“Nature is commonplace. Imitation is more interesting.” (Gertrude Stein)

Last month Kaggsy wrote about enjoying Pistache by Sebastian Faulks. It sounded good fun, do head over to her Bookish Ramblings & read Kaggsy’s excellent review. In this year of my book buying ban (still in effect & being adhered to, much to my utter amazement) I’ve put my name on the waiting list for Pistache at the library, and managed to hunt down two pastiche novels in my TBR mountain.

When I was doing my English degree, there was much talk of post-structuralism, post-modernism, post-lots of things I didn’t really grasp (which I would mention in essays hoping my tutors didn’t question me too closely on them – a flawed strategy as it turned out). How I wish I had read Paul Auster’s New York Trilogy then, because he takes notions of post-whatever, such as the instability of meaning, the non-specificity of language, the fragmented self, and uses them to weave a fascinating pastiche of the hard-boiled detective novel. I realise I’m not doing him any favours in this summary but trust me, it does work.  It’s done in a humorous way, and there’s enough of a narrative to pull you along, although at times my brain hurt trying to think through all that Auster was discussing.

In the first story, City of Glass, Auster begins by questioning his role as author:

“ ‘Is this Paul Auster?’ asked the voice. ‘I would like to speak to Mr Paul Auster.’

‘There’s no-one here by that name.’

‘Paul Auster. Of the Auster detective agency.’

… ‘There’s nothing I can do for you,’ said Quinn. ‘There’s no Paul Auster here.’”

There is of course a ‘Paul Auster here’ – his name is on the cover – but exactly where is a matter of debate. Quinn, the writer in City of Glass, is mistaken for Paul Auster and finds himself impersonating a private eye:

“Private eye. The term held a triple meaning for Quinn. Not only was it the letter ‘i’, standing for investigator, it was ‘I’ in the upper case, the tiny life-bud buried in the body of the breathing self. At the same time, it was the physical eye of the writer, the eye of the man who looks out from himself into the world and demands that the world reveal itself to him. For five years now, Quinn had been living in the grip of this pun.”

So, multiple identities, multiple meanings, utter confusion. Quinn locates the man he has been asked to find, someone who spends his days wandering the streets, picking up junk and re-naming things:

“I have come to New York because it is the most forlorn of places, the most abject. The brokenness is everywhere, the disarray is universal. You only have to open your eyes to see it. The broken people, the broken things, the broken thoughts….I find the streets an endless source of material, an inexhaustible storehouse of shattered things”

Throughout this and the two stories that follow, Ghosts and The Locked Room, Auster explores how people are ‘shattered things’, how easily identity and the language used to construct it fall apart. For him, unsurprisingly, this is all bound up in the storyteller’s art:

“We all want to be told stories, and we listen to them in the same way we did when we were young. We imagine the real story inside the words, and to do this we substitute ourselves for the person inside the story, pretending that we can understand him because we understand ourselves. This is a deception. We exist for ourselves, perhaps, and at times we even have a glimmer of who we are, but in the end we can never be sure, and as our lives go on, we become more and more opaque to ourselves, more and more aware of our own incoherence. No one can cross the boundary into another – for the simple reason that no one can gain access to himself.”

The trilogy was originally released separately but I think it works best read together. The stories interweave and reflect each other, and so build on the sense of a ‘fractured whole’ being reflected in the structure of the book we hold in our hands. It may be that “these three stories are finally the same story”, but they are different enough to enrich each other and at no time did I feel my attention wavering. It’s a great achievement: stories that deconstruct the very thing they are made out of – language – and yet still hold together.

“Each sentence erased the sentence before it, each paragraph made the next paragraph impossible. It is odd then, that the feeling that survives from this notebook is one of great lucidity.”

Secondly, The Yiddish Policeman’s Union by Michael Chabon (2007), an alternative history detective novel. Chabon takes the idea that a settlement for Jewish refugees is provided in Alaska during the Second World War (an idea was proposed but rejected in 1940) and this has developed into the metropolis of Sitka. Policing this city is Meyer Landsman:

“According to doctors, therapists, and his ex-wife, Landsman drinks to medicate himself, tuning the tubes and crystals of his moods with a crude hammer of hundred-proof plum brandy. But the truth is that Landsman has only two moods: working and dead.”

The first of those two moods is under threat: Sitka is going to become part of the USA again and no-one is sure what will happen when it does but they’re fairly sure it won’t be good (reading this in post-Brexit Britain, it took on a whole new resonance):

“On the first of January, sovereignty over the whole Federal District of Sitka, a crooked parenthesis of rocky shoreline running along the western edges of Baranof and Chichagof islands, with revert to Alaska. The District Police, to which Landsman has devoted his hide, head, and soul for twenty years, will be dissolved. It is far from clear that Landsman or Berko Shemets or anybody else will be keeping his job. Nothing is clear about the upcoming Reversion and that is why these are strange times to be a Jew.”

“Strange times to be a Jew” is a recurring refrain throughout the novel. Landsman lives in a seedy hotel and is investigating the murder of fellow resident Mendel Shpilman. Spilman was a drug addict and also the son of the most powerful organised crime boss and local rebbe, from whom he was estranged. As he undertakes the investigation Landsman manages to annoy absolutely everyone, from the powerful crimelords to his ex-wife and boss, Bina. Chabon has fun with the form, but doesn’t go overboard on the pastiche of hardboiled crime. He employs colourful turns of phrase:

“The space recently occupied by his mind hisses like the fog in his ears, hums like a bank of fluorescent tubes. He feels he suffers from tinnitus of the soul.”

