Moon Palace is told by a young man with the memorable moniker of Marco Stanley Fogg. It's the story of his life, starting with his mother's death and his upbringing by an eccentric uncle, then moving on a period of intense penury during which Fogg becomes homeless and reaches breaking point. (He's miraculously rescued by a couple of friends.) Partway through, Fogg gets a job as companion to the elderly and even more eccentric Thomas Effing, and the narrative focus switches to this new and fascinating character. Effing's colourful history is absolutely riveting, so much that there's a sudden slump when we return to Fogg, whose romantic woes are the most superfluous thing in a largely lean and taut narrative. But, even so late in the day, there are more surprises still to come.

When I stepped away from the book and thought about its surfeit of coincidences, they seemed farcical; yet on the page, they just work – I never stopped believing in Fogg and all his unusual adventures. Not vintage Auster – it's much more of a picaresque than many of his other novels – but I enjoyed it.

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4,5
Постмодернистский текст Остера интертекстуален, интермедиален и фрагментарен, как и положено; он наполнен символизмом, и главным символом, исходя даже из названия является Луна. В книге три героя, казалось бы не связанные между собой, но только после смерти главный герой Марко Стэнли Фогг узнает, что Сол Барбер и Эффинг были его биологическими отцом и дедом соответственно. Мне совсем не понравилась та глубинная отчуждённость, которая не позволяет героям выбраться из своего кокона одиночества, и это не только "наследственная" черта представителей линии Эффинг-Барбер-Фогг, но и Китти, которая прерывает беременность "ради любви", но в действительности страшащаяся установить крепкую связь, нитью которой стал бы ребенок. И это, если вдуматься, ужасно, что целых три поколения брошенных отцами детей, жили, взрослели, и встретились буквально перед смертью, как совершенно чужие люди. И здесь, мне кажется, заключён символизм Луны. Луна - символ одиночества, это единственный спутник Земли, связанный с ней невидимыми гравитационными силами. Роман увлекателен, вставную часть об Эффинге даже можно смело отнести к приключенческой литературе.
И все же, по моему внутреннему ощущению, есть определенная ненатуральность, и возможно, виной тому Луна. Красивая ассоциация есть, и человеческая психология выстроена в согласии с этой ассоциацией. Но люди всё-таки не такие.
Вот, например, реакция Фогга на известие об обретении отца. "Наверное, не стоит и говорить, что приступ того бешеного гнева, которых охватил меня на кладбище, прошел без следа, но все же, хотя сомнений почти не осталось, я как-то не мог в глубине души поверить, что Барбер — мой отец. Да, было ясно, то в 1946 году он провел ночь с моей мамой; и было так же ясно, что в через девять месяцев родился я. Но где доказательства, что она спала только с Барбером? Скорее всего, было именно так. Но ведь мама одновременно могла встречаться и с двумя мужчинами. А если так, то, возможно, забеременела она от второго. Только это предположение кое-как позволяло мне не признавать Барбера отцом, но я вцепился в него изо всех сил. Пока оставалась хотя бы капля сомнения, я не мог заставить себя поверить в это. Такая реакция была странной, но сейчас, обдумывая ту ситуацию, я понимаю ее истоки. Двадцать четыре года вопрос оставался невыясненным и, главное, был принципиально невыясненным. Мое происхождение — тайна, и мне никогда не узнать своего рода. Это — главная черта моей неповторимости, мое отличие, и я сделал эту таинственность источником самоуважения, поверил в нее, как в неизбежность бытия. Как бы страстно ни мечтал я найти отца, такой возможности никогда не допускалось. Теперь же, когда я его нашел, внутреннее неприятие оказалось настолько сильным, что сначала я не мог не отрицать этого. Причиной отрицания был вовсе не сам Барбер, причиной являлась сама ситуация. Он стал моим самым лучшим другом, и я любил его как друга. Если бы мне предложили из всех людей на свете выбрать себе отца, я бы выбрал его. И все же принять его как отца не мог. Все мое существо противилось этому, и мне было очень тяжело." Разве так бывает, что тайна рождения, пусть она и была источником самоуважения, может затмить радость от обретения отца, тем более отца, с которым он стал другом? Такой эгоцентризм зашкаливает. Но надо отметить, что безотцовщина в нынешние времена стала повсеместной, и если классиков девятнадцатого века волновали проблемы отцов и детей, то сейчас волнуют проблемы отсутствия отцов у детей.
Мне понравились детали из биографии Никколо Теслы, Ральфа Блэйклока.

