невыясненным. Мое происхождение — тайна, и мне никогда не узнать своего рода. Это — главная черта моей неповторимости, мое отличие, и я сделал эту таинственность источником самоуважения, поверил в нее, как в неизбежность бытия. Как бы страстно ни мечтал я найти отца, такой возможности никогда не допускалось. Теперь же, когда я его нашел, внутреннее неприятие оказалось настолько сильным, что сначала я не мог не отрицать этого. Причиной отрицания был вовсе не сам Барбер, причиной являлась сама ситуация. Он стал моим самым лучшим другом, и я любил его как друга. Если бы мне предложили из всех людей на свете выбрать себе отца, я бы выбрал его. И все же принять его как отца не мог. Все мое существо противилось этому, и мне было очень тяжело." Разве так бывает, что тайна рождения, пусть она и была источником самоуважения, может затмить радость от обретения отца, тем более отца, с которым он стал другом? Такой эгоцентризм зашкаливает. Но надо отметить, что безотцовщина в нынешние времена стала повсеместной, и если классиков девятнадцатого века волновали проблемы отцов и детей, то сейчас волнуют проблемы отсутствия отцов у детей.
Мне понравились детали из биографии Никколо Теслы, Ральфа Блэйклока.
Постмодернистский текст Остера интертекстуален, интермедиален и фрагментарен, как и положено; он наполнен символизмом, и главным символом, исходя даже из названия является Луна. В книге три героя, казалось бы не связанные между собой, но только после смерти главный герой Марко Стэнли Фогг узнает, что Сол Барбер и Эффинг были его биологическими отцом и дедом соответственно. Мне совсем не понравилась та глубинная отчуждённость, которая не позволяет героям выбраться из своего кокона одиночества, и это не только "наследственная" черта представителей линии Эффинг-Барбер-Фогг, но и Китти, которая прерывает беременность "ради любви", но в действительности страшащаяся установить крепкую связь, нитью которой стал бы ребенок. И это, если вдуматься, ужасно, что целых три поколения брошенных отцами детей, жили, взрослели, и встретились буквально перед смертью, как совершенно чужие люди. И здесь, мне кажется, заключён символизм Луны. Луна - символ одиночества, это единственный спутник Земли, связанный с ней невидимыми гравитационными силами. Роман увлекателен, вставную часть об Эффинге даже можно смело отнести к приключенческой литературе.
И все же, по моему внутреннему ощущению, есть определенная ненатуральность, и возможно, виной тому Луна. Красивая ассоциация есть, и человеческая психология выстроена в согласии с этой ассоциацией. Но люди всё-таки не такие.
Вот, например, реакция Фогга на известие об обретении отца. "Наверное, не стоит и говорить, что приступ того бешеного гнева, которых охватил меня на кладбище, прошел без следа, но все же, хотя сомнений почти не осталось, я как-то не мог в глубине души поверить, что Барбер — мой отец. Да, было ясно, то в 1946 году он провел ночь с моей мамой; и было так же ясно, что в через девять месяцев родился я. Но где доказательства, что она спала только с Барбером? Скорее всего, было именно так. Но ведь мама одновременно могла встречаться и с двумя мужчинами. А если так, то, возможно, забеременела она от второго. Только это предположение кое-как позволяло мне не признавать Барбера отцом, но я вцепился в него изо всех сил. Пока оставалась хотя бы капля сомнения, я не мог заставить себя поверить в это. Такая реакция была странной, но сейчас, обдумывая ту ситуацию, я понимаю ее истоки. Двадцать четыре года вопрос оставался невыясненным и, главное, был принципиально невыясненным. Мое происхождение — тайна, и мне никогда не узнать своего рода. Это — главная черта моей неповторимости, мое отличие, и я сделал эту таинственность источником самоуважения, поверил в нее, как в неизбежность бытия. Как бы страстно ни мечтал я найти отца, такой возможности никогда не допускалось. Теперь же, когда я его нашел, внутреннее неприятие оказалось настолько сильным, что сначала я не мог не отрицать этого. Причиной отрицания был вовсе не сам Барбер, причиной являлась сама ситуация. Он стал моим самым лучшим другом, и я любил его как друга. Если бы мне предложили из всех людей на свете выбрать себе отца, я бы выбрал его. И все же принять его как отца не мог. Все мое существо противилось этому, и мне было очень тяжело." Разве так бывает, что тайна рождения, пусть она и была источником самоуважения, может затмить радость от обретения отца, тем более отца, с которым он стал другом? Такой эгоцентризм зашкаливает. Но надо отметить, что безотцовщина в нынешние времена стала повсеместной, и если классиков девятнадцатого века волновали проблемы отцов и детей, то сейчас волнуют проблемы отсутствия отцов у детей.
Мне понравились детали из биографии Никколо Теслы, Ральфа Блэйклока.
June 26, 2024
I think this might be my favorite Auster yet.... though it might be tied with The Music of Chance. Both are written so well and so invitingly and I loved every moment I spent in this book.
This was published in 1989 and made me realize there is one thing I liked about "the good ol' days" and that is: "the paid announcements that appeared in fine print at the bottom of the page".
These days you can hardly see internet pages with ads popping up all over the place. Why can't we go back to ads being discreet and non-invasive? How about it Google?
This was published in 1989 and made me realize there is one thing I liked about "the good ol' days" and that is: "the paid announcements that appeared in fine print at the bottom of the page".
These days you can hardly see internet pages with ads popping up all over the place. Why can't we go back to ads being discreet and non-invasive? How about it Google?
September 26, 2020
CRITIQUE:
A Novel Which is its Own Critique
You can normally rely on authors of metafiction to set out their agenda in the text itself. Here, Paul Auster has his protagonist (M.S. [Marco Stanley] Fogg) say:
"The moments unfurled one after the other, and at each moment the future stood before me as a blank, a white page of uncertainty. If life was a story...and each man was the author of his own story, then I was making it up as I went along..." (41)
A Series of Improbable Occurrences
Making it up doesn't mean it will seem logical in retrospect. Fogg engages probability, improbability and coincidence:
"If I had any thought at all, it was to let chance determine what happened, to follow the path of impulse and arbitrary events." (51)
"The point was to accept things as they were, to drift along with the flow of the universe." (80)
"Trusting in blind dumb luck would be sufficient..." (54)
It's no wonder that "an improbable occurrence took place..." (54)
Just Another Story
What then is a story?
"The story became just another story, a chronology of facts and events, a tale of time passing." (190)
The Imperceptible Momentum of a Dream
Early in the novel, I felt that the narrative progressed so subtly that a change of season might occur without a recognisable period of transition between the two seasons. One moment you would be in one season, the next you would have moved imperceptibly into another.
"Part Western and part science fiction, the story lurched from one improbability to the next, churning forward with the implacable momentum of a dream." (253)
Only there was more search than lurch.
Farfetched and Convincing Nonsense
Marco says of another character's story that "it was all so farfetched, and yet the very outrageousness of the story was probably its most convincing element." (183)
"It sounds to me as though you've created an elaborate hoax." (231)
"Nonsense of this sort could continue only if we all pretended to believe in it." (209)
You could probably say the same thing about Marco's own story, except that it is at heart a very human story, even sentimental. Marco is on a quest to discover his own father, who as chance would have it finally learns the identity of his own father (so we see three lost generations find themselves), while Marco also heads West in search of America and then ultimately China (like his namesake, Marco Polo).
In Your Head
As does Paul Auster, Marco enters "far-flung and abstract territory" (233).
Yet, ultimately, Marco's quest occurs inside the book that is his mind: "The only place you exist is in your head." (156)
The characters have a role in this creative space: together, they're "a phantom comedy team performing their little act for me in the projection room of my skull." (245)
"I was both perpetrator and witness, both actor and audience in a theatre of one." (24)
Shared Mental Space
Paradoxically, Marco's world and Auster's novel become the reader's world as well, through the process of reading.
