Experimental novels fail more often as novels than as experiments. When one succeeds, then, it’s worthwhile to look deeper than the trick. City of Glass, the first novel of Paul Auster’s New York trilogy, deserves its popularity and acclaim, and not just because there’s a character named Paul Auster.
The cover of my copy of the trilogy has an Escheresque cover: a hand holding a pen, and three books, one of which has a cover picturing the hand holding the pen. That’s about how the narration works in City of Glass: it’s a detective novel about a detective novelist, and without giving too much away, let’s just say that there’s Quinn and Paul Auster and “I” and we’re definitely meant to puzzle over exactly how they relate to each other. I was shocked, though, to feel that technique engaging me and drawing me into the narrative. Pointing to meta is rarely anything other than a stale joke; it doesn’t thrill us to see sitcom characters watching a sitcom any more than it shocks us to see the word damn. Escher’s been dead, after all, for 35 years.
City of Glass isn’t just well-storyboarded. It’s cool, and full of sharp prose and curious characters. Auster plays with the detective-novel form–you’ll just have to trust me, because I don’t feel comfortable giving any spoiler more detailed than what’s implicitly between these dashes‑-but retains the vigor. The obsessive protagonist, the creepy villain, and the extreme situations they find themselves in are all well-executed and fun to read. In an early scene Quinn intends to discover his man and stumbles on two in the same building who fit the description perfectly. It’s a meaningful counterpoint to the aforementioned narrative jumble, and it’s also expert characterization set in an accurate, vibrant New York City.
If you want an intricate, robust plot and want to see it resolved, City of Glass will disappoint you. But intrigue, good dialogue, surprise, and consequence are all here, as Auster brings to life not just characters but an aging form.
