Paul Auster: Baumgartner
In Auster’s final work, we follow Sy Baumgartner, a professor in his seventies, still mourning the loss of his wife Anna, who died ten years earlier. As Sy reflects on a life lived and a future rapidly shrinking, his memories are interwoven with other texts, such as his late wife’s poetry and his own philosophical essays, creating a layered, contemplative narrative in true Austerian fashion.
Unlike some of Auster’s earlier, more voluminous novels (he once joked they could break your foot if dropped), this book is shorter and more accessible. That’s why I’m recommending it, even to those who may not be Auster fans. It’s worth picking up for the opening chapter alone: a tragicomic sequence of mishaps and minor injuries that had me laughing through tears.
"Baumgartner" is unmistakably filled with the question of ageing and mortality. Sy is haunted by the memory of his wife, and in this novel, Auster leaves readers with a similarly haunting impression.
"Baumgartner" lingers in the mind – a quiet echo of a remarkable literary voice. Auster’s farewell, like Baumgartner’s, is moving and deeply human; it’s a beautiful reflection on love, memory, and loss. A parting gift that resonates long after the final page.
Book Recommendation by Dr. Jessica Sanfilippo-Schulz
Freundeskreis der Stadtbücherei und Freiwillige Hansabücherei (Leiterin „Tea and Talk Conversation Circle“)