M. S. Fogg'dan başlayarak, onun bitik hikâyesinin başlangıcından başlayarak sonuna kadar karmaşası durmadan devam eden bir roman. Romana dahil olan kahramanlar, hiçbir yerde aksatmıyor hikâyeyi ve kurguyu, en sonunda da öyle bir yerden bağlanıyor ki, boşluksuz ve iz süren bir anlatı çıkıyor ortaya. Ortalarda başlayan Effing'in hikâyesi bir yerde romanın gereksiz uzatıldığı hissini veriyor, burdan bakınca daha iktisatlı bir roman olabilirmiş (bazı detaylar olmasaydı da romanın kurgusu sakatlanmazdı çünkü) ama roman öyle akıcı bir üsluba sahip ki, bu da bir yerden sonra hissettirmiyor kendini. Romanın sonu puanım 8/10 iken, bunu 9/10'a çıkarmamı sağladı. Bu romanı, Auster'a başlangıç romanı olarak ne okuyabilirim diye sorduğumda Mert Tanaydın tavsiye etmişti, oldukça isabetli bir tercih oldu doğrusu. Bir bütün olarak iyi ve etkileyici bir roman çünkü.

This was the first Paul Auster book I read, before I realized that he basically just writes variations of the same book. It's a good book, though, so I read all of the variations. He's got a couple of main themes--randomness, chance, coincidence, obsession--and some of the books play more strongly on some themes than on others. I think of this as the "coincidence" book.

Probably one of the best-constructed and intelligent novels on origin and destination I‘ve ever read. Auster is an ace at skillfully dealing out certain themes, among them coincidence, monetary loss, failure and the idea that language is the key aspect of understanding and sensing the world. Obviously, these topics are repeated throughout his quiver of works, however, they are always introduced in a gentle fashion.

In Moon Palace, published in 1989, Auster delves deep into the interconnectivity of three generations, constructing both storyline and characters in such a palpable way that I had to repeatedly remind myself that this was and still is a work of fiction - and thus, fiction at its best.

Libraries aren‘t in the real world, after all. They‘re places apart, santuaries of pure thought. In that way, I can go on living on the moon for the rest of my life.

Paul Auster ist einer der amerikanischen Autoren, die ich wirklich mag. Weder faselt er episch breit um den Brei herum, noch erzählt er Geschichten über den amerikanischen Mittelstand, mit seinen Pseudoproblemchen, der wahrscheinlich in Amerika sowieso nicht mehr existiert, deshalb schreiben ihn andere Autoren so krampfhaft herbei - so wie man gerne Romane über Einhörner schreibt ;-).

Austers Figuren haben echte Troubles, stürzen schon mal zwischenzeitlich auch gelegentlich in die Obdachlosigkeit ab und drohen auf der Strasse zu verrecken, erholen sich dann wieder, kriegen einen Job, finden die verschollene Familie, verlieren wieder alles.... spannende Geschichten, die das Leben schreibt, keine eingebildeten Marotten sondern echte Probleme.

Ich mag die Geschichte sehr, warum ich dennoch keine 5 Sterne gebe, kann ich gar nicht artikulieren, denn es hat mich nichts wirklich gar nichts an diesem Roman gestört - bis auf den Umstand, dass mir möglicherweise der letzte Kick der Überraschungs-Wow Effekt gefehlt hat.
Wahrscheinlich bin ich nur ungerecht, denn Erzählungen, die so wenig effektheischend, erfrischend normal und in etwas langsamerem Tempo daherkommen sollte es eigentlich viel mehr geben.

Mein Fazit daher: Absolut lesenswert!

Λατρεύω τον τρόπο που κεντά τους χαρακτήρες του...

Magistral, y traumático en su locura. Una historia en la que su personaje, M. S. Fogg, busca su yo interior, una especie de señal que guíe sus pasos. Unos pasos tambaleantes, indecisos, y al tiempo quietos, una especie de locura sin definir.

Pročitala sam par Osterovih romana i nismo kliknuli. Ovaj mi se dopao, zapravo, odličan je, samo sam shvatila da Oster nije "moj pisac" (što je sasvim okej). Svakako, ovde se rastajemo.

Palatul lunii - romanul coincidențelor neverosimile. Auster - unul dintre cei mai mari “mincinoși” din întreaga ficțiune. Un plăsmuitor neîntrecut.

Cartea asta este de citit în împrejurările în care ți se întâmplă să simți că ai încetat să mai crezi în ficțiune, în “adevărul minciunilor”. Este o supradoză de născociri uimitoare ce te seduc & conving, treptat, să le cedezi, acceptându-le.

Volumul se încheagă în jurul capacității diverșilor povestitori-personaje de a ține focul poveștii nestins. Rolul autorului fiind acela de a stabili care sunt firele nevăzute ce leagă întâmplările între ele.

Cât timp mai este o istorisire de spus, o reconstituire sau o speculație de făcut și măcar un cititor la “capătul celălalt”, romanul lui Auster poate să-și urmeze fără obstacole existența. Și ar putea s-o tot ducă așa, la nesfârșit.

