In the last couple of weeks, I’ve seen Paul Auster on the street several times. Usually in the morning, I see him on Second Street or walking up Seventh Avenue.
Sometimes he acknowledges me in that way that we acknowledge familiar faces in the Slope. Sometimes not.
I imagine that he’s on his way to his writing studio. Wherever that is. Dark glasses on, he walks in a slow, somber manner. Like he’s thinking really serious thoughts about his writing, no doubt. A handsome man, he’s tall, well-shaped with perfect chiseled features. He’s almost too handsome to be a writer. Which isn’t to say that writers can’t be handsome. They are. It’s just that Paul Auster looks like a movie star.
"Off to create masterful prose," I think to myself when I see him in the mornings. "There he goes, that handsome genuis."
I don’t want anyone to get the idea that I am a literary stalker. No, not at all. It’s just that I am aware of Paul Auster when he’s in my midst. At the Community Bookstore talking to his daughter about an art book. Walking his dogs on Second Street or with his wife, Siri Hustvedt, on Union Street.
On Thanksgiving, I stood behind Auster on the cashier line at Met Food as he bought two packages of Oscar Meyer bologna and white bread (it wasn’t Wonder).
I figured it was some kind of protest against the feast of Thanksgiving. Maybe it’s what he eats while he’s writing. Maybe he feeds it to his dog. God knows.
It was just interesting. That’s all. Notable.
I have to admit that I’ve never actually read THE NEW YORK TRILOGY (1987), three books which are said to be marvels. I truly enjoyed a recent novel called "THE BOOK OF ILLUSIONS" And SMOKE is one of my favorite Brooklyn movies of all time.
It’s no secret that Auster is the totemic male writer of literary Brooklyn. It used to be Mailer. But I don’t think he lives in Brooklyn Heights anymore. The borough, particularly Park Slope, is full to bursting with writers. And it’s not just men. We’ve got Kathryn Harrison, Siri Hustvedt, Elisa Schappel, Tama Janowitz, Jill Eisenstadt, Mary Morris…And those are just the published ones.
Still, seeing Paul Auster in the morning is a big thrill.
"Off to create masterful prose," I think to myself. "There he goes, that handsome genuis."
NOTE: Paul Auster and Celine Curiol, a French writer and journalist, will be reading Thursday June 30th at Barbes. Curiol will be reading in French from her first novel "Voix sans issue" which was just published in France on Actes Sud, and should soon be translated into English. Paul Auster will be reading from his translation of Chateaubriand’s "Memoirs from Beyond the Grave" – aptly re-titled "Memoirs from a Dead Man" by The Book of Illusions’ protagonist. 7:30 p.m. Barbes. 9th Street near Sixth Avenue.
I’ll be visiting Park Slope soon, live in Montreal. Being a huge PA fan, I did dwell on the thought that I could theoretically end up in a grocery line up behind him (if I was in front I’d miss him!) It was fun to read that this type of perchance meeting (ah! The music of chance!) has happened to you, not once but several times!!!
The Auster is tickled from his swarthy locks down to his pickled toes at thine joy one feeleth as the Auster passeth upon yonder streets. One comment, howsoever: when the Auster passeth, please, thou sweaty forehead must touch the sidewalk completely until the Auster’s awesome footsteps are long passeth.
Don’t forget Kilgore Trout! I saw him in Key Food examining dented cans of beans and I thought, “There he goes, smelly genius off to eat some more beans. I really wish he was good-looking so I could feel good. I wish he was cute, or I saw him dragging his kids to school or out buying sugarless muffins for the Trout clan or staring into the Park Slope sky and musing his musing muses. Sigh. What a romantic life it is to be a writer! And such a frugal shopper–look at all those dented cans of beans he’s buying. Sure hope he doesn’t get boccilism, but even if he does and spends the night wretching in his toilet, his swarthy good looks will still be preserved–sigh. And he’ll create another masterpiece about vomiting and call it the Vomit Trilogy. Sigh again. I do wish I were such a sublime writer. Oh well, at least I’m a writer-type. God bless you Kilgore Trout, and thank you thank you thank you for living in our neighborhood! You’re so much better looking than Steve Buscemi.
I actually did stalk PA once. Spotted him in the Times Sq. station about ten years ago with one of his kids and for kicks decided to follow ala NY Trilogy. He began set off on a curious path through the labyrinthine station. Turns out it was just a shortcut to his street level destination. I on the other hand had to stay in the system because I was broke and had already used my last token and was heading home to the Slope. To this day I’m acknowledged by my circle of friends as being PA’s “biggest fan.”
Hi Smartmom (remember that moniker? :-) I missed this piece the first time around. I think I’d be impressed to see Paul Auster walking around my neighbourhood too. I’ve seen and loved “Smoke” and “Blue in the Face”, but have read only “Timbuktoo” which is not part of the New York business. Great, funny, sad novel.
I”m half-way through “Everything Is Illuminated” and really like the Ukrainian character Alex, but I’m starting to wonder if the romance between the chick who emerges from the pond and the guy with the saw blade in his head (he just died) is very good writing.
I hope he can pull off the hysterical Alex and also write something that feels real emotionally.
I read my first Paul Auster book last summer. 1st and last, that is. Moon Palace. Yawn! Self important, new agey bullshit! I like David Bowker’s pulp murder novels.
PS – Safran Foer sucks ass! Angry brits rool!
so you got picked up by Gawker – I think it was the bologne and white bread that did it – They love that gossip stuff. Keep up the good work
Jonathan Safron Foer is soooooo cute! If I ever run into him I swear to gawd I will scream.
Used to see Kathryn Harrison all the time, and the poet Sapphire (Push). She used to belong to the Co-op but I think she lives in Manhattan now.
also, i just got my first mention in gawker a few weeks ago, a byline for a picture of a piece of poo.
i know celine.
also, you missed a bunch of authors. jonathan ames, jenny offil and dave eggars.
and hopefully one day me.
Foer’s wife is Nicole Krauss, an equally wonderful writer.
Awesome. If you see him again soon, will you please tell him to check out the projects I’m doing around his works?
http://www.hamishrobertson.com/defeatingtheobject
I want to work with him on the final memorial I’m having made.
Thanks, great entry.
Hamish
Yes, you did forget Safron Foer and his wife whose name escapes me. Otherwise, loved the piece. So funny about the bologne – probably worthy of the gossip editors of Gawker.com thanks.
He might not be in the league of Auster yet but let’s not forget young Jonathan Safron Foer. Also of Second Street (my street by the way).