As Marco says with respect to his Uncle Victor, "I was occupying the same mental space that Victor had once occupied – reading the same words, living in the same stories, perhaps thinking the same thoughts." (22)
JUST ANOTHER STORY (AS TOLD BY LILLY WU):
[Another Girl, Another Planet]
I had no idea when I went to the University of Hong Kong on an exchange program that I would encounter my father for the first time. As far as my mother and I were concerned, he was dead, and as far as he was concerned, I had never been born. He didn't even know he had a daughter.
It turned out my father hadn't died in an accident in Utah. He had survived and made his way from San Francisco to Hong Kong before I was born, and worked his way up the University hierarchy until eventually he became Pro Vice Chancellor (International), a position which made him responsible for the welfare of international students (mainly from the rest of Asia; I was the first American for more than a decade).
My father sought me out at an introductory cocktail party. He already knew from my file that I was born in New York in 1998, and my surname (Wu), though not uncommon, prompted him to say that he had once known a dancer in New York called Kitty Wu. Was I any relation?
When I responded that that was my mother's name and that she was now a dance teacher, his face went pale, and he went silent, although he seemed to be thinking deeply.
"What is your father's name?" He eventually asked me.
"I've never known. My mother always said that he died before I was born, and I adopted her surname."
"You look so much like your mother when I knew her." He said. "We were very much in love, until we had a disagreement and I left New York and came to Hong Kong, though I don't think Kitty knew I had left America. She mustn't if she thinks I’m dead."
"Not you. My father."
"Of course."
I phoned my mother that night after the party ended, and told her I had met Professor Fogg, who said he might have known her. She, too, was taken aback. She said that she had had a relationship with a Marco Fogg, but that he had left New York after they had a big argument.
I asked, "What was the argument about?"
"I was pregnant, and I wanted to have an abortion. He wanted to have the child, but I didn't."
"What did you do?"
"I went ahead with the abortion, but it was only partly successful."
"What do you mean. How could it only be partly successful?"
"You see, I was pregnant with twins, a boy and a girl. Only your brother was terminated, and you were born."
"So, Professor Fogg is my father?"
"Yes, I guess so, but he has never known until today that you existed. He would so much love to have known that you were born. He doesn't realise that he would have had what he always wanted, if only we'd stayed together. Which didn't happen, obviously."
"Did you love him?"
"More than anything else in the world...other than you."
"Do you still love him?"
"I have no reason not to."
"But he left you...on the basis of a misunderstanding?"
"Yes."
"So he lost the two things that would have mattered most to him?"
"I guess so...but things have changed, and we've all had to move on with our lives."
"Poor dad!" was all I could think to say.
SOUNDTRACK:
A Novel Which is its Own Critique
You can normally rely on authors of metafiction to set out their agenda in the text itself. Here, Paul Auster has his protagonist (M.S. [Marco Stanley] Fogg) say:
"The moments unfurled one after the other, and at each moment the future stood before me as a blank, a white page of uncertainty. If life was a story...and each man was the author of his own story, then I was making it up as I went along..." (41)
A Series of Improbable Occurrences
Making it up doesn't mean it will seem logical in retrospect. Fogg engages probability, improbability and coincidence:
"If I had any thought at all, it was to let chance determine what happened, to follow the path of impulse and arbitrary events." (51)
"The point was to accept things as they were, to drift along with the flow of the universe." (80)
"Trusting in blind dumb luck would be sufficient..." (54)
It's no wonder that "an improbable occurrence took place..." (54)
Just Another Story
What then is a story?
"The story became just another story, a chronology of facts and events, a tale of time passing." (190)
The Imperceptible Momentum of a Dream
Early in the novel, I felt that the narrative progressed so subtly that a change of season might occur without a recognisable period of transition between the two seasons. One moment you would be in one season, the next you would have moved imperceptibly into another.
"Part Western and part science fiction, the story lurched from one improbability to the next, churning forward with the implacable momentum of a dream." (253)
Only there was more search than lurch.
Farfetched and Convincing Nonsense
Marco says of another character's story that "it was all so farfetched, and yet the very outrageousness of the story was probably its most convincing element." (183)
"It sounds to me as though you've created an elaborate hoax." (231)
"Nonsense of this sort could continue only if we all pretended to believe in it." (209)
You could probably say the same thing about Marco's own story, except that it is at heart a very human story, even sentimental. Marco is on a quest to discover his own father, who as chance would have it finally learns the identity of his own father (so we see three lost generations find themselves), while Marco also heads West in search of America and then ultimately China (like his namesake, Marco Polo).
In Your Head
As does Paul Auster, Marco enters "far-flung and abstract territory" (233).
Yet, ultimately, Marco's quest occurs inside the book that is his mind: "The only place you exist is in your head." (156)
The characters have a role in this creative space: together, they're "a phantom comedy team performing their little act for me in the projection room of my skull." (245)
"I was both perpetrator and witness, both actor and audience in a theatre of one." (24)
Shared Mental Space
Paradoxically, Marco's world and Auster's novel become the reader's world as well, through the process of reading.
As Marco says with respect to his Uncle Victor, "I was occupying the same mental space that Victor had once occupied – reading the same words, living in the same stories, perhaps thinking the same thoughts." (22)
JUST ANOTHER STORY (AS TOLD BY LILLY WU):
[Another Girl, Another Planet]
I had no idea when I went to the University of Hong Kong on an exchange program that I would encounter my father for the first time. As far as my mother and I were concerned, he was dead, and as far as he was concerned, I had never been born. He didn't even know he had a daughter.
It turned out my father hadn't died in an accident in Utah. He had survived and made his way from San Francisco to Hong Kong before I was born, and worked his way up the University hierarchy until eventually he became Pro Vice Chancellor (International), a position which made him responsible for the welfare of international students (mainly from the rest of Asia; I was the first American for more than a decade).
My father sought me out at an introductory cocktail party. He already knew from my file that I was born in New York in 1998, and my surname (Wu), though not uncommon, prompted him to say that he had once known a dancer in New York called Kitty Wu. Was I any relation?
When I responded that that was my mother's name and that she was now a dance teacher, his face went pale, and he went silent, although he seemed to be thinking deeply.
"What is your father's name?" He eventually asked me.
"I've never known. My mother always said that he died before I was born, and I adopted her surname."
"You look so much like your mother when I knew her." He said. "We were very much in love, until we had a disagreement and I left New York and came to Hong Kong, though I don't think Kitty knew I had left America. She mustn't if she thinks I’m dead."
"Not you. My father."
"Of course."
I phoned my mother that night after the party ended, and told her I had met Professor Fogg, who said he might have known her. She, too, was taken aback. She said that she had had a relationship with a Marco Fogg, but that he had left New York after they had a big argument.
I asked, "What was the argument about?"
"I was pregnant, and I wanted to have an abortion. He wanted to have the child, but I didn't."
"What did you do?"
"I went ahead with the abortion, but it was only partly successful."
"What do you mean. How could it only be partly successful?"
"You see, I was pregnant with twins, a boy and a girl. Only your brother was terminated, and you were born."
"So, Professor Fogg is my father?"
"Yes, I guess so, but he has never known until today that you existed. He would so much love to have known that you were born. He doesn't realise that he would have had what he always wanted, if only we'd stayed together. Which didn't happen, obviously."
"Did you love him?"
"More than anything else in the world...other than you."
"Do you still love him?"
"I have no reason not to."
"But he left you...on the basis of a misunderstanding?"
"Yes."
"So he lost the two things that would have mattered most to him?"
"I guess so...but things have changed, and we've all had to move on with our lives."
