Customer Reviews

Timbuktu: A Novel

5 star:		(47)
4 star:		(33)
3 star:		(16)
2 star:		(11)
1 star:		(17)

 

 

I'm surprised by some of the nasty reviews here, especially from Kirkus. In truth, this book is too slim and too sad to appeal to the masses at all, and I'm absolutely certain Auster didn't see this as a potential best-seller.

It's a flawed book -- too short, and not completely fleshed-out. It reads like it was written completely by feel, and in fact I heard Auster describe it this way, since he was intending for these two characters to be in a longer novel, but they just took over the story by themselves.

But I wanted to say that I was very, very moved by the story...enough so that I couldn't sleep the night I read it. I think Paul Auster explores loneliness like almost no contemporary writer. I don't understand anybody writing this off as a sentimental doggy story. Mr. Bones is a dog only because dogs are the ultimate disenfranchised group; even religions have no dispensation for them. I thought Auster hit on something really important here, that the circumstances of the story perfectly cut to the heart of the absolute lack of security in loving someone.

I'm frustrated by the book, too, mostly because I think Auster basically started the story near the end and didn't know where the heck else to go with it. Much of the middle feels like filler. But these are two characters who will stick with me a long time. Not Auster's best, but well worth reading.

Once you've read Timbuktu, you may wonder if author Paul Auster is the quintessential dog reincarnated--so sensitive, authentic, and convincing is his portrayal of the mutt Mr. Bones. He is the canine sidekick (and doppelganger) of the sympathetic Willy G. Christmas, a devastated bard who, much too early in life, has found himself homeless and dying and thus trekking across Maryland in search of 316 Calvert Street. These two original characters share protagonist struggles in this heart-crushing, slice-of-life story.

Through a successful omniscient, third-person narrator, Timbuktu portrays a climactic period in the lives of these two discounted characters. Their street experiences have an interesting and very subtle effect of a hybrid parable/fable which is easy to miss upon a casual reading. Willy has spent his life writing and abusing his body due to psychological condition and a deep hurt that is never (and need not be) identified. His conversations with the cognizant Mr. Bones while teetering on the outskirts of a cold society to which Willy has been generous and compassionate are engrossing as they illustrate both the wit and deterioration of a bright mind. But Auster's story doesn't shout, is not didactic. Instead its subtleties may cause readers to reconsider the demise of community--for people as well as domestic companions.

Auster's writing is smooth as silk but his story has barbs. After reading this book, Willy and Mr. Bones continued to haunt my thoughts. Timbuktu is so smoothly delivered that it took me days to realize the concealed ethic in this humanitarian story. This is a seemingly simple book with hidden power, worthy of any reader.

Paul Auster is generally a master of his craft - using language well. This book is no exception. However, this is a book that reads as if it were crafted rather than grown out of the characters. Willie, as a homeless, mentally ill individual, is developed as a realistic character avoiding many of the cliches that are ascribed to such a character. However, none of the characters Mr. Bones meets after Willie's death are more than cardboard characters.

As for Mr. Bones himself, each reader will have a private opinion as to how well the dog is portrayed - an opinion based on the reader's presuppositions about dogs. That is to say that the author does not develop Mr. Bones in a manner to cause the reader to suspend disbelief if the portrayal is significantly different from the reader's opinions on dogs.

Nevertheless, the book is an enjoyable read - and a reasonable reread - especially for dog lovers. But if you've not read Paul Auster before, this is not the book on which you should judge the quality of his work.

Mr. Bones, the canine protagonist of Timbuktu, has, for the past nine years, been the trusty (and trusted) companion of Willy G. Christmas, a drunken, schizoid, vagabond poet who was born William Gurevitch in November 1947, the only child of Polish-Jewish immigrants. Auster fans will recognize Willy as a reworking of the heroes of Moon Palace and Music of Chance: a Booklyn-born, Columbia-educated child of the 50s.

After Willy torpedoes his budding literary career with drugs and suffers "the schizo flip-out of 1968," he experiences an epiphany: Santa Claus, himself speaks to him directly via his television telling him "to embody the mission of Christmas every day of the year, to ask nothing from the world and give it only love in return."

Willy takes this commandment so seriously that he and Mr. Bones are soon almost bankrupt. When Willy finds himself mortally ill, he collects his seventy-four notebooks, filled with "poems, stories, essays, diary entries, epigrams, autobiographical musings, and the first 1800 lines of an epic in progress," and, with Mr. Bones in tow, sets out for 316 Calvert Street, Baltimore, Maryland, the home of Mrs. Bea Swanson.

Mrs. Swanson, the one teacher who actually encouraged Willy, has now become Willy's designated recipient of both the notebooks and Mr. Bones.

But Willy dies en route, leaving Mr. Bones to fend for himself. Mr. Bones evades both dog catchers and a group of wayward boys and is befriended by the gentle-but-luckless eleven year old, Henry Chow, before landing in the lap of bourgeois luxury in rural Virginia.

For a time, things couldn't seem better, thinks Mr. Bones, but, like all perfect times, this one, too, comes to an end.

Like other Auster books, Timbuktu owes a debt to the author's previous works. There is a hip jocularity and distinct Americaness about this book that is evocative of Mr. Vertigo.

Willy's logomaniacal speeches at the beginning of the book are energizing but intrusive and detract from the warm connection Mr. Bones feels for his master. Mr. Bones, himself, is given a more familiar Austerian voice that is crisp and fast-flowing.

Timbuktu is devoid of satire, magic realism and political and social statements of any kind, all to Auster's credit. It eschews existential problems such as those encountered by Franz Kafka's canine narrator in Investigations of a Dog. Timbuktu's theme seems to be spiritual longing, connectedness and the search for something better than what we already possess.

