Book Review: “Sunset Park” by Paul Auster
Middling and Troubling
Paul Auster is probably one of my favourite authors — and I think I can say that because I’ve read just about all of his books over a peroid of some 20-odd years. However, I’ve been ignorant of his career, if he still has one, since he published the monumental 4 3 2 1 around five years ago or so. Strangely, the book up for discussion here, Sunset Park (originally published in 2010), languished in my To Be Read pile for more than a decade — and I’m not entirely sure why, aside from the age-old excuse that I was writing reviews for a popular webzine when this came out and, after a while, I simply forgot it existed. Well, now that I’ve had the time to read it, I have to say that I’ve found it to be one of Auster’s more middling efforts. This is bizarre for me to write because Auster is a writer who isn’t prone to any sort of mediocrity. Since he likes to use baseball analogies, I can say that he either knocks it out of the park (City of Glass, The Book of Illusions) or else hits a grounder into foul territory (The Brooklyn Follies, Oracle Night). Still, despite the inconsistency, I’ve generally kept reading, hoping that each new book will land somewhere in the parking lot outside of the stadium. To that end, Sunset Park is a letdown — if you can call ending up on second base a letdown.
In saying that this is a “letdown,” that’s not to say that the novel doesn’t have admirable qualities. It is experimental. It uses a framing device to tell a story that is essentially one long diversion into everything from, well, baseball to foreign dissident writers to the 1946 film The Best Years of Our Lives. Set in the aftermath of the 2008 financial crisis, the story centres around a man in his late 20s by the name of Miles Heller, who works in Florida in the unlikely career of being a trash-out worker, or someone who empties houses that have been foreclosed by the banks. He is in love with a 17-year-old girl. Her sister asks Miles to steal some valuable belongings for her from the work that he does. When he doesn’t comply, he is beaten by some hired goons — and Miles retreats to New York City where a friend of his and some female companions are squatting in a house in the Sunset Park neighbourhood. The exile to New York allows Miles to reconnect with the family he hasn’t seen in nearly a decade, owing to an accident that Miles was involved in that killed his similarly aged stepbrother. However, this is all a diversion for Auster to riff on the things that he loves or was infatuated with at the time that he was writing this book.
Despite the inconsistency of the Auster oeuvre, I’ve always admired and respected Auster for the risks he takes with his books. In the case of Sunset Park, the risk is to shift the focus of the narrative from Miles to others in his peripheral circle. However, this doesn’t always pay off and that’s because Miles is such an interesting character that his friends and family can come across as being intellectual bores once you get to know them a little. For instance, Miles’ father is a book publisher who publishes the type of highly cerebral author who can come across as being dry, making this character a little dull to be with. The other thing that kills this novel is that it has something of a downer of an ending. I won’t spoil it, but as one generally comes to like the young characters that populate the lives around Miles, what winds up happening to everyone is a bit depressing and a cause for a dangling loose end or two. This is unfortunate because one winds up being invested in a novel where things don’t always work out as they may seem. But I should probably say nothing more, except to say that if you’re looking for a ”shot at redemption” type of tale, you won’t find it here.
For these reasons, I’m on the fence when it comes to Sunset Park. I can be charitable and say that this is a novel where its author isn’t coasting or resting on his laurels — even if there’s the usual reference to a notebook that comes into play. There’s even a tease at one point for the then-upcoming 4 3 2 1, so it’s likely that that impressive (and long) novel wouldn’t have been written if it weren’t for Sunset Park, so the latter does have its rightful place in the annals of Auster’s literature. As well, Sunset Park may have been a product of its times, written during the bleak near-bank failures towards the end of George W. Bush’s presidency. However, reading this book at the end of an even bleaker period (the finally seemingly lifting COVID-19 pandemic) is a little much, it seems. This is not particularly a feel-good book, in that it foretells America’s fall from grace — at least insofar as being able to look after its citizens. And one could argue that Auster’s work, in general, is particularly world-weary with pessimistic endings. Still, there’s stuff here that might resonate — the quality of Auster’s writing, at least — so it might be worthy of some examination in the year 2023. And this is far from the worst Auster I’ve read. I’m glad to have encountered it, hungry for something new since I devoured 4 3 2 1, so there’s that at least. However, believe the word “sunset” in the title. Aside from that, there’s a lot of talk about baseball (if not games, in general). You may enjoy this if you’re into that kind of thing. It is up to you.
Paul Auster’s Sunset Park was published by Picador on October 25, 2011.
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