Download The New York Trilogy: City of Glass; Ghosts; The Locked Room by Paul Auster PDF

By Paul Auster

Urban of Glass because of an odd mobile name in the course of the evening, Quinn, a author of detective tales, turns into enmeshed in a case extra complicated than any he may have written. Ghosts Blue, a scholar of Brown, has been employed via White to secret agent on Black. From a window of a rented room on Orange road, Blue retains watch on his topic, who's around the road, staring out of his window. The Locked Room Fanshawe has disappeared, abandoning his spouse and child and a cache of impressive novels, performs, and poems. What occurred to him--and why is the narrator, Fanshawe's boyhood pal, lured obsessively into his existence?

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Extra info for The New York Trilogy: City of Glass; Ghosts; The Locked Room (Contemporary American Fiction Series)

Sample text

Mrs. Stillman bent over, put her arm around Peter’s shoulder, and spoke softly into his ear. “It’s time now, Peter,” she said. “Mrs. ” Peter looked up at her and smiled. “I am filled with hope,” he said. Virginia Stillman kissed her husband tenderly on the cheek. “Say good-bye to Mr. Auster,” she said. Peter stood up. Or rather, he began the sad, slow adventure of maneuvering his body out of the chair and working his way to his feet. At each stage there were relapses, crumplings, catapults back, accompanied by sudden fits of immobility, grunts, words whose meaning Quinn could not decipher.

That is bad. Even though they say it is not, it is bad. I am not supposed to remember. But now and then I do, in spite of what I say. “He will come. That is to say, the father will come. And he will try to kill me. Thank you. But I do not want that. No, no. Not anymore. Peter lives now. Yes. All is not right in his head, but still he lives. And that is something, is it not? You bet your bottom dollar. Ha ha ha. “I am mostly now a poet. Every day I sit in my room and write another poem. I make up all the words myself, just like when I lived in the dark.

Of course, my mind is not all it should be. But nothing can be done about that. No. About that. No, no. Not anymore. “You sit there and think: who is this person talking to me? What are these words coming from his mouth? I will tell you. Or else I will not tell you. Yes and no. My mind is not all it should be. I say this of my own free will. But I will try. Yes and no. I will try to tell you, even if my mind makes it hard. Thank you. “My name is Peter Stillman. Perhaps you have heard of me, but more than likely not.

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