Auster, usually an outstanding writer, fails to fulfill the promises he makes with Timbuktu. Although Mr. Bones is a joy, Auster doesn't give this wonderful dog free enough rein and the book suffers for it. It could have been, and should have been, so much more. The German historian, Saul Friedlander, has written that kitsch and death are the new religions of our day. Perhaps Auster tried to symbolize their union in Timbuktu. If so, he should have just stuck with Mr. Bones, a genuine winner in every way.

For those seeking great literature or a book offering deeply-satisfying, life-enriching themes, Timbuktu would be a poor choice. But for those simply looking for a light, warm-hearted story and a few hours of pure entertainment (as I was), Timbuktu will no doubt more than suffice.

I'm an Auster fan, and recognize the recurrent themes and Auster-isms pointed out in previous reviews. However, I'm in a miniscule minority (so far just one) when I assert this book not be about men and dogs, but about words and knowledge.

How do we know the things we know, and how accurately do we know them when they are described by words? When we read a book, we tend to think the words are absolute in expressing ideas. They are, after all, the author's tools.

Mr Bones' idea of the human world is convoluted-not-clarified by words. Mr Bones' notions of what things are is not so clear when all he has to go on is the word. What is Timbuktu? A symbol of heaven? But what if pets are not allowed? Or is it just a dry, dusty little city in the sw Sahara?

What is this "vacation" the Joneses are going on, when Mr Bones' only idea is Mom-san's "I'm on vacation" at the end of house chores?

There is a word on p 26 used to describe Willy's career: vagabondage. A real word. A word that consists of two words (vagabond and bondage) nearly opposite in meaning, hinged on a third: "bond". This is pretty heady stuff, not unlike the Mirror Fugues in Bach's "Art of Fugue".

In "In the Country of Last Things" there is a passage about the deterioration of words, of how they wear out and lose their meanings. This theme is prominent in this work.

Then there is Mr Bones. Aka Cal Ripken Junior the Second. Aka Sparky. Same creature, and just as real to each of his "boon companions". What is this three-named creature? Is he any different in any of those identities?

This one looks like it's ready for a doctoral dissertation right out of the box. And my favorite Auster. So far.

Always, Paul Auster provides much more than meets the eye. His prose is pellucid, so much so that it's easy to skim the surface alone and simply glide along from one handsome sentence to the next. He's a "jazzy" writer whose usage is so fresh it sometimes feels improvised on the spot. He's also a playful writer and enjoys getting one (or two) over on his readers (never more so than in the New York Trilogy).

In these respects, Timbuktu is pure Auster. If you are among his admirers, you'll be gratified; if you're unfamiliar with him, it's as good a place as any to begin. If you're a doggie person, however, you're in for a particular treat. Unlike other writers who have tried and failed to create believable canine characters--Kristin Bakis and her disappointing Lives of the Monster Dogs comes to mind--Auster's Mr. Bones is convincingly realized (once you surrender to the well-deployed conceit that dogs understand everything we say). Within this bittersweet work are several hilarious scenes--mostly related to food--in which we see our dogs and ourselves as in a very bright light.

This is not simply the "Dolorous Adventures of Willy and Mr. Bones," although it works at that level alone as a wonderfully entertaining, if ultimately bleak, picaresque. But Auster also has a lot to say about relationships, loyalty, loneliness, the quality of modern life, and more. And all in 181 quirky, quickly read pages.

In the context of Auster's diverse, unique oeuvre, Timbuktu is yet another sharp turn to new and unusual materials, wrought with the author's characterisitic originality. Woof.

Mr. Bones is a very special dog, a dog who understands Ingloosh and almost speaks it. A dog who is happy roaming about the country with his master, Willie G. Christmas. If Willie is homeless, probably schizophrenic, certainly eccentric; if they rarely have enough to eat; if he doesn't always understand Willie's metaphysical ramblings--what does that matter between a dog and his best friend? Alas, in the first chapter, Willie is coughing up blood, and Mr. Bones knows that Willie is going to die.

The entire story is told through the point of view of this remarkable dog. Is it the story of a dog? Or the story of Willie? Or the story of life in America? Or a story about love, alienation, betrayal and loss? Well, it's all of these. And what is Timbuktu? For that, you will have to read the book. I'm not going to tell you.

Author Paul Auster is a genius with language. Somehow he draws you into this improbable story and makes it believable. More than believable. Compelling. Does he really get inside the mind of a dog? Who am I to say? I can only say that for me he makes the mind of a dog as believable and understandable as any other mind.

Some reviewers expressed disappointment with this book, but I thought it was wonderful. Just let it speak in its own voice and take it for what it is and you will love it. I recommend Timbuktu highly. Reviewed by Louis N. Gruber.

This book requires two different reviews depending on whether or not the perspective reader has previously read any Auster.

If you haven't, this book is a fine, interesting read (forget the Kirkus dog/god thing, you won't find "pure corn will cure porn" anywhere else). Auster is a modern master. The book will do you good as long as you can forgive Auster's careless application of his style of prose to every charcter's voice in the novel (well, most of them).

If you have read more than three Auster books, you should know by now that Auster basically comes up with pretty much the same plot in every novel. The details and the subtlties vary, but this book is basically a mixture of The Music of Chance and parts of the New York Trilogy. If you read this expecting to find something completely new, you'll be disapointed. I think that's why so many people have reacted badly to Mr. Vertigo (which was an excellent book). Auster has a number of brilliant ideas in Timbuktu. There are only