"...Bugün de geçmiş kadar karanlıktır ve aynen gelecek kadar bilinmezlerle doludur. Dünya böyledir işte ..."

The second novella in Paul Auster’s debut New York Trilogy is even more creepy than the first.

“First of all there is Blue. Later there is White, and then there is Black, and before the beginning there is Brown.” This opening sentence already had my head spinning. What do these colors mean? Need I remember them? Like a taxi or limo driver who keeps speeding up and slowing down, Auster does this to the reader’s mind. One is either worried or a bit bored. Neither state lasts long.

I’ll give you a hint, as the author does in the next sentence. Blue is a private detective. White appears and gives him an assignment to follow Black for as long as is necessary. It becomes a long time and following Blue as a reader is about as exciting as it is for Blue to follow Black.

Still the tension mounts for all 72 pages until a startling denouement ends the story. At that point this reader forgot she was ever bored. She felt like she should have seen it coming. Looking back in my mind I could see the whole plot though while reading I was not sure there was a plot.

Now I must read the third soon.

انتظار پایان هیجان انگیزتری داشتم اما کمی ساده تر تمام شد.

متفاوته.

با اینکه گنگ و از بازگشت به همان سرشاره، اما طبق گفته ی خود پل استر گه در شخصیت های رمان هاش حضور داره؛ تنها نتیجه ای که گرفتم اینه که زندگی خودش رو اینجور میبینه که نشسته و خودش رو نگاه میکنه و تحت نظر داره و گزارش از حالاتش مینویسه و این برای زنده موندنش نیازه، و درآم هم کسب میکنه، اما به نتیجه ای نمیرسه از شناخت خودش و همه چیز رو از دست میده، و در نهایت رها میکنه و به سمتی دیگه و یا نامعلوم پیش میره.

Years ago I read the first part of the trilogy. I don't remember much, what I do remember is that it confused me and I don't think I enjoyed reading it.

This, however, is quite good. It's a like a mind coming to realize that it exits. I am not educated enough to understand all the literary references Auster makes, which I am sure there are. Still, I enjoyed this guy Blue exploring his "being".

I like that eventually the story escalates, it's just the right amount of uncanny, one that I can handle. So, I'll read the conclusion of the trilogy and it probably won't take as long to pick it up as it took me between part 1 and 2.

3 out of 5 stars. Whould have rated it 5/5 if it wasn't pretty much the same book as "City of glass", the first of the "New York Trilogy"

Como simulando un ejercicio de algún taller de escritura creativa, Paul Auster en esta segunda parte de su trilogía de New York, utiliza nombres de colores para sus personajes:

Azul para el detective

I feel renewed by the lovely prose and uncanny ability of Paul Auster, now from the grave, to retell that our existence is still a mystery. Ghosts is a little like reading Kafka using Camus as a guide, set in New York 1940s with a gumshoe protagonist. Blue (everyone is a colour) is a detective, given an assignment without clarity of purpose. Camus’ absurd came to mind. We seek purpose and meaning from the universe. But when we ask it a question, we receive silence in return. That yawning gap, that chasm in understanding is the Absurd. I find it a comforting notion when I read it and it helps to know that there are no answers. Less energy is expended that way.

Blue’s assignment is to watch a fellow called Black. Black, he discovers is a writer. He follows Black for a few days when he wanders around New York and then watches him from the window opposite. Writing is a dull, repetitive business and the unglamorous side is well expressed since all Blue does is watch Black hunched over his desk. All the time for days and weeks. That much effort watching very little is exasperating and that is where I am reminded of the endless pursuit of answers by Joseph K in The Trial; or, the helpless efforts of Gregor Samsa as an insect, lying on his back in bed, rendered helpless and incapable of moving apart from flailing about with his new legs.

The day continues to pass. Once again, Blue falls into step with Black, perhaps even more harmoniously than before. In doing so, he discovers the inherent paradox of his situation. For the closer he feels to Black, the less he finds it necessary to think about him. In other words, the more deeply entangled he becomes, the freer he is. What bogs him down is not involvement but separation. For it is only when Black seems to drift away from him that he must go on looking for him, and this takes time and effort, not to speak of struggle.

