Oh, Gawwd, Nooooo!

Ghosts by Paul Auster

My rating: 2 of 5 stars


[Just tossing words out] This must be one of those deconstructed, existential, minimalist detective stories for people who consider the genre beneath them.  It spent a whole lot of time going nowhere, which I suppose is the point, and then ends suddenly and Spillainely.  Perhaps it is just a send-up of the genre in an artier form for the cognoscente, but the observer/observed and writer/reader confusion was done to death by the 1960s and done by much better writers (Borges, for example). I kept hoping Mr. Blue would get the point sooner and ask Caleb Carr to help him with that Mr. Gold conundrum so something interesting might happen, but alas it was not to be.  Mercifully, the book was short, however it took me two weeks to read 96 pages. 



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