Sunday, July 10, 2011

The letter 'A' - Leviathan

Hidden away in the television stand is a beat to hell old book called Video Movie Guide 2002, by Mick Martin and Marsha Porter. For my own amusement and edification, I have often perused it. One time I found this description:

Smoke **** Novelist Paul Auster's 1990 Christmas fable has been transformed into a brilliant little ensemble piece, revolving around the idiosyncratic regulars of a Brooklyn cigar shop. The film unfolds like a skillfully staged play, and the characters are fascinating. Rated R for profanity and mild violence. 112m. DIR: Wayne Wang. CAST: Harvey Keitel, William Hurt, Forest Whitaker, Stockard Channing, Harold Perrineau Jr. Ashley Judd. 1995

This appeared to be just my type of film and a few months later, painfully aware of my high expectations, I sat down and watched it. It is now one of my favorite films. I won't go into all of it just now.

The point of it is that I was then in a position to take interest in the novels of Paul Auster. High expectations mixed with his reputation as a "writer's writer" led to my being acutely afraid of reading him, for fear I'd find the work dull or pretentious. Which is how, with Leviathan sitting on the shelf, I chose Zorro for my first read in 'A.'


Having finished the short, constant page-turner that Leviathan was, let me first say that Paul Auster knows his stuff. A well-read man, he quotes Ralph Waldo Emerson, dedicates to Don Delillo and crafts a story three layers deep.

Starting at the title. Why is the book called Leviathan? It was the title for an unfinished novel by Benjamin Sachs, the main character. Peter Aaron, the narrator of Sachs' life, therefore pays tribute by naming HIS account after the former work. And we, the audience, know that in reality this is not a true story, merely the fancy of the novelist Paul Auster, who DOES exist (at least so far as I can tell).

That may seem confusing, but it's straight from a handy bag of post-modern tricks (author inserts is another one, which Paul doesn't indulge in...at least here). Despite the fireworks, the story is simple enough. After a man blows himself up on the side of a road when his handmade bomb goes off, Peter Aaron instantly suspects it was none other than his best friend Benjamin Sachs. He sets out to explain how Sachs' arrived at that point. The novel proceeds apace.

And so the games begin.

This is a book you can mine from. Notice that, although Aaron is the narrator, he is strangely undefined? Even when Sachs vanishes (something he often does over the span of the book), Aaron remains something of an unknown. He often expresses opinions and theories, yet what he amounts to is an invisible presence, a straight man to the clownish Sachs. He shines a light on the other characters, yet remains somehow in the dark. All this without being mysterious or unreliable; rather, he is eclipsed by the eccentrics around him.

This is probably because Peter Aaron is Paul Auster. He is not a character in his own right; he's a necessary voice. Confused yet? My theory is that all writing is autobiography, hidden under layers of fiction, perceptions, shifts in view and outright lies. Some authors go a step further than that and allow their alter ego into the story (not the same as author insert). It doesn't harm the story at all - in fact it makes it easy to picture Aaron, what with the Auster photo on the back....

The cast could all have a book to themselves. There are stories within the story everywhere you look - Maria Turner's art projects and her art of living being the most noteworthy.

Notice when characters vanish, they metamorphosis in circumstance, if not always in character (see Sachs, Lillian Stern and Reed DiMaggio).

Notice that both times Sachs feels intense desire for a woman (other than his wife) it is a prelude for all hell to break loose?

Notice what starts as a mystery yarn peopled with lovable weirdos slowly descends into a tragedy? This last fact is the most painful part of the book. I gather that the difference a second can make fascinates Auster. At the beginning of Smoke, Augie Wren wonders...if he'd been just a little slower at the register, Mrs. Benjamin would have been a few seconds later out the door and might not have died in the ensuing street violence.

Similarly, Aaron is tormented by the lost chances, the moments where he let Sachs down, or where recovery was almost in reach when a single coincidence, short-cut, phone call, photograph, unspoken relationship snatched it away and left Sachs in free fall. It is, in the end, an extraordinarily sad little read. Sachs, though crazy, is given so many attractive qualities that you want him to save himself, and know from the first line that it's not gonna happen.

The pretentiousness of the book is exemplified by Aaron and Sachs, writers each. This allows Auster ample opportunities to illuminate some aspect of the craft or the business. I didn't mind this at all, as it afforded a no-holds-barred synopsis of Sachs' first novel, The New Colossus, a historical epic that you'll immediately want to run out and buy, except (of course) it doesn't exist. More post-modern pranks.

Prose style can best be described as "clean." Feels fresh off the page, clear and precise, no excess fat, polished till it shines.... Interesting for me is to compare styles with Zorro, both featuring after the fact narration by an onlooker, yet while Zorro had almost no dialogue, Leviathan overflows with it.

Time period? Seventies and eighties. Setting? Except for a nightmarish sojourn to California, it's mostly New York (another one of Auster's themes).

Lastly, if you want romance, don't read this book. There's broken marriages, spousal insecurities, infidelity and a match made in hell during the California episode.

Be on the lookout for coincidences. Barrels of them. I gather that's another of Auster's interests. Somehow, one can accept the unreality of the plot, and though the final twist doesn't quite hang together, there was never any eye-rolling on my part.

To conclude: I loved this book. It entertained, gave food for thought, and moved me emotionally. I can ask for little more. I'll read another one soon and if it's as good as Leviathan he's going on my favorite authors list.

Recommended to intelligent people, people with short attention spans, those who want to try out Auster and don't know where to start, modern literature buffs and those looking for a good read.

On with the journey.

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