"Poor dad!" was all I could think to say.
SOUNDTRACK:
December 28, 2016
In terms of flow of language, this book was quite good. Paul Auster has a way with words. The coincidences he appeals to however are way too much . The main character goes through despair, a state of balance, happiness and then he loses everything, but he finds out the key to his past. I didn't really understand the point of this book: was it that everything in life is transient, was it that life is full of coincidences, was it that in the end you lose everything and you have to deal with it one way or another? I am not sure. So, here's an example of a well-written book about a really far-fetched series of coincidences. Intriguing. Good, but not so good...
July 31, 2012
I'd give this book one star only, but I feel maybe (though I'm not thoroughly convinced) that somewhere under all the awful, pretentious drivel there's a kernel of something interesting. I mean - by itself - the plot elements have the makings of something to pique the interest of even a casual reader; curious characters, strange happenings, wordplay and symbolism. And maybe I'm missing something others can see in this book. Apparently it's pretty well received overall. I feel, however, that this book is flawed, if not just outright bad.
One problem is that despite Auster's attempts to imbue his characters with interesting characteristics, he fails miserably at expounding on these qualities in the actual narrative. Let me elaborate: he doesn't describe people through their actions or interactions. Not even through dialogue. He just whips up an adjective and expects you to buy it. Sol has great "wit and charm", Auster (or rather, Fogg) informs us, but I cannot recall a single instance of this wit or charm actually occurring in the book. It feels stumblingly awkward, and on several occasions exasperatingly lazy.
Halfway through the book I actually threw up my head and groaned loudly at the quality of the writing. I think it was during introduction of Kitty - a character and plot line so weak you could use it to dilute water. She's probably the least believable female stereotype I've ever had the misfortune to encounter. And also so obviously the writers personal fantasy that's it's embarrassing. At one point Auster (oops, I mean Fogg) candidly tells us "I pulled down Kitty's jeans and panties and brought her to orgasm with my tounge". I would have winced but for the sad inadequacy of the text at producing arousal of any kind.
And it's not just the ennui of the sex scenes or the morbidly one-dimensional characters either. The way he writes dialogue is just astoundingly bad. Not a single one of his characters has a unique voice, they all sound like the same person when they speak. He might as well have skipped the dialogue all together, as it only functions to forward plot, and often only in only the most rudimentary way.
Another huge problem is that the protagonist is not only a shallow, self absorbed sociopath with no redeeming qualities whatsoever, he's not even interesting. I had absolutely no interest in finding out anything about his intentions or plans, motives or history. I didn't care one way or another about whether he starved or got laid or found out who his father was. He leaves this Kitty character and then wallows in misery like it's somehow not his own fault. He shows no empathy or interest towards anyone apart from himself.
Apart from these things Auster writes OK. He's never brilliant, often adequate, sometimes quite awful. There's a lot of symbolism, mainly revolving (ha!) around the moon. But it doesn't feel significant to the story, and it fails to deliver anything more than shallow connections and musings on the themes of the book - much like the characters, the setting and the dialogue. I had no idea what this book was trying to tell me, and I would venture to say that neither does Auster.
I finished Moon Palace on principle, because I don't like to judge a book unless I've read the whole thing. And for sure, there are some qualities in this book, particularly the story about Effing in the desert and the cave. But the qualities of the main story are sadly buried underneath a heap of purple prose, anemic characterization and bland dialogue. I was recommended this book, but I will sadly not be recommending it to anyone, ever.
One problem is that despite Auster's attempts to imbue his characters with interesting characteristics, he fails miserably at expounding on these qualities in the actual narrative. Let me elaborate: he doesn't describe people through their actions or interactions. Not even through dialogue. He just whips up an adjective and expects you to buy it. Sol has great "wit and charm", Auster (or rather, Fogg) informs us, but I cannot recall a single instance of this wit or charm actually occurring in the book. It feels stumblingly awkward, and on several occasions exasperatingly lazy.
Halfway through the book I actually threw up my head and groaned loudly at the quality of the writing. I think it was during introduction of Kitty - a character and plot line so weak you could use it to dilute water. She's probably the least believable female stereotype I've ever had the misfortune to encounter. And also so obviously the writers personal fantasy that's it's embarrassing. At one point Auster (oops, I mean Fogg) candidly tells us "I pulled down Kitty's jeans and panties and brought her to orgasm with my tounge". I would have winced but for the sad inadequacy of the text at producing arousal of any kind.
And it's not just the ennui of the sex scenes or the morbidly one-dimensional characters either. The way he writes dialogue is just astoundingly bad. Not a single one of his characters has a unique voice, they all sound like the same person when they speak. He might as well have skipped the dialogue all together, as it only functions to forward plot, and often only in only the most rudimentary way.
Another huge problem is that the protagonist is not only a shallow, self absorbed sociopath with no redeeming qualities whatsoever, he's not even interesting. I had absolutely no interest in finding out anything about his intentions or plans, motives or history. I didn't care one way or another about whether he starved or got laid or found out who his father was. He leaves this Kitty character and then wallows in misery like it's somehow not his own fault. He shows no empathy or interest towards anyone apart from himself.
Apart from these things Auster writes OK. He's never brilliant, often adequate, sometimes quite awful. There's a lot of symbolism, mainly revolving (ha!) around the moon. But it doesn't feel significant to the story, and it fails to deliver anything more than shallow connections and musings on the themes of the book - much like the characters, the setting and the dialogue. I had no idea what this book was trying to tell me, and I would venture to say that neither does Auster.
I finished Moon Palace on principle, because I don't like to judge a book unless I've read the whole thing. And for sure, there are some qualities in this book, particularly the story about Effing in the desert and the cave. But the qualities of the main story are sadly buried underneath a heap of purple prose, anemic characterization and bland dialogue. I was recommended this book, but I will sadly not be recommending it to anyone, ever.
October 5, 2015
While this book starts well, it soon goes downhill.
The central character in the beginning is Marco Stanley Fogg. He drew my attention. What happens to him gives the reader a lot to think about. He is an orphan and has no relatives. He is totally alone, or so he thinks. Until..... Well, I am not going to tell you. And he is broke. When? 1969. Where? Brooklyn. I liked the writing. I liked the philosophical thoughts, his thoughts about writing, about travel, about how people interact and our need for connection with other human beings. All of this I found interesting! Then he meets Kitty. I liked her too.
However, the further you proceed the further the focus shifts from Marco to others and the weaker the story becomes. Mostly the book follows an elderly man, Effing. He is 84 in 1969. But who is Effing? First their stories are woven together, but then the Effing personality takes over. His story? Well it is crazy, as far as I am concerned. His story goes on and on, and on and on. It‘s too long, goes off on all different tangents, none of which were either credible or interesting. One example, to be specific, are Yes, there is a connection between Effing and Marco, but that connection is in no way credible. At least two thirds of the entire book left me totally unengaged. Little to think about. How is it possible to be engaged in a story that is beyond belief? In addition, this part of the book turns into a movie script.
The narration by Joe Barrett is absolutely excellent.
I enjoyed Timbuktu very much, but Moon Palace is unwieldy.
The central character in the beginning is Marco Stanley Fogg. He drew my attention. What happens to him gives the reader a lot to think about. He is an orphan and has no relatives. He is totally alone, or so he thinks. Until..... Well, I am not going to tell you. And he is broke. When? 1969. Where? Brooklyn. I liked the writing. I liked the philosophical thoughts, his thoughts about writing, about travel, about how people interact and our need for connection with other human beings. All of this I found interesting! Then he meets Kitty. I liked her too.
