Mr. Vertigo
I first read Paul Auster in High School. At the time Auster published a collection of autobiographical essays in a book called "Hand to Mouth." It was the story of his life. How he had become a writer. It was just the kind of handbook I was looking for. I was 16 or close to it, I was certain I was going to be a writer. If not a writer than an upholsterer, either way I was going to change the world.
Auster's book gave me a means to justify my irrational actions and thoughts. It also made me think it is OK for a writer to stand on the societal water tower and piss all over the place. I missed the elemental emptiness the pee shivers leave you with when your standing in the empty blue sky. Auster wrote the misery in there, but I was too young to absorb it all. I saw the flash but not the burn.
In "Mr. Vertigo" he proves, once again, that he knows how to put together a story. This story is about a kid (Walter) who is in a way kidnapped and tortured until he learns how fly. Walt is a semi-willing participant because he wants to do something great. If he learns how to fly the Euro-trash kidnapper and Walt will get black-rapper rich. Of course the book is set in a time when blacks were still slaves, but thatÂ’s not as important as a good metaphor. It is an adventure novel, a travel narrative and one hell of a strange tale. The best part of the books is that Auster never tells the reader how Walter learned, or is taught, how to fly. Since I haven't learned the secret I can't tell you anything more than what I learned about flying in high school. I know for a fact it has something to do with a handful of pain medication, a Dr. Pepper, two half-eaten cucumbers and fairy dust.