I finished reading Paul Auster’s latest novel Invisible last night. I think it’s his best book in a while. This piece from Clancy Martin’s review really does it true justice:
You want to reread â€œInvisibleâ€ because it moves quickly, easily, somehow sinuously, and you worry that there were good parts that you read right past, insights that you missed. The prose is contemporary American writing at its best: crisp, elegant, brisk. It has the illusion of effortlessness that comes only with fierce discipline. As often happens when you are in the hands of a master, you read the next sentence almost before you are finished with the previous one. The novel could be read shallowly, because it is such a pleasure to read.