However, the further you proceed the further the focus shifts from Marco to others and the weaker the story becomes. Mostly the book follows an elderly man, Effing. He is 84 in 1969. But who is Effing? First their stories are woven together, but then the Effing personality takes over. His story? Well it is crazy, as far as I am concerned. His story goes on and on, and on and on. It‘s too long, goes off on all different tangents, none of which were either credible or interesting. One example, to be specific, are Yes, there is a connection between Effing and Marco, but that connection is in no way credible. At least two thirds of the entire book left me totally unengaged. Little to think about. How is it possible to be engaged in a story that is beyond belief? In addition, this part of the book turns into a movie script.
The narration by Joe Barrett is absolutely excellent.
I enjoyed Timbuktu very much, but Moon Palace is unwieldy.
May 21, 2023
Primul meu Auster si simt ca am dat peste o comoara nebanuita...
O poveste duce la o alta, nu te astepti la nimic din ce urmeaza, personajele sunt fascinante (Thomas Effing va ramane pentru mine unul dintre cele mai reusite). Am simtit ceva din armosfera "Marilor sperante" a lui Dickens.
Mi-a placut cadenta frazelor, asa cum o iubesc la Saramago si Marias.
Iar felul in care scrie Auster este coplesitor, mi se pare perfect, inteligent, cursiv, acaparant.
"Odata ce ajungeam la capatul continentului, simteam ca am sa gasesc raspuns unei intrebari importante. Habar n-aveam despre ce intrebare e vorba, dar raspunsul se conturase deja in urma mea in timp ce mergeam, asa ca nu-mi ramanea decat sa continui sa merg ca sa aflu ca ma lasasem in urma, ca nu mai eram deloc cel de odinioara."
O poveste duce la o alta, nu te astepti la nimic din ce urmeaza, personajele sunt fascinante (Thomas Effing va ramane pentru mine unul dintre cele mai reusite). Am simtit ceva din armosfera "Marilor sperante" a lui Dickens.
Mi-a placut cadenta frazelor, asa cum o iubesc la Saramago si Marias.
Iar felul in care scrie Auster este coplesitor, mi se pare perfect, inteligent, cursiv, acaparant.
"Odata ce ajungeam la capatul continentului, simteam ca am sa gasesc raspuns unei intrebari importante. Habar n-aveam despre ce intrebare e vorba, dar raspunsul se conturase deja in urma mea in timp ce mergeam, asa ca nu-mi ramanea decat sa continui sa merg ca sa aflu ca ma lasasem in urma, ca nu mai eram deloc cel de odinioara."
July 18, 2021
Moon Palace is an intense and engrossing narrative that interweaves an intergenerational saga with the mutation of identities. Auster's preoccupation with the coincidences and chance encounters steer the plot and the destinies of the unforgettable and intriguing characters. The epiphanic revelations, the tenuous threads of intersubjectivity and shared memories, and the coming to terms with the decisions that reverberate across time and space are delineated in a characteristic and poetic prose style. Auster also reiterates the potency of art to salvage the soul from the depths of despair and redeem oneself.
The true purpose of art was not to create beautiful objects, he discovered. It was a method of understanding, a way of penetrating the world and finding one's place in it...
The true purpose of art was not to create beautiful objects, he discovered. It was a method of understanding, a way of penetrating the world and finding one's place in it...
December 30, 2021
عندما احتاج الى قاص مدهش وسرد ممتع بمعنى أخر حكاية وحواديت ، الجأ الى ايزابيل الليندي او بول اوستر
الرواية لاتستطيع فصلها عن الواقع الامريكي بماضيه المتوحش الغارق في الدم والفرص وحاضره المثقل بالحجم والذنب و مستقبله المبهم ، ربما من كان على دراية بتاريخ امريكا وواقعها قادر على قراءة تحليلية ادق للرواية ، لكن ذلك لا يمنع امثالي ممن يحبون فن القصص والربابة على الاستمتاع و تقدير حكواتي بارع مثل بول اوستر
الرواية لاتستطيع فصلها عن الواقع الامريكي بماضيه المتوحش الغارق في الدم والفرص وحاضره المثقل بالحجم والذنب و مستقبله المبهم ، ربما من كان على دراية بتاريخ امريكا وواقعها قادر على قراءة تحليلية ادق للرواية ، لكن ذلك لا يمنع امثالي ممن يحبون فن القصص والربابة على الاستمتاع و تقدير حكواتي بارع مثل بول اوستر
March 20, 2012
This book is about writing and observations and hardship. This book is my first introduction to Auster. After reading this book, I went to the university library to look up obscure writers. One of the writers is Giordano Bruno who believed that there was a parallel universe back in medieval times. There is the theme of journey, travel and exploration into other worlds. The narrator has a name inspired by Phileas Fogg, the fictional character in Jules Verns ‘Around the World in Eighty Days’.
The Moon Landing represents a journey into another world. Moon Palace is a Chinese restaurant.
One of the most interesting tasks is for the narrator to describe the world to the Blind man. This is a metaphor for the task of writing. We the reader is blind to the world that is being created by the author. We are guided into his alternative world of fiction, the everyday strangeness of the world, not a world created by science fiction. It is in the ordinary that can be rendered extraordinary.
The Moon Landing represents a journey into another world. Moon Palace is a Chinese restaurant.
One of the most interesting tasks is for the narrator to describe the world to the Blind man. This is a metaphor for the task of writing. We the reader is blind to the world that is being created by the author. We are guided into his alternative world of fiction, the everyday strangeness of the world, not a world created by science fiction. It is in the ordinary that can be rendered extraordinary.
April 6, 2010
I loved it. I loved reading this book, but I wish I hadn't read it so fast. I read it because of someone, and I can't thank him enough.
I put myself in M.S's shoes, and I cried, I laughed, I dreamt.
Paul has a poetic use of language, that's sure.
I put myself in M.S's shoes, and I cried, I laughed, I dreamt.
Paul has a poetic use of language, that's sure.
August 1, 2022
Ha az ember belép egy lakásba, és azt látja, hogy a könyvespolc tele van Austerekkel, akkor nagyjából biztos lehet benne, hogy egy felettébb jó ízlésű egyén látja őt vendégül. Ennél az egyénnél ajándék lehorgonyozni, és időnként megpendíteni, hogy „khm, nocsak, ez itt a Holdpalota? nem kérhetném kölcsön?” Aztán persze óvjuk-védjük a kölcsönkönyvet a széltől is, ha elolvastuk, helyezzük vissza finoman a többi Auster közé, mert a jó ízlésű egyénekkel a szoros viszonyt mi sem erodálhatja jobban, mint ha szamárfülekkel, ne adj Isten: kávépacákkal (!!!) csúfított regényeket adunk vissza nekik. És ezt számos okból igyekszünk elkerülni.
Ebben a könyvben momentán az ragadott meg leginkább, hogy egyszerre tud az amerikai epikus hagyomány kiteljesedése és felbontása lenni. Az ifjú árva, M. S. Fogg pikareszk elemekkel súlyosbított széthullása, talpraállása és egyéb kalandjai egyfelől színtiszta történetmesélő próza, ami minden alapvető epikus jegyet magán visel. A szereplők tele vannak vitalitással, a pezsgő New York mint színpad csodásan működik, az apró részletek a helyükön vannak, téglánként építik fel azt a pazar kulisszát, amiben az olvasó otthonosan érzi magát. Ugyanakkor a szöveget jellemzi valami hektikusság, valami zsúfoltság is, mintha az egész szét akarna robbanni. Ha közelebbről megvizsgáljuk, nem is egy regényt olvasunk, hanem többet, előbb Foggét, aztán a vén Effingét, végül a drabális Barberét – és ezek a regények, úgy fest, csak az írói önkény parancsára hajlandóak egymásba kapcsolódni, magyarán: a kozmikus véletlenek által. Ami lehetne erőltetett, de valahogy itt nem annak érzem – sokkal inkább misztikusnak. Mintha lenne valami mélyebb, mágikus logika, ami összerántja a széttartó szálakat - talán ugyanaz az erő, ami képes szétszedni és összerántani (és megint: szétszedni és összerántani) Fogg életét. Ha a „normál” epika egy utazás a sztrádán, miközben a világ elsuhan mellettünk, akkor a Holdpalota ugyanez, csak éjszaka: a reflektor fényében kirajzolódó dolgok (stopposok, benzinkutak) egymásutánja, amelyek a maguk esetlegességében szakadnak ki a sötétségből, hogy megmutassák magukat.
