Oh hey look, another book by a pompous old white man peopled almost entirely by pompous white men holding forth on existence and the meaning of life and the inner workings of the mind and their own bloated legacies and women as playthings and agents of growth.



Is this what Paul Auster is always like? I think the only other of his books I've ever read is the graphic novel adaptation of City of Glass, which was about a million years ago.

Idk man, I mean I didn't hate-read this exactly, but I definitely knew by p. 20 that I was going to be annoyed the whole way through, and I was. Barring a few relatively interesting plot surprises, this was more or less insufferable from start to finish.

A man goes to Brooklyn to die, but instead he finds LIFE. Beautiful heartwarming book

متفاوت ترین,ملموس ترین,سر راست ترین و زیباترین روایت از بین تمام کتابهایی که از پل استر خوانده ام.
بروکلین استر اکنون,جاییست که دوست دارم با خودش در آن قدم بزنم و به ساختمانها و انسانها و احساسات با چشمان او نگاه کنم...هتل اگزیستانس اش را کشف کنم و شاید اگر بخت یارم باشد,با هری برایتمن دوست داشتنی,قبل از مرگش شام بخوریم...