The Red Notebook

The Red Notebook by Paul Auster (2002) This was a case of my spotting this thin paperback on the floor of a bookstore, buying it impulsively, and reading it right away—I'd not heard of this book, don't usually read short stories, and I wasn't looking to read anything by Paul Auster, though I've liked his books in the past. I guess this is a collection of previously published stories, put together here because of the theme of coincidence—which is one of my favorite subjects—I'm fascinated with the question. Is everything connected? I think it is, but whether that happens externally, with a grand structure, or if it's about us, and our perceptions—that's the question. I'm inclined to believe that there is no perception of the world without memory, and there is no memory without narrative, so it is us—but that doesn't, thankfully, explain everything. One might ask, about this book, is it actually “True Stories” (as it's subtitled) or is it fiction?—I don't ask that. I believe it to be both, at the same time. What I ask is, why is this writing so compelling? Everyone has these stories, so you'd think everyone could write this book. But try it. That's all I do, pretty much, is try it. Mostly you come up with a mass of words that are flatter than a pancake, and not nearly as tasty. Syrup just makes it worse. I've always found Paul Auster's voice to be both alien and like my best friend, at the same time, and I have no idea why. I suppose he's the old-fashioned magician, but a good one—he can be corny, but you can't figure out what he's doing, or why you love it so much, but you do—or I do anyway. I'll probably read this again sometime, if I don't loan it out to someone.