Ebben a könyvben momentán az ragadott meg leginkább, hogy egyszerre tud az amerikai epikus hagyomány kiteljesedése és felbontása lenni. Az ifjú árva, M. S. Fogg pikareszk elemekkel súlyosbított széthullása, talpraállása és egyéb kalandjai egyfelől színtiszta történetmesélő próza, ami minden alapvető epikus jegyet magán visel. A szereplők tele vannak vitalitással, a pezsgő New York mint színpad csodásan működik, az apró részletek a helyükön vannak, téglánként építik fel azt a pazar kulisszát, amiben az olvasó otthonosan érzi magát. Ugyanakkor a szöveget jellemzi valami hektikusság, valami zsúfoltság is, mintha az egész szét akarna robbanni. Ha közelebbről megvizsgáljuk, nem is egy regényt olvasunk, hanem többet, előbb Foggét, aztán a vén Effingét, végül a drabális Barberét – és ezek a regények, úgy fest, csak az írói önkény parancsára hajlandóak egymásba kapcsolódni, magyarán: a kozmikus véletlenek által. Ami lehetne erőltetett, de valahogy itt nem annak érzem – sokkal inkább misztikusnak. Mintha lenne valami mélyebb, mágikus logika, ami összerántja a széttartó szálakat - talán ugyanaz az erő, ami képes szétszedni és összerántani (és megint: szétszedni és összerántani) Fogg életét. Ha a „normál” epika egy utazás a sztrádán, miközben a világ elsuhan mellettünk, akkor a Holdpalota ugyanez, csak éjszaka: a reflektor fényében kirajzolódó dolgok (stopposok, benzinkutak) egymásutánja, amelyek a maguk esetlegességében szakadnak ki a sötétségből, hogy megmutassák magukat.
November 8, 2020
Auster e genial!
January 4, 2025
¿Has tenido alguna vez la sensación de que todo en tu vida se desmorona, pero de algún modo las piezas que caen terminan encajando en un puzle que ni siquiera sabías que estabas armando? Pues eso es El palacio de la Luna. No una novela sobre el azar, no, sino una novela que es azar puro. Es como si Paul Auster hubiese lanzado los dados, y cada número representara un giro inesperado, una conexión imposible o una coincidencia que desafía las probabilidades. Pero lo mejor de todo es que, cuando llegas al final, te das cuenta de que no podía haber sido de otra forma.
Aquí conocemos a Marco Stanley Fogg, un tipo cuyo nombre parece sacado de un diccionario de exploradores (y vaya si explora), pero que empieza en el sitio más terrenal y prosaico que te puedas imaginar: un apartamento en Nueva York lleno de libros. Literalmente lleno. Vive entre montañas de papel porque, claro, ha heredado la biblioteca de su tío. Es un comienzo que promete caos y un poquito de claustrofobia. Y vaya si lo cumple. En unas pocas páginas, Marco pasa de estar ahogado entre libros a literalmente caminar por el abismo, enfrentándose a la pobreza, la soledad y, sí, la locura.
La trama de El palacio de la Luna es de esas que, si las cuentas sin contexto, te miran raro. Padres desaparecidos que aparecen cuando menos te lo esperas, personajes tan excéntricos que casi deberían pagar impuestos por ello, fortunas que llegan y se esfuman, amores destinados al naufragio y viajes que transforman a quien los emprende. Vamos, todo lo que necesitas para preguntarte: ¿cómo demonios encaja todo esto? La magia está en que Auster consigue unir estas piezas aparentemente incompatibles con una habilidad tan hipnótica que, antes de darte cuenta, estás enganchado a una red de historias dentro de historias. Es como una matrioska literaria: abres una trama y dentro hay otra, y otra más.
Pero Auster no se detiene ahí. Te lleva por un viaje que atraviesa desiertos, recuerdos y generaciones, conectando a Marco con personajes que son tan improbables como inolvidables. Está Thomas Effing, un anciano excéntrico con una historia de vida que parece un western alucinógeno. Está Solomon Barber, otro hombre cuya vida parece un mosaico de tragedias y secretos. Y todo esto, por increíble que suene, tiene sentido dentro de la narrativa de Auster.
El gran tema aquí es el azar, pero no como una excusa para giros de trama. Es el azar como esencia de la vida misma, como ese hilo invisible que une a Marco con las estrellas, las dunas de Utah y las calles de Nueva York. Cada coincidencia en El palacio de la Luna es un recordatorio de que, por mucho que tratemos de entender nuestras vidas, siempre habrá algo fuera de nuestro control. Y no sé vosotros, pero yo encuentro algo extrañamente reconfortante en eso.
Eso sí, si el uso del azar te pone los ojos en blanco, prepárate para sorprenderte. Lo que podría ser una excusa para giros inverosímiles se convierte en el núcleo filosófico de la novela. Estos “golpes de destino” no son simples accidentes narrativos; son herramientas para que Auster nos hable de identidad, propósito y esa eterna búsqueda de sentido. Y, sinceramente, lo hace de una forma que otros autores no podrían salirse con la suya.
Además, la estructura es un caos hermoso: una mezcla de novela de formación, odisea existencial y misterio filosófico. ¿Demasiado pretencioso? Puede, pero funciona. Auster juega con las expectativas del lector, y lo hace con una estructura que parece un caleidoscopio: cada giro te muestra una imagen distinta, pero todas forman parte del mismo patrón. La novela es muchas cosas a la vez: una historia de formación, un misterio filosófico, una meditación sobre la identidad, e incluso un homenaje al poder de contar historias. Hay capas y capas de significado aquí, pero Auster nunca se pierde en su propio laberinto. Su estilo es limpio, casi minimalista, como si quisiera dejar espacio para que las ideas respirasen.
Y luego está la Luna. No es solo un adorno poético; es un símbolo que brilla en cada página. Representa lo inalcanzable, lo misterioso, lo que siempre está ahí pero nunca terminamos de comprender del todo. Auster utiliza la Luna como un espejo en el que proyectar los anhelos, las pérdidas y las búsquedas de sus personajes.
Cuando cerré el libro, tuve la misma sensación que al salir de una charla profunda con amigos: esa mezcla de euforia y melancolía, como si hubieras tocado algo esencial, pero efímero. El palacio de la Luna es una novela que te desafía a mirar el caos de tu propia vida y encontrarle una especie de belleza.
¿Es perfecta? Claro que no. Hay momentos en los que las casualidades se estiran un poco más de la cuenta, y la trama podría tambalearse si no estuviera en manos de alguien tan talentoso como Auster. Pero ¿a quién le importa la perfección cuando una novela consigue hacerte sentir tanto?
Así que, si estás dispuesto a dejarte llevar por el azar, si te intriga la idea de que cada decisión, por pequeña que parezca, puede llevarte a un lugar completamente inesperado, tienes que leer esto. Y, por favor, léelo con tiempo. No es un libro para devorar; es un libro para saborear, para dejar que sus ideas te acompañen mientras miras la Luna y piensas en todo lo que no sabemos sobre nuestras propias vidas.
