Ich habe es sogar 2x gelesen, weil es doch sehr rätselhaft ist, besonders zum Ende hin.
Ein Edelkrimi, bzw. Detektivgeschichte.

(Book 219 From 1001 Books) - The New York Trilogy: City of Glass (New York Trilogy #1), Paul Auster

City of Glass, features a detective-fiction writer become private investigator who descends into madness as he becomes embroiled in a case.

The first story, City of Glass, features a detective fiction writer-become-private investigator who descends into madness as he becomes embroiled in a case. It explores layers of identity and reality, from Paul Auster the writer of the novel to the unnamed "author" who reports the events as reality to "Paul Auster the writer", a character in the story, to "Paul Auster the detective", who may or may not exist in the novel, to Peter Stillman the younger, to Peter Stillman the elder and, finally, to Daniel Quinn, protagonist.

تاریخ نخستین خوانش: ماه اکتبر سال2010میلادی

عنوان: شهر شیشه ای؛ پل آستر، مترجم: خجسته کیهان؛ تهران، کتابهای ارغوانی، سال1380، در160ص؛ شابک ایکس-964920637؛ چاپ دیگر تهران، افق، سال1394، در203ص؛ شابک9789643698768؛ موضوع داستانهای نویسندگان ایالات متحده آمریکا - سده20م

عنوان: شهر شیشه ای؛ پل آستر، مترجم: شهرزاد لولاچی؛ تهران، افق، سال1383؛ در203ص، مصور، شابک9643691314؛ چاپ دوم سال1384؛ سوم سال1386؛ چهارم سال1388؛

مترجم: مهتاب کلانتری؛ تهران، بن گاه؛ سال1395؛ در155ص؛ شابک786005268324؛

شهر شیشه ای، کتاب نخست از سری «سه گانه نیویورک» است؛ شخصیت اصلی رمان «شهر شیشه‌ ای»، «دانیل کوئین» نام دارد؛ ایشان نویسنده‌ ای هستند که با نام مستعار «ویلیام ویلسون»، داستان‌های پلیسی، و کارآگاهی می‌نویسند؛ «کوئین»، به واسطه کارگزار خود، داستان‌هایش را به چاپ می‌رساند، در نتیجه کسی از هویت (نام کوئین) ایشان، آگاهی ندارد؛ شخصیت اصلی رمان‌های «کوئین»، «ورک» نام دارد؛ در حقیقت، «دانیل کوئین»، فردی با سه هویت («کوئین»، «ویلسون» و «ورک») شده بود، و هرکدام از این سه شخصیت، بخشی از هویت ایشان را، شکل می‌دادند؛ روزی یکی با خانه ی «کوئین» تماس می‌گیرد، و به دنبال کارآگاه خصوصی با نام «استر» می‌گردد؛ «کوئین» تصمیم می‌گیرد، برای مسخره کردن، و دست انداختن فرد پشت خط، خود را به جای «استر» جا بزند؛ از اینجا به بعد است، که هویتی دیگر، بر ایشان افزوده میشود، و او وادار میگردد، نقش کارآگاهی خصوصی را، بازی یا ایفا کند

تاریخ بهنگام رسانی 18/12/1399هجری خورشیدی؛ 06/10/1400هجری خورشیدی؛ ا. شربیانی

Nachtrag, gelesen ca. 2010
Damals fand ich es genial, ob dies heute noch so wäre, möchte ich noch in diesem Jahr "überprüfen"

The novel is apparently written under the impression of Death and the Compass by Jorge Luis Borges and there are many allusions to the other tales by that wizard of modern literature. Both City of Glass and Death and the Compass are the most original postmodern mysteries I ever read.

Whatever he knew about these things, he had learned from books, films, and newspapers. He did not, however, consider this to be a handicap. What interested him about the stories he wrote was not their relation to the world but their relation to other stories.

City of Glass is a game – an intellectual game of a private eye and a criminal. But it’s a game of madmen – a paranoid writer pretends to be a private detective and attempts to save the paranoid son from his paranoid father.

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.

We all play some roles – we play ourselves and impersonate the others and in the end personifications substitute our true selves.

Interesante novela muy difícil de definir y hasta de comentar, pero imposible de pasar por alto.
Me imagino que será de las de poderosos defensores y detractores debido a la sensación (y certeza) de extrañeza que lo impregna todo y la mezcla de géneros (tan peligrosa, pero que le sale tan bien), empezando en novela negra (el comienzo de la investigación, donde ya está presente ese aire de extrañeza y absurdo), tocando diversos géneros incluídos momentos de realismo mágico (ese asombroso día menguante, por ejemplo), la metaficción (El Quijote, sin ir más lejos), reflexiones sobre la naturaleza del lenguaje enredadas en conclusiones fantásticas, personajes desdoblados en identidades que se tienen, se adpotan, se poseen y desposeen, el propio autor enredado en la trama, y una suerte de enredo ficcional absolutamente sorprendente y maravilloso que no saca la interrogación sobre tu cabeza en toda la lectura, ni siquiera al final. Inesperado, es poco decir. Recapitulemos (Recapitulando)

باران نوشت:
کویین خالی و تهی بود، سعی کرده بود خودش رو با ویلیام ویلسون و بعد با مکس ورک پر کنه، اما کافی نبود پس سراغ پل استر رفت.