Blue’s task seems pointless. He writes reports every week and duly gets paid for his time. But he does gain insights. He sees a mirror of himself in Black.

he finds himself thinking about things that have never occurred to him before, and this, too, has begun to trouble him. I thinking is perhaps too strong a word at this point at this point, a slightly more modest term- speculation, for example- would not be far from the mark. To speculate, from the Latin speculates, meaning to spy out, to observe, and linked to the word speculum, meaning mirror or looking glass. For in spying out at Black across the street, it is as though Blue were looking into a mirror, and instead of watching another, he finds that he is also watching himself.

I read this because it’s short and filled in tired hours travelling and after reading Glenn Russell’s tribute soon after Auster died a few days ago it seemed just right. Reading a dead author’s words, having read them before, is like seeing a phantom passing by. Or like seeing again what I didn’t see the first time.

Lucid prose with fine ideas.

Nesnelere ve kişilere ne isim vermek istersek bundan sonra onlarda o isme uygun hareket etmek zorunda kalır gibi bir çıkarımı bir dedektiflik hikayesine yedirerek o isimlere bir de kimlik ve kişilik yüklediğimizde kendimizden de neler bulabileceğimizi bize anlatan karışık satırlar barındırıyor. Yine de hikayenin finali üzerine düşünebileceğiniz şeyler sunuyor…

Üçlemenin ilkine kıyasla bunu daha çok beğendim hatta 3,5 verebilirim. Biraz Cortazar tadı verdi sonlara doğru yarattığı gizem. İlk başlarda yine bir öncekine benzeyen sonu muğlak bir detekitflik hikayesi sandım, evet sonu hala muğlak ama ilkinden çok farklı. Hatta biraz Black Mirror dizisinde bir bölüm olurmuş gibi hissettirdi. Kahraman isimlerine renk vermesinin tam sebebini anlamadım. Bakalım üçüncüsü nasıl çıkacak.

Dejé pasar unos meses tras la lectura de "ciudad de cristal" antes de adentrarme en la siguiente novela de la "trilogía de Nueva York", y ahora creo que hice bien. El título del segundo acto es "Ghosts. Who is the man in the window?". Que podríamos traducir como: Fantasmas. ¿Quién es el hombre de la ventana?

En esta ocasión he leído la versión original de Penguin classics, un lujo dada la especial sonoridad de la prosa del autor. Veo que en la edición en español Anagrama titula solamente "Fantasmas", obviando el subtítulo. Me parece un error.

La historia nos habla de Blue (el señor azul) una especie de espía o investigador privado que aprendió los rudimentos del oficio de Brown. Todo empieza cuando White encarga a Blue que realice un seguimiento de Black. Las condiciones del encargo son específicas, ya hay un apartamento que White ha alquilado frente al de Black. Todo lo que Blue debe hacer es observar a Black y reportar semanalmente a White, por carta, todo aquello que observe.

Entonces Blue mira y escribe. Imagina cosas sobre Black y le sigue cuando este sale a la calle. Blue trata de habitar su nuevo apartamento con revistas de su gusto, con fotos de su novia, con las ideas sobre el futuro que desea. Pero ciñéndose al encargo, va apartándose del mundo. Se producen una serie de encuentros con Black en los que el narrador nos deja entrever que este es un trasunto de Blue. Tengo la impresión de que mientras especula sobre la actividad de Black, el protagonista en realidad está destripando su propia vida; especialmente sus miedos, sus anhelos y sus frustraciones.

El autor enfrenta a Black y a Blue, cada uno desde su lado de la calle, tras del cristal de una ventana. Hay un juego de espejos constante que escruta personalidades, profesiones y vidas personales. A pesar de la apariencia formal de novela de espías, la estructura no es más que un esqueleto que sirve para encarnar la metáfora.

Auster exige una implicación especial del lector, que debe hacerse preguntas según avanza la trama: ¿Quién es White realmente? ¿Y Brown? ¿Tienen algún paralelismo con figuras del mundo real? ¿Es Black la misma persona que Blue? ¿su conciencia? Y el lector, ¿con quién debe identificarse? Estas son solo algunas de las que se me han ocurrido mientras leía, pero creo que no son todas.

En cuanto al estilo, Auster da en el clavo. Sonoro sin resultar barroco; elegante y eficaz. Es la suya una prosa cálida aún con tan pocos adjetivos. Todo es significado y ritmo, se nota el trabajo que el autor realizó en el campo de la poesía a lo largo de su carrera.

Cierro esta breve reseña como la comencé. Creo que es una pieza magnífica que merece su tiempo de lectura y de reflexión. Recomiendo espaciar las lecturas de este autor para poder elaborarlas de forma adecuada.

Mi nota: 9,3/10