This is the second book by Paul Auster to appear here, after In the Country of Last Things. 4 3 2 1 is a much more literary, serious work, and one that explores a concept dear to most writers’ imaginations: what other lives could be lived by a character?
Starting with a single chapter about the first of his family to emigrate to America, the novel divides into four streams, each following the life of the same character through four different possible lives. In each, his parents are the same people, but their circumstances change, sometimes slightly and sometimes quite dramatically; likewise a set of characters–friends, lovers, extended family–appear in multiple streams, sometimes as bit players and sometimes with leading roles.
Auster tends to write in very long sentences, sentences that often go on for a page or more, extended by a prolific use of commas, with clauses and detailed explanations sprinkled in for good effect at every turn, creating a slow, languid rhythm that carries the novel forward, and making it a gentle read containing detailed explanations of the motivations and reactions of his characters, something that makes it even more surprising when the narrative finally comes to rest, pausing for a moment with the calm respite of a period, and perhaps a descriptive clause. Whew.
As long as that stylistic choice is not offputting, the book is consistently good and at times fascinating: all four versions of the protagonist are deeply involved in sports (baseball and basketball, sometimes singly and sometimes both) but the eventual role of that involvement varies greatly; his childhood is formed by the different fortunes encountered by his parents and, equally, their different reactions to those circumstances; even his search for love and friendship is similar, yet unique, across the four stories.
Auster clearly has a great love for New York–while the protagonist is raised in suburban New Jersey, his escapes to Manhattan are consistent throughout, and the wider, global events of the 1960s are seen through the narrower lens of NYC and, more specifically, the happenings on and around the Columbia campus.
There is a risk in this kind of endeavor that the exercise overwhelms the narrative–that is, the sleight of hand involved in the four parallel stories becomes the primary focus. Auster avoids this (although some may disagree about the success of the final chapter, which re-unites the narratives), and provides a rewarding, intriguing read.
#WhatIWishICouldDo
I am sometimes tempted by the long sentence thing. They feel much more “literary” somehow, but I can’t really pull it off. More than that, the confidence that is needed to take a not-terribly-unusual writing exercise and turn it into a successful novel is admirable, and something I certainly don’t have at this point.