چرا باید به فکر ساختن برجی برای اسکان دادن به همه‌ی انسان‌های روی زمین بود؟ شاید رسیدن به بهشت یا کشتن خالق هدفشون بوده و اینجاست که میفهمیم امانیسم چیزی بیشتر از یه تفکر بوده، مردم میخواستن با ساختن برج بابل قدرتشون رو به رخ خالقشون بکشن…
و چرا بعد از قرن‌ها دوباره یکی باید به فکر ساختن بابلی جدید و کشف زبان واحد باشه؟ متحد و هم‌زبان کردن مردم؟ یا داشتن کنترل روی مردم؟ فرض کن همه‌ی مردم دنیا تو‌ یه برج باشن مثل یه زندان، اونوقت کنترل کردنشون خیلی راحتتر میشه.
و شایدم فقط و فقط قصدشون گرفتن انتقام از خالق باشه، خالقی که زبانشون رو متفاوت و مردمش رو تو نقاط مختلف جهان پخش کرد…

کویین که دچار بیچارگی شده در نهایت وقتی وارد خونه پیتر میشه (که گویی یکی از هزاران اتاق بابله) به پوچی و تباهی محض کشیده میشه.

نمیشود آنقدر از چیزی متنفر بود مگر آنکه قسمتی از روحمان آن را بسیار دوست داشته باشد.
به شدت از این کتاب خوشم اومد(جوری که به روزه تمومش کردم) از برخی لحاظ شبیه عامه پسند بود، ولی این کتاب خیلی جذاب تر بود

n  'For if you do not consider the man before you to be human, there are few restraints of conscience on your behaviour towards him.'n

It’s very hard to put the novel under the thriller-crime genre. I wouldn’t even have thought of doing that perhaps unless the book wasn’t marketed that way. Because, even when the story relates to that sub-plot, the thriller elements have the least emphasis for most of the story. I mean, of course, it is thrilling in the way it unfolds, but that’s way too unconventional for this genre. The unfolding is in a Lynchian format but the synchronization appeared to me almost like a combination of Kafka’s The Trial with two of Martin Scorsese’s movies, After Hours and (obviously) Taxi Driver. More of the former than the latter, because it definitely has a Kafkaesque quality even when the existentialism is almost like a retelling from Albert Camus’ novels.

Now, I won’t tell anything about the story here, because the less you know about the plot, the better. Besides, it’s not about the plot, but more about the experience with this novella. But there are some things that I can’t keep within me. #Take a deep breath.

First of all, the pragmatic yet semi-abstract tonality at the very first of the novel, through which the entire life of our protagonist up to the point of the story’s beginning is summarized. The manner can almost be called stoical for the philosophical tone, and basically warns you about how different this story is going to be from just a traditional hard-boiled detective fiction. Not that it doesn’t have the usual traits. Even there’s a glimpse of sensuality in parts, which I didn’t expect in the ways they were presented.

Secondly, the Tarantinoesque conversations, that can simultaneously be criticized for drifting away from the topic yet admired for the concepts that shed light on, like Genesis or the actual importance of language in describing the functionality of everyday objects. I genuinely loved the Humpty Dumpty reference, amongst all. And the crime about which the novel talks, is absolutely unique in its originality as well. At least for me. But as I said at the start of this paragraph, the constant phase-ins and outs may turn out to be tiresome for the majority of the readers so be warned- this is really not everyone’s cup of tea.

It’s almost frightening as to how many works of literature were paid homage to throughout the pages, even at 133 pages, it is really dense. Firstly, Faulkner’s The Sound and The Fury, in one of the character’s monologues. Maybe it’s all in my mind, but Benjamin’s inability to maintain a linear structure in his thinking process is the first thing that does come to mind when you hear Peter Stillman jr. speak.

n   "I am Peter Stillman. That is not my real name. my real name is peter rabbit. In the winter I am Mr White, in the summer I am Mr Green. Think what you like of this. I say it of my own free will. Wimble click crumblechaw beloo. It is beautiful, is it not?"n

And also, there’s a very fascinating homage to both Ellery Queen, and outlandish as it may seem, Cervantes in his Don Quixote. The style of using the author’s name as one of the pivotal characters definitely goes back to Ellery Queen, and the reference to Cervantes is directly stated in the novel. Not only that, but the author also got past his single complaint on Don Quixote that the character Cid Hamete Benengeli, who was supposed to be the chronicler, didn’t appear once in the course of the massive novel. I mean, this one is worth reading for the weird yet fascinating stylizations (like this one) alone.

n  “But why did Quixote go to such lengths?”