Y puesto que hablar de Auster es hablar de azar, ha querido el azar que haya terminado la segunda lectura de esta novela justo el día (1/05/2024) en que conocemos el fallecimiento de su autor. Con esta reseña de una de sus mejores novelas, mi modesto homenaje a uno de mis referentes literarios.
Aquí conocemos a Marco Stanley Fogg, un tipo cuyo nombre parece sacado de un diccionario de exploradores (y vaya si explora), pero que empieza en el sitio más terrenal y prosaico que te puedas imaginar: un apartamento en Nueva York lleno de libros. Literalmente lleno. Vive entre montañas de papel porque, claro, ha heredado la biblioteca de su tío. Es un comienzo que promete caos y un poquito de claustrofobia. Y vaya si lo cumple. En unas pocas páginas, Marco pasa de estar ahogado entre libros a literalmente caminar por el abismo, enfrentándose a la pobreza, la soledad y, sí, la locura.
La trama de El palacio de la Luna es de esas que, si las cuentas sin contexto, te miran raro. Padres desaparecidos que aparecen cuando menos te lo esperas, personajes tan excéntricos que casi deberían pagar impuestos por ello, fortunas que llegan y se esfuman, amores destinados al naufragio y viajes que transforman a quien los emprende. Vamos, todo lo que necesitas para preguntarte: ¿cómo demonios encaja todo esto? La magia está en que Auster consigue unir estas piezas aparentemente incompatibles con una habilidad tan hipnótica que, antes de darte cuenta, estás enganchado a una red de historias dentro de historias. Es como una matrioska literaria: abres una trama y dentro hay otra, y otra más.
Pero Auster no se detiene ahí. Te lleva por un viaje que atraviesa desiertos, recuerdos y generaciones, conectando a Marco con personajes que son tan improbables como inolvidables. Está Thomas Effing, un anciano excéntrico con una historia de vida que parece un western alucinógeno. Está Solomon Barber, otro hombre cuya vida parece un mosaico de tragedias y secretos. Y todo esto, por increíble que suene, tiene sentido dentro de la narrativa de Auster.
El gran tema aquí es el azar, pero no como una excusa para giros de trama. Es el azar como esencia de la vida misma, como ese hilo invisible que une a Marco con las estrellas, las dunas de Utah y las calles de Nueva York. Cada coincidencia en El palacio de la Luna es un recordatorio de que, por mucho que tratemos de entender nuestras vidas, siempre habrá algo fuera de nuestro control. Y no sé vosotros, pero yo encuentro algo extrañamente reconfortante en eso.
Eso sí, si el uso del azar te pone los ojos en blanco, prepárate para sorprenderte. Lo que podría ser una excusa para giros inverosímiles se convierte en el núcleo filosófico de la novela. Estos “golpes de destino” no son simples accidentes narrativos; son herramientas para que Auster nos hable de identidad, propósito y esa eterna búsqueda de sentido. Y, sinceramente, lo hace de una forma que otros autores no podrían salirse con la suya.
Además, la estructura es un caos hermoso: una mezcla de novela de formación, odisea existencial y misterio filosófico. ¿Demasiado pretencioso? Puede, pero funciona. Auster juega con las expectativas del lector, y lo hace con una estructura que parece un caleidoscopio: cada giro te muestra una imagen distinta, pero todas forman parte del mismo patrón. La novela es muchas cosas a la vez: una historia de formación, un misterio filosófico, una meditación sobre la identidad, e incluso un homenaje al poder de contar historias. Hay capas y capas de significado aquí, pero Auster nunca se pierde en su propio laberinto. Su estilo es limpio, casi minimalista, como si quisiera dejar espacio para que las ideas respirasen.
Y luego está la Luna. No es solo un adorno poético; es un símbolo que brilla en cada página. Representa lo inalcanzable, lo misterioso, lo que siempre está ahí pero nunca terminamos de comprender del todo. Auster utiliza la Luna como un espejo en el que proyectar los anhelos, las pérdidas y las búsquedas de sus personajes.
Cuando cerré el libro, tuve la misma sensación que al salir de una charla profunda con amigos: esa mezcla de euforia y melancolía, como si hubieras tocado algo esencial, pero efímero. El palacio de la Luna es una novela que te desafía a mirar el caos de tu propia vida y encontrarle una especie de belleza.
¿Es perfecta? Claro que no. Hay momentos en los que las casualidades se estiran un poco más de la cuenta, y la trama podría tambalearse si no estuviera en manos de alguien tan talentoso como Auster. Pero ¿a quién le importa la perfección cuando una novela consigue hacerte sentir tanto?
Así que, si estás dispuesto a dejarte llevar por el azar, si te intriga la idea de que cada decisión, por pequeña que parezca, puede llevarte a un lugar completamente inesperado, tienes que leer esto. Y, por favor, léelo con tiempo. No es un libro para devorar; es un libro para saborear, para dejar que sus ideas te acompañen mientras miras la Luna y piensas en todo lo que no sabemos sobre nuestras propias vidas.
Y puesto que hablar de Auster es hablar de azar, ha querido el azar que haya terminado la segunda lectura de esta novela justo el día (1/05/2024) en que conocemos el fallecimiento de su autor. Con esta reseña de una de sus mejores novelas, mi modesto homenaje a uno de mis referentes literarios.
May 7, 2025
Free Will and Blind Luck
I find it very difficult to review a book I am so emotionally attached to. Even after a third read, I still feel so strongly that rational words struggle to reach the surface. I confessed this to GR friend, Violeta the other day. She is an Auster fan and wanted to read my thoughts on this one. Perhaps, a few personal touches and anecdotes will help get me from point A to B in this review.
Then I read an essay that explains how no scholar believes in free will anymore. Free Will is an illusion. Basically, our choices are predetermined by so many factors, neurology, the laws of physics, genes etc. Of course this upsets our sense of ourselves as agents of our destiny, perhaps we are more likely pushed into the choices we seem to think belong to us alone.
I pause while writing this to make my son dinner after he came home from coaching 12 year olds on our coldest wettest day so far. I am predetermined to do this even though I know he is 20 years old and capable of doing it himself. He of course is doing what I was doing for him 8 years ago, that is coaching a 12-year-old soccer team (his as it happens) and so it goes on.
This lead me to Moon Palace and the problem of chance. Chance events are the building blocks of the novel. Chance determines everything, but in a fatalistic way, except that fate isn't predestiny but a story written by an author at his typewriter following the permutations and combinations of the character's possibilities. Fogg, the narrator came from a family of immigrants whose name was changed on arrival at Ellis island from Fogelman. Fogg’s mother dies in an accident when he is nine. His uncle Victor adores him as the only family he has left. When he departs this world, he wills nephew Fogg with 1492 books, which he starts reading in a completely random way, box by box to honour his last family member, and stick to a predetermined path. This fatalism overwhelms Fogg and almost kills him since he gives himself over completely to chance and nearly starves to death. These elements would be spoilers if only the book was poorly written. But it is so beautifully done, you don’t care about the number of books corresponding to the year of Columbus’ discovery or any one of the many details that Fogg is clueless about his past. You stop caring about chance, time and destiny when you are in self-destructive mode. The past Fogg is about to encounter contains the big sprawling story of America – as big as the wild west and manifest destiny or the rise and fall of corporate empires. Chance encounters, experiences, events, signs and symbols act as the narrative glue in this story. How Auster pulls off the plausibility of the events is the spectacle. Fogg just happens to be in the middle of it all trying to see it all.
