Auster writes about his father, after his father's sudden death, trying to get to know him. In the second part he writes about his son and the fear of losing him, being separated from him and about his own youth.

RELEASE NOTES:

The book goes to a fellow bookcrosser.

Thanks, BookCrosser, for this very interesting book. Although I haven't finished reading it yet, I've already rated it "8"--because I think it is such a wonderful book. Part of its interest for me is the way he writes about memory and coincidence--although so far he hasn't used that word. But coincidentally, the book arrived just at a time when I myself am busy thinking a lot about memory (how mine is remarkably bad for some things and incredibly good for others), but also memory in the other sense--remembrance; and coincidence and meaning, and when my daughter and I are talking about dreams and memory (how a "memory" of a dream will surface during the day, but it's not actually a memory--how can you remember something that didn't happen?) . . . And, "coincidentally," the very day Em and I visited the Van Gogh Museum in Amsterdam, I come to the part of the book where the writer visited the same museum and writes in particular about one painting that I stood in front of just a few hours before. It was the painting of Van Gogh's room, the one with the yellow bed (of course, I forget the name and I'm not really certain now that the bed is yellow). For Auster (if I remember correctly), that painting is of solitude--the bed blocks the door, the window is shuttered, no way in, no way out. For me the painting evokes a memory of university days when I had purchased a mounted poster of that same painting; when I took it home my mother was horrified--why would I want that ugly thing in my room, and made me take it back. But it is so long ago that I begin to doubt my own memory. Did that really happen? I think it did but the memory is so faded I begin to doubt it. I digress.
I like the book so much that I plan to seek out others by Auster.

This has become a bookring book. I'm taking it to Castricum 26 juni to give to yvonnep at the big annual BookCrossing Beach Party.

"The Invention of Solitude," Paul Auster
(Still open)

bookcrosser NL
rubyblue NL
yvonnep NL
maaikeB NL
eMeReS NL
Lot12 NL

Yes, thank you. This is a book I'm really looking forward to read it... and what beautiful words you wrote about it Rubyblue...makes me even more curious.

I loved the first part of the book - this weird father and the way Auster describes him. And then I got stuck. I never succeeded in the second part. I give up. Even more, because I just discovered that the book is in our own bookcase. MaaikeB it's yours in a few days.

Received the book today. Thanks!

This was my first Auster (finally! he was one of those writers I knew I had to read, but never did) and I think I'm going to like this author. This book tasted like an appetizer: there is no real story (which is why I can understand that yvonnep got stuck), but he has interesting ideas and writes beautifully. I hadn't realized that Auster is/used to be a translator, as well, and liked to read his thoughts about this solitary job ("He sits at his desk reading the book in French and then picks up his pen and writes the same book in English. It is both the same book and not the same book, and the strangeness of this activity has never failed to impress him.") I also like the parts about Pinocchio and Jonah very much. Thanks, BookCrosser, for sending it into the world, rubyblue for ringing it and yvonnep for mailing it to me.

De ring reist nog even door naar
eMeReS.

Received it today in the mail. Thanks MaaikeB for sending it and for the nice card.

It took me a while to get into this book, and then to get out again. I agree with previous journallers that the first part is easier to read than the second. Solitude is something very private as well as universal and I think this is reflected very well by Auster in this book. It provides much food for thought and I am glad that I did pick it up again after all the times that I decided to give up.

Ready to go to Lot12 as sson as I get the address.

Ontvangen! Wat heerlijk, ik wist niet meer dat ik me hiervoor had opgegeven.
Hij moet nog even wachten, o.a. tot de oktoberuitdaging uit is.

Even een update van dit boek. Ik lees het, maar het gaat langzaam. Weinig tijd en het is geen boek om achter elkaar uit te lezen. Het eerste deel vond ik prachtig, zeker omdat ik het naast een essy van Siri Hustvedt, zijn vrouw, las dat gaat over háár jeugd. Zeer verschillend.
Hoe dan ook. Ik lees nog verder.

In the end I loved the book. The first part was eerie to read. It made me think of my own father and the sadness you can feel about the relationship with your parents. The second part I found harder to chew, beautiful parts, but not all worked out. Hard to follow if you haven't got time to read it all in one. However, here again there were striking similarities (in theme) with Hustvedts book. For example the stress on paintings and in particular Vermeer.

I will buy this book once to take a second, longer dip into it. For now one passage that touched me deep in this period of beginning motherhood:

'In that the world is monstrous. In that the world can lead a man to nothing but despair, and a despair so complete, so resolute, that nothing can open the door of this prison, which is hopelessness. A. peers through the bars of his cell and finds only one thought that brings him any consolation: the image of his son. And not just his son, but any son, any daughter, any child of any man or woman.
In that the world is monstrous. In that it seems to offer no hope of a future. A. looks at his son and realizesthat he must not allow himself to despair.There is this responsability for a young life, and in that he has brought this life into being, he must not despair. Minute by minute, hour by hour, as he remains in the presence of his son, attending to his needs, giving himself up to this young life, which is a continual injunction to remain in the present, he feels his despair evaporate. And even though he continues to despair, he does not allow himself to despair.
The thought of a child's suffering, therefore, is monstrous to him. It is even more monstrous that the monstrosity of the world itself. For it robs the world from its one consolation, and in htat a world can be imagined without consolation, it is moonstrous.
He can go no farther than this.'

To be thought about...

Ik zie opeens dat dit boek nog op mijn naam staat. Ik zond het al tijden geleden terug naar Ruby Blue. Ik zal haar eens mailen of het wel is aangekomen.

Sorry, lot 12, Yes, I did receive the book--weeks ago, I'm embarrassed to admit, and never got around to journaling it, even though it's sitting right here by my computer. I suffer from terminal procrastination, and it's only getting worse with age. Your journal entry made it easier for me to finally do this; all I had to do was click on the link. Thanks, and again, sorry for the delay.

CONTROLLED RELEASE NOTES:

I embarrassed to say this book has been in my house far too long. Quite a while ago, dare I say years ago? I PM'd yvonnep several times to get her address so I could send the book one, but never received a reply. The book continued to languish here in my house. Finally today, a fellow BookCrosser was kind enough to take this book over from me to get back on track. Sorry to the people after me in the ring for this inexcusable delay.

Reading the comments, I see the bookring has ended a while ago, so I will release the book soon (or read it first?)