Omtale fra Den Norske Bokdatabasen
Auster fekk sit store gjennombrot som forfattar med dei tre kortromanane som er samla her. Dei dreier seg alle om detektivarbeide og menneske som er bortkomne. Ramma for dei labyrintiske forteljingane er lagt til New York, og nokre av personane dukkar opp i fleire av historiane. Boka er eit godt døme på metafiksjon.
Genre Politi og detektiver Krim
Omtalt sted New York
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To be inside that music, to be drawn into the circle of its repetitions: perhaps that is a place where one could finally disappear.
As he wandered through the station, he reminded himself of who he was supposed to be. The effect of being Paul Auster, he had begun to learn, was not altogether unpleasant. Although he still had the same body, the same mind, the same thoughts, he felt as though he had somehow been taken out of himself, as if he no longer had to walk around with the burden of his own consciousness. By a simple trick of intelligence, a deft little twist of naming, he felt incomparably lighter and freer. At the same time, he new it was an illusion. But it was a certain comfort in that. He had not really lost himself; he was merely pretending, and he could return to being Quinn whenever he wished. The fact that there was now a purpose of being Paul Auster – a purpose that was becoming more and more important to him – served as a kind of moral justification for the charade and absolved him of having to defend his lie. For imagining himself as Auster had become synonymous in his mind with doing good in the world.
Quinn was nowhere now. He had nothing, he knew nothing, he knew that he knew nothing. Not only had he been sent back to the beginning, he was now before the beginning, and so far before the beginning that it was worse than any end he could imagine.
In the end, each life is no more than the sum of contingent facts, a chronicle of chance intersections, of flukes, of random events that divulge nothing but their own lack of purpose.
It’s June second, he told himself. Try to remember that. This is New York, and tomorrow will be June third. If all goes well, the following day will be the fourth. But nothing is certain.
Words are transparent for him, great windows that stand between him and the world, and until now they have never impeded his view, have never even seemed to be there. Oh, there are moments when the glass gets a trifle smudged and Blue has to polish it in one spot or another, but once he finds the right word, everything clears up.
For the fact of the matter is, all the fight has been taken out of Blue. He no longer has the stomach for it. And, to all appearances, neither does Black. Just look at him, Blue says to himself. He’s the saddest creature in the world. And then, the moment he says the words, he understands that he’s also talking about himself.
I don’t mean to say that he grew up fast – he never seemed older than he was – but that he was already himself before he grew up.
Murakami er en unik forfatter, og det er vanskelig å finne bøker som ligner helt presist.
Bøkene på lista er plukket ut av forskjellige grunner. Noen ligner i skrivestil og tone, og noen har elementer av magisk realisme.
Til lesere av Murakami som liker den japanske bakgrunnsrammen, er det tatt med et utvalg markante japanske forfattere.
Som småbarnsmor er det ikke lett å få tid til å lese når jeg vanligvis ville lest. Men målet er minst 1 bok i måneden.