Personal anecdote spoiler: Books were randomly assigned to me as a child, since my parents could not read English. Even to poorly educated people like my parents, books still contained mystery and wonder. How did I come by books? My father worked in various jobs at a hospital. Books were left about in either the emergency department or outpatient appointment waiting room. Everyone knows to bring a book, or perhaps the nuns who originally ran this hospital believed it right to put books out for people to read, perhaps as a distraction from the anxiety of waiting for bad news. My father, perhaps realising his limitations as a reader and provider of educational support brought some of them home with him once in a while. So books randomly appeared at our home some mornings after one of my father’s night shifts. I got Gogol’s Dead Souls, David Copperfield, Vol 2, Anna Karenina Vol 1, War and Peace among many others like these as a twelve-year-old. Luck, chance, fathers. That’s what Moon Palace is all about. Lost fathers in novels are like lost fathers on night shifts.
Chance in an Auster novel is like a secret language of the universe. Without it, there is no meaning to the random elements of the lives of its characters. A bit like a novel, eh! I only read this book by chance too. I hung around in my 20s with a bunch of people who we’d now call geeks. These friends all loved Auster’s New York Trilogy. I didn’t. Perhaps it was the way they dissected it like a sci-fi movie hunt for George Lucas’ cultish hidden fanboy tributes that bothered me. Anyway, one day at a friend’s place I was bored and found Moon Palace on the shelf and started reading it. The friend said he didn’t like it and gave it to me. I lend it out often and it never seems to come back, requiring me to find a replacement copy every so often.
I like Auster’s take on America’s foundational myths, too. It’s full of stories of people setting off to find their destiny, down on luck, seeking truth, the Pacific Ocean, dramatic western vistas, enduring, surviving, left for dead, defying the odds. Only this time, the story involves one of the recent generation from a boatload of immigrants telling the story rather than some robber baron, plantation owning, corporate magnate with a string of newspapers.
Character isn’t Auster’s strong point. No one is deeply drawn. The old man Effing, who Fogg goes to work for is easily recognisable as any old rich easterner, cantankerous, moody, self-important mostly an a***hole. At times he seems to hold the destiny of young Fogg in his hands. Effing believes he is an agent of his own destiny, defying chance after a freak fall as he journeys across the continent seeking the aesthetic of the old west as a painter. Chance drives Effing’s own story, but he chooses to tell Fogg he has the mythical power of telekinesis. Old men of wealth will believe in their own power over life. This can only be a counterpoint to the element of chance, an irony of the passing of the old. Voice is a character in American fiction. I am convinced of it. So much so, that an American voiced character can only behave like an American. And Auster does something very interesting here, he reminds that this fast talking self-determining being is none other than a victim of chance, too. But you want to hear his story first. After all, even Odysseus was an a***hole at times.
By the end of it, each character in this book loses everyone they are close to. More like a melodrama than an earnest piece of literature. Fogg’s mother and uncle, eventually his father and even the grandfather he didn’t know about. He loses his lover Kitty Wu (three reads and I still will them to continue) and Zimmerman his old college buddy who saved his life when he went homeless. Loss is inevitable, like chance. The only point of loss is that it is a point along the way in a story that leads to another. Like a refutation of free will, there are elements at work leading from one point to the next that we cannot fully know until they are revealed.
I find it very difficult to review a book I am so emotionally attached to. Even after a third read, I still feel so strongly that rational words struggle to reach the surface. I confessed this to GR friend, Violeta the other day. She is an Auster fan and wanted to read my thoughts on this one. Perhaps, a few personal touches and anecdotes will help get me from point A to B in this review.
Then I read an essay that explains how no scholar believes in free will anymore. Free Will is an illusion. Basically, our choices are predetermined by so many factors, neurology, the laws of physics, genes etc. Of course this upsets our sense of ourselves as agents of our destiny, perhaps we are more likely pushed into the choices we seem to think belong to us alone.
I pause while writing this to make my son dinner after he came home from coaching 12 year olds on our coldest wettest day so far. I am predetermined to do this even though I know he is 20 years old and capable of doing it himself. He of course is doing what I was doing for him 8 years ago, that is coaching a 12-year-old soccer team (his as it happens) and so it goes on.
This lead me to Moon Palace and the problem of chance. Chance events are the building blocks of the novel. Chance determines everything, but in a fatalistic way, except that fate isn't predestiny but a story written by an author at his typewriter following the permutations and combinations of the character's possibilities. Fogg, the narrator came from a family of immigrants whose name was changed on arrival at Ellis island from Fogelman. Fogg’s mother dies in an accident when he is nine. His uncle Victor adores him as the only family he has left. When he departs this world, he wills nephew Fogg with 1492 books, which he starts reading in a completely random way, box by box to honour his last family member, and stick to a predetermined path. This fatalism overwhelms Fogg and almost kills him since he gives himself over completely to chance and nearly starves to death. These elements would be spoilers if only the book was poorly written. But it is so beautifully done, you don’t care about the number of books corresponding to the year of Columbus’ discovery or any one of the many details that Fogg is clueless about his past. You stop caring about chance, time and destiny when you are in self-destructive mode. The past Fogg is about to encounter contains the big sprawling story of America – as big as the wild west and manifest destiny or the rise and fall of corporate empires. Chance encounters, experiences, events, signs and symbols act as the narrative glue in this story. How Auster pulls off the plausibility of the events is the spectacle. Fogg just happens to be in the middle of it all trying to see it all.
Personal anecdote spoiler: Books were randomly assigned to me as a child, since my parents could not read English. Even to poorly educated people like my parents, books still contained mystery and wonder. How did I come by books? My father worked in various jobs at a hospital. Books were left about in either the emergency department or outpatient appointment waiting room. Everyone knows to bring a book, or perhaps the nuns who originally ran this hospital believed it right to put books out for people to read, perhaps as a distraction from the anxiety of waiting for bad news. My father, perhaps realising his limitations as a reader and provider of educational support brought some of them home with him once in a while. So books randomly appeared at our home some mornings after one of my father’s night shifts. I got Gogol’s Dead Souls, David Copperfield, Vol 2, Anna Karenina Vol 1, War and Peace among many others like these as a twelve-year-old. Luck, chance, fathers. That’s what Moon Palace is all about. Lost fathers in novels are like lost fathers on night shifts.
Chance in an Auster novel is like a secret language of the universe. Without it, there is no meaning to the random elements of the lives of its characters. A bit like a novel, eh! I only read this book by chance too. I hung around in my 20s with a bunch of people who we’d now call geeks. These friends all loved Auster’s New York Trilogy. I didn’t. Perhaps it was the way they dissected it like a sci-fi movie hunt for George Lucas’ cultish hidden fanboy tributes that bothered me. Anyway, one day at a friend’s place I was bored and found Moon Palace on the shelf and started reading it. The friend said he didn’t like it and gave it to me. I lend it out often and it never seems to come back, requiring me to find a replacement copy every so often.
I like Auster’s take on America’s foundational myths, too. It’s full of stories of people setting off to find their destiny, down on luck, seeking truth, the Pacific Ocean, dramatic western vistas, enduring, surviving, left for dead, defying the odds. Only this time, the story involves one of the recent generation from a boatload of immigrants telling the story rather than some robber baron, plantation owning, corporate magnate with a string of newspapers.
Character isn’t Auster’s strong point. No one is deeply drawn. The old man Effing, who Fogg goes to work for is easily recognisable as any old rich easterner, cantankerous, moody, self-important mostly an a***hole. At times he seems to hold the destiny of young Fogg in his hands. Effing believes he is an agent of his own destiny, defying chance after a freak fall as he journeys across the continent seeking the aesthetic of the old west as a painter. Chance drives Effing’s own story, but he chooses to tell Fogg he has the mythical power of telekinesis. Old men of wealth will believe in their own power over life. This can only be a counterpoint to the element of chance, an irony of the passing of the old. Voice is a character in American fiction. I am convinced of it. So much so, that an American voiced character can only behave like an American. And Auster does something very interesting here, he reminds that this fast talking self-determining being is none other than a victim of chance, too. But you want to hear his story first. After all, even Odysseus was an a***hole at times.
