Paul Auster should be quite pleased with himself. He currently stands at the forefront of American high-brow fiction, and along with the likes of Philip Roth and Toni Morrison, has been intensely prolific in recent decades, producing popular works like The Brooklyn Follies (2005) and the triumphant New York Trilogy (1987), following that tradition of American authors who feel they owe their readership a trilogy (Henry James, William Faulkner, John Dos Passos).Very little, it seems, will oppose Paul Auster, as he strives for a cemented place in the canon of American fiction. But how far does Man in the Dark (2008) go to secure his immortality, that much craved holy grail of all artists?
Not very far, would be the answer to that particular question. Man in the Dark envisions an alternative America. A dystopian present where America never went to war with Iraq, where the Twin Towers were never attacked, and where several of the states have gone into secession, provoking a full-blown Civil War of independent versus federal states. Or so we would be led to believe, according to seventy-two-year-old protagonist, August Brill. Bedridden following an accident, Brill contents himself by telling stories about characters he has invented, including the sad saga of Owen Brick: a man flung into this ravaged America and charged with the mission of killing Brill himself. As Brill tells himself these stories, however, it is impossible to ignore his chaotic life in the background, the three generations of shattered relationships.
All sounding good so far. But sadly, a synopsis like that is more fulfilling than Man in the Dark itself. While Auster gears up for an aesthetic sort of At Swim-Two-Birds-style tale of a character waging war against his creator, a novel about how stories and lives interject and are in conflict with each other, he terminates the most compelling story (that of Brick) far too early, leaving you feeling shortchanged. Perhaps the suggestion is that it is futile for Brill to tell himself stories, that a harsh reality soon sears through these dream-narratives. In other words, that the real story Auster wants to tell is that of Brill, and not of Brick. But abandonment of the latter remains awkwardly jarring for the reader.
Aside from this unsatisfying turn of events, Auster succeeds on some other important levels. The writing is sophisticated yet simple, and the characters (even those of Brill, like Flora) are well-drawn and interesting. But if Auster was attempting to make some comment on contemporary America, as most writers would probably be trying for when constructing an alternative version of their recent history, it feels half-hearted and shallow, given only marginal attention. People are the real crux of this novel, not policy. Elsewhere, descriptions of scenes from movies like Ladri di biciclette (The Bicycle Thief/Bicycle Thieves) may be poignant and accurate, marking examples of the intertextuality that Auster enjoys, but they boil down to little more than filler that can be skipped.
Overall, Man in the Dark is a disappointing novel from Auster. It has a wonderful premise, but the best of it is never developed fully, leaving it somewhat stunted and average. Not bad, but a reader could be equally happy left in the dark.
3/5
artsandhumanity 