But The Yiddish Policeman’s Union is always its own story and not a gimmick-laden creative writing exercise. Chabon is exploring ideas of identity, home, belonging and justice alongside an appreciation for Raymond Chandler.

“For the first time the traditional complaint, tantamount to a creed or philosophy, of the Sitka Jew – Nobody gives a damn about us, stuck up here between Hoonah and Hotzeplotz – strikes Landsman as having been a blessing these past sixty years, and not the affliction they had all, in their backwater of geography and history, supposed.”

I don’t rate this quite as highly as other novels by Chabon that I’ve read – it was a bit overlong and I think it could have been 100 pages lighter, but still an ambitious and interesting work and I’m glad to have novelists like Chabon are around, attempting to do something different.

To end, trying to come up with a pastiche song that’s bearable was a tough call. In the end I chose The Divine Comedy, who offer pastiche of several things all at once. I opted for Something for the Weekend as I think it references Cold Comfort Farm with the repeated reference to ‘something in the woodshed’ and so is the obvious choice for a book blog:

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22 thoughts on ““Nature is commonplace. Imitation is more interesting.” (Gertrude Stein)

  1. Two favourites for me here, particularly The New York Trilogy which I absolutely loved while my partner wanted to throw it across the room. He did enjoy the Chabon, though. In the ‘If you liked that…’ spirit I think you’d also enjoy Ben Lerner’s 10:04 and Delphine de Vigan’s Based on a True Story. With luck you should be able to get them from the library.

    Liked by 1 person

    • They’re great aren’t they 😀

      Sometimes you have to be in the right frame of mind for a book. I didn’t like stream of consciousness for years but now I’m quite happy to read it – the modernists have opened up to me! Auster’s worth the effort, I hope you enjoy him if you give him another try 🙂

      Liked by 1 person

  2. You’ve reminded me that I *meant* to read the Auster trilogy. (If I read even a third of the books I *mean* to read, I’d be the best read person in the world… 😉 ) I shall pop it on the wishlist so I don’t forget about it again. Chabon works for me sometimes, and annoys me utterly at others – I’ll leave that one on the *mean-to-read* list a bit longer, I think…

    Liked by 1 person

    • Same – theoretically I’m incredibly well read! I hope you enjoy The New York Trilogy if you get to it.

      I’ve read a few Chabon but not the Pulitzer winner, The Amazing Adventures of Kavalier and Clay. The size means I keep putting it off…

      Liked by 1 person

  3. It sounds like there’s a lot of love for The New York Trilogy – will have to add it to the list! I’m not sure about the Chabon, though. I tried one of his books a few years ago, and ended up abandoning it.

    My 14-year-old *son* looks older than the lead singer in that video!

    Liked by 1 person

    • Yes, I had no idea The New York Trilogy was so fondly regarded! I hope you enjoy it Naomi. I keep meaning to read The Amazing Adventures of Kavalier and Clay as I know people who love it, but it just gathers dust in the TBR pile so far…

      I think Neil Hannon was about 26 or so in that video, which means he’s mid-40s now, & doesn’t really look all that different!

      Liked by 1 person

  4. I found New York Trilogy fascinating and interesting, but I didn’t really enjoy it. A good, but not fun read.

    I love Divine Comedy, I sang some of ‘National Express’ to my daughter when we were on a Megabus, a episode in which (she claims) I embarrassed both myself and her. I disagree 😉

    Liked by 1 person

    • I know what you mean. It’s very thought-provoking but you don’t sink into it as a novel! I enjoyed it, but it needs to be balanced with a more immersive reading experience.

      I wasn’t there for the Megabus rendition (that would be an extraordinary coincidence) but I also disagree. I’m sure you basked in glory 😀

      Liked by 1 person

  5. “he takes notions of post-whatever, such as the instability of meaning, the non-specificity of language, the fragmented self, and uses them to weave a fascinating pastiche of the hard-boiled detective novel. I realise I’m not doing him any favours in this summary but trust me, it does work.”

    As someone who wrote their thesis on The New York Trilogy (among other things) and both loved it and wanted to throw it across the room (AAA THAT BOOK) I very much enjoy your description :D. Stupid brilliant mr post-thingy.

    Liked by 2 people

  6. Well, you’ve just persuaded me to get New York Trilogy down from the bookshelves. I’ve been meaning to read it forever, but had I known what it was about, I’d have devoured it ages ago, it sounds utterly brilliant!

    Liked by 1 person

  7. Back when one had to wait for the other volumes to be published, it was very annoying; how lucky you were (in that sense) to have let Auster’s work linger on the pile, so that you could read them all-in-a-go. Do you think you’ll read more of his work now? (I love that the commenter above has recommended rereading. I wondered if they would be good candidates for that and am heartened to think so after all!) Although, as you would probably agree, it’s even harder to make time for rereading than it is to chip away at the monstrous stack of TBRs. Good on you for knocking two off your list! (And good ones too!)

    Liked by 1 person

    • Yes, I would definitely want to read more Auster now, I found the trilogy really fascinating. My 2018 book buying ban is an attempt to make a real dent in the ever-spiralling TBR pile – if I succeed then new purchases of Auster and re-reading of favourites awaits 😉

      Liked by 1 person

  8. What a great pair of recommendations. I tried to get in to Auster when I was younger and couldn’t really get the point/joke. But I saw him talk at last year’s Edinburgh Book Festival about 4,3,2,1 and it was a bit of a lightbulb moment for me. Not that I have actually managed to read any of his stuff yet (I have the mighty 4,3,2,1 on my Kindle – not one to carry around as a ‘real’ book). But I now also, thanks to your post, feel confident to embrace the NY Trilogy too! 🙂

    Liked by 1 person

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