By the end of it, each character in this book loses everyone they are close to. More like a melodrama than an earnest piece of literature. Fogg’s mother and uncle, eventually his father and even the grandfather he didn’t know about. He loses his lover Kitty Wu (three reads and I still will them to continue) and Zimmerman his old college buddy who saved his life when he went homeless. Loss is inevitable, like chance. The only point of loss is that it is a point along the way in a story that leads to another. Like a refutation of free will, there are elements at work leading from one point to the next that we cannot fully know until they are revealed.
June 26, 2007
Zadie Smith, in an introduction for a Nonrequired Reading Anthology brought a James Joyce quote to my attention
"That ideal reader suffering from an ideal insomnia" -Joyce
"The ideal reader cannot sleep when holding the writer he was meant to be with." - Smith
This is how I feel about Paul Auster, especially concerning Moon Palace. An odd series of events lead me to read this book at the perfect time. I was on a road trip in which the route of my companions and I followed a route traced by the protagonist of this novel, from Chicago to Utah, almost exactly. The moon landing had featured prominently in conversations with one of my fellow travelers, Charlie. In one ear was Charlie, at the peak of an obsession with Nikola Tesla as the archetypal hero of science and underdogs and Thomas Edison standing for all that is wrong and corrupt. In the other ear was a central character's retelling of chance encounters with Mr. Tesla, referring to Edison only as "That asshole from Menlo." All after this book had been sitting on my shelves unread for months, perhaps waiting for the moment to strike. When I started loaning this book out and persuading people to read it, the odd coincidences started up again.
"That ideal reader suffering from an ideal insomnia" -Joyce
"The ideal reader cannot sleep when holding the writer he was meant to be with." - Smith
This is how I feel about Paul Auster, especially concerning Moon Palace. An odd series of events lead me to read this book at the perfect time. I was on a road trip in which the route of my companions and I followed a route traced by the protagonist of this novel, from Chicago to Utah, almost exactly. The moon landing had featured prominently in conversations with one of my fellow travelers, Charlie. In one ear was Charlie, at the peak of an obsession with Nikola Tesla as the archetypal hero of science and underdogs and Thomas Edison standing for all that is wrong and corrupt. In the other ear was a central character's retelling of chance encounters with Mr. Tesla, referring to Edison only as "That asshole from Menlo." All after this book had been sitting on my shelves unread for months, perhaps waiting for the moment to strike. When I started loaning this book out and persuading people to read it, the odd coincidences started up again.
February 17, 2022
O carte greu de lasat din mână. Că Auster scrie excelent, o știam deja; de fapt, dacă nu aș avea Trilogia New York-ului ca reper, poate i-aș fi dat 5 stele. Sau poate i le-aș fi dat dacă toată cartea ar fi fost ca prima parte și toate personajele - deși chiar toate sunt incitante și ingenios construite- mi-ar fi trezit aceeași emoție ca unchiul Victor, muzicianul bibliofil.
Palatul Lunii e un local chinezesc din New York. Dar e și Vestul Americii, peisajul care seamănă cel mai mult cu cel selenar și în care luna iși găsește, în cele din urmă, locul. Luna este viitorul, luna este Marco (M.S.), fiul, Soarele este trecutul (bunicul un pic narcisist, Effing) și Pământul este prezentul (Solomon, tatăl, Sol = pământul solid, greoi, pe care te poți baza). Trilogia lui Tesla capătă identități umane - și, de fapt, romanul despre asta este, despre construirea unei identități pe ruinele alteia dezintegrate după pierderea oricărei rădăcini familiale.
Palatul Lunii e un local chinezesc din New York. Dar e și Vestul Americii, peisajul care seamănă cel mai mult cu cel selenar și în care luna iși găsește, în cele din urmă, locul. Luna este viitorul, luna este Marco (M.S.), fiul, Soarele este trecutul (bunicul un pic narcisist, Effing) și Pământul este prezentul (Solomon, tatăl, Sol = pământul solid, greoi, pe care te poți baza). Trilogia lui Tesla capătă identități umane - și, de fapt, romanul despre asta este, despre construirea unei identități pe ruinele alteia dezintegrate după pierderea oricărei rădăcini familiale.
November 30, 2008
Auster's poetic use of language and the supremely convincing characterization of his protagonist made this novel one that I remember not so much by plot arches [though the plot is faultless], but in very vivid images of moments or point-surveys of MS Fogg's life.
Living in an apartment furnished only with boxes of books that for his bed, chairs, table, and entertainment.
Living in a shrub-cave in Central Park.
Outlaw cave hideouts in the desert, covered in obscure paintings.
Handing out money to people on the street in New York.
Sitting in a waiting room for the Draft medical exam.
The book ends in a very Gatsby-esque sort of summation of entropy and the futility of effort in the grand scheme of things. For all the depressing quotient of that, it's a beautifully written book that I widely reccommend.
Living in an apartment furnished only with boxes of books that for his bed, chairs, table, and entertainment.
Living in a shrub-cave in Central Park.
Outlaw cave hideouts in the desert, covered in obscure paintings.
Handing out money to people on the street in New York.
Sitting in a waiting room for the Draft medical exam.
The book ends in a very Gatsby-esque sort of summation of entropy and the futility of effort in the grand scheme of things. For all the depressing quotient of that, it's a beautifully written book that I widely reccommend.
June 25, 2015
هر کسی در کتابخانه خود کتاب هایی دارد که صرف دیدن جلدشان حسی خوش القا می کند. این کتاب ها عمدتا از آن قسم کتاب هایی هستند که وقتی اولین آن ها را می خوانده ایم نمی خواسته ایم هرچه زودتر به پایان آن برسیم. می خواسته ایم آن را، چنان که گویی استکانی قهوه را، ذره ذره بنوشیم. مون پالاس استر برای من چینین کتابی بوده و هست.
مون پالاس روایت زندگی پرماجرای مارکو فاگه. پسرکی که از سربازی معاف میشه، پرستار پیرمردی ثروتمند میشه و بعدها متوجه میشه که این پیرمرد پدربزرگشه، مدتی در غاری در کویر زندگی می کنه، پدرشو پیدا می کنه و ...
هیچ نتیجه یا سودی نداره خوندن این رمان. چیزی بهت یاد نمی ده. از نظر ادبی ویژگی خاصی نداره، روایت تقریبا خطیه، خلاصه وجه زیبایی شناسانه ی این رمان ربطی به وجوه صوری اون نداره، هر چی هست مربوط به محتوای اسرارآمیزشه.
این محتوا اسرارآمیزه چون بدجوری من، یعنی خواننده ی شرقیه آمریکاندیده رو چنان مسحور می کنه که صادق هدایت نمی کنه.
مون پالاس روایت زندگی پرماجرای مارکو فاگه. پسرکی که از سربازی معاف میشه، پرستار پیرمردی ثروتمند میشه و بعدها متوجه میشه که این پیرمرد پدربزرگشه، مدتی در غاری در کویر زندگی می کنه، پدرشو پیدا می کنه و ...
هیچ نتیجه یا سودی نداره خوندن این رمان. چیزی بهت یاد نمی ده. از نظر ادبی ویژگی خاصی نداره، روایت تقریبا خطیه، خلاصه وجه زیبایی شناسانه ی این رمان ربطی به وجوه صوری اون نداره، هر چی هست مربوط به محتوای اسرارآمیزشه.
این محتوا اسرارآمیزه چون بدجوری من، یعنی خواننده ی شرقیه آمریکاندیده رو چنان مسحور می کنه که صادق هدایت نمی کنه.
March 24, 2017
م.س فُج يمثلني.
حبيتها.
حبيتها.
November 6, 2020
Nici nu am terminat-o bine, că aș reciti-o. 💓
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