Traducerea, cu toate că-i cinstită, suferă de acele mici infatuări ale traducătorului prea sigur(ă) pe el (ea), luat de valul credinței că a dat de “miezul” cărții, începând să zburde cam neglijent prin vocabular și gramatică.

Mai concret, este inadmisibil să nu cunoști formele conjugării mai mult ca perfectului, dacă tot îți asumi marea răspundere de a-l transpune pe Auster în românește. Nu poți să aproximezi mai mult ca perfectul ca la mamaia acasă, la țară, în sudul patriei, unde ai crescut: “judecasei” (în loc de judecaseși), “crezusei” (în loc de crezuseși).

Din păcate, de multe ori, neglijențele de acest tip îmi umbresc apoi lectura întregii cărți. Înaintez cu suspiciune, întrebându-mă mereu dacă să am sau să n-am deplină încredere în ceea ce urmează să citesc...

I'd give this book one star only, but I feel maybe (though I'm not thoroughly convinced) that somewhere under all the awful, pretentious drivel there's a kernel of something interesting. I mean - by itself - the plot elements have the makings of something to pique the interest of even a casual reader; curious characters, strange happenings, wordplay and symbolism. And maybe I'm missing something others can see in this book. Apparently it's pretty well received overall. I feel, however, that this book is flawed, if not just outright bad.

One problem is that despite Auster's attempts to imbue his characters with interesting characteristics, he fails miserably at expounding on these qualities in the actual narrative. Let me elaborate: he doesn't describe people through their actions or interactions. Not even through dialogue. He just whips up an adjective and expects you to buy it. Sol has great "wit and charm", Auster (or rather, Fogg) informs us, but I cannot recall a single instance of this wit or charm actually occurring in the book. It feels stumblingly awkward, and on several occasions exasperatingly lazy.

Halfway through the book I actually threw up my head and groaned loudly at the quality of the writing. I think it was during introduction of Kitty - a character and plot line so weak you could use it to dilute water. She's probably the least believable female stereotype I've ever had the misfortune to encounter. And also so obviously the writers personal fantasy that's it's embarrassing. At one point Auster (oops, I mean Fogg) candidly tells us "I pulled down Kitty's jeans and panties and brought her to orgasm with my tounge". I would have winced but for the sad inadequacy of the text at producing arousal of any kind.

And it's not just the ennui of the sex scenes or the morbidly one-dimensional characters either. The way he writes dialogue is just astoundingly bad. Not a single one of his characters has a unique voice, they all sound like the same person when they speak. He might as well have skipped the dialogue all together, as it only functions to forward plot, and often only in only the most rudimentary way.

Another huge problem is that the protagonist is not only a shallow, self absorbed sociopath with no redeeming qualities whatsoever, he's not even interesting. I had absolutely no interest in finding out anything about his intentions or plans, motives or history. I didn't care one way or another about whether he starved or got laid or found out who his father was. He leaves this Kitty character and then wallows in misery like it's somehow not his own fault. He shows no empathy or interest towards anyone apart from himself.

Apart from these things Auster writes OK. He's never brilliant, often adequate, sometimes quite awful. There's a lot of symbolism, mainly revolving (ha!) around the moon. But it doesn't feel significant to the story, and it fails to deliver anything more than shallow connections and musings on the themes of the book - much like the characters, the setting and the dialogue. I had no idea what this book was trying to tell me, and I would venture to say that neither does Auster.

I finished Moon Palace on principle, because I don't like to judge a book unless I've read the whole thing. And for sure, there are some qualities in this book, particularly the story about Effing in the desert and the cave. But the qualities of the main story are sadly buried underneath a heap of purple prose, anemic characterization and bland dialogue. I was recommended this book, but I will sadly not be recommending it to anyone, ever.

Postmodern American tragedy.

This was my first Paul Auster work and it was clear early on that this man can write, a wonderful storyteller with a naturally flowing style. Early on I would have said that this was going to be a 5-star review from me, but as the story all started to come together, my adoration began to evaporate. There are coincidences galore and eventually these piled up upon one another to being a bit too much for this reader. The story's trajectory is a side-winding, strange roller-coaster ride and the characters frustratingly self-harming. I suppose in some ways this was a caricature of real life, I don't know... random connections and pivotal moments that change individual courses marked by missed opportunities, failings, and discoveries... most people are their own worst enemies at times and we can never really know others nor ourselves fully because the journey to do so is constantly changing us... stories within stories, memories that are altering, altered, and yet real. I should love this novel, I just didn't quite by the end. I like messy human stories, this was both messy and an emotional journey, but it was neatly fitted together, rapid-fire, yet passively explored, and then all at once melodramatic. Perhaps even this frustration is just fine, I was taken for a ride along the pages and while I didn't love every turn, I loved the style.