“He wanted to test the gullibility of man. To what extent would people tolerate blasphemies, lies, and nonsense if they gave them amusement? The answer: to any extent. For the book is still amusing us today. That’s finally all anyone wants out of a book. To be amused.”n

The metaphysical aspects are absolutely fabulous in the same way too. The entire novel is based in New York with accurate depictions of the city and the streets and its people, but all of that is layered with a surreal cover, (just like Kafka’s The Trial, or more appropriately in Scorsese’s After Hours, where the protagonist roams across the city streets throughout the night but the city isn’t just the same) and the city seems to have developed a very absurd yet beguiling trance that swallows our characters. Probably that’s why the name is because the city is a significant character in the story as well. I wonder if this is where Michael Mann had got his inspiration for Heat or Collateral?

n  “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 have only to open your eyes to see it. The broken people, the broken things, the broken thoughts. The whole city is a junk heap.”n

Actually, I’m quite glad that I’m reading it now, not the first time I have heard of it. Had I read it four or five years back I would honestly have wondered what the hell was going on, and would probably have never finished it.

n  “Time makes us grow old, but it also gives us the day and the night...Lying is a bad thing. It makes you sorry you were ever born. And not to have been born is a curse. You are condemned to live outside time. And when you live outside time, there is no day and night. You don't get a chance to die.”n

I was torn between 3 and 5 stars and have settled on 4.

My 3 star review: This is solidly written. The prose is good but not breathtaking. The themes and premise are thought-provoking if slightly contrived, consciously self-conscious. I respect what Auster has done here. I can't say that the story resonated with me in a deeply personal way. There are parts I still don't quite understand.

My 5 star review: This library book had been calling me from the shelf for so long, I finally gave in and read the thing. As it turns out, this was the perfect time to read it, because this very eerie book very eerily corresponds to other things I've been reading lately. It's always a curious feeling when your books seem to be in dialogue with one another! Auster's novel ties itself in knots, making you think about language, identity, voice and authorship. There are parts I still don't quite understand.

And finally...
My 4 star review: I don't think I'll read the rest of the trilogy, but I liked this and I'm glad I read it.

Daniel Quinn, écrivain solitaire, répond au téléphone : son interlocuteur chercher à joindre Paul Auster, le célèbre détective.
Daniel Quinn n’est pas Paul Auster, mais face à l’insistance de la personne au bout du fil, il décide de le devenir. C’est ainsi qu’il se retrouve missionné pour une filature dans le dédale des rues de New York. Filature qui placera sur sa route d’étranges rencontre, comme celle avec un certain… Paul Auster.

Roman court, rempli de digressions, et pourtant toujours passionnant, j’ai adoré cette première plongée dans l’œuvre de Paul Auster. Premier volume de ce qu’on appelle aujourd’hui la « Trilogie New Yorkaise », je compte bien me procurer le second volume afin de découvrir le fin mot de cette histoire

A metafictional mystery about a crime writer named Daniel Quinn who turns private investigator when he gets a phone call asking for the Paul Auster Detective Agency. This is one of those books where what actually happens is a lot less important than the atmosphere it creates. So what feels essential to me here is the sense of a labyrinthine New York City and a confusion of languages and relationships. Quinn, who is helpfully untethered after the death of his wife and son, is hired to tail Peter Stillman’s father, who has recently been released from a mental hospital, where he was sentenced after being judged insane for keeping his son in isolation in a dark apartment for nine years.

Feral children, eggs, the Tower of Babel and Don Quixote are some of the recurring sources of metaphors in a deliberately disorienting and intertextually rich short novel that kept me turning pages even when I didn’t know precisely what was going on. We get a glimpse of Auster himself, and are invited to muse on such trifling subjects as fate, the limitations of language, the purpose of books, and the nature of truth. I’m going to read the other two novels in the trilogy soon as part of a Paul Auster reading project hosted by a blogger friend, so I’ll be curious to see whether they follow on from the story at all or just resemble it thematically.

Me explotó la cabeza, 1. No sé si porque estaba en la Costa, no tenía WiFi y la lectura me cayó como anillo al dedo o 2. Entré buscando una cosa y salí encontrando algo completamente distinto, pero mejor.
Ver cómo el personaje perdió el sentido de su vida, cómo lo volvió a encontrar (o creyó haberlo hecho), y ver cómo lo vuelve a perder fue algo que, uff, me dejó pensando.
¿Qué somos capaces de hacer para volver a sentir? ¿Hasta dónde somos capaces de llegar?