Another Paul Auster novel that left me breathless. Day to day reality is as fragile as glass and as elusive as a reflection. Probably the most depressing book that didn’t depress me—the most frustrating characters that didn’t frustrate me. Auster allows his characters to drop the real world to reach for easy living—creating a slow cascade of chaos. One dream suddenly becomes another. Absurd becomes matter of fact. The ending, hard to imagine any escape, is perfectly executed.

Thought of this book while reading Ottessa Moshfegh’s MY YEAR OF REST AND RELAXATION (wildly different but I could see the two books sitting down and having a nice chat). Both authors narrate like they are at a distance but their writing styles draw you in emotionally to understand their characters without hating them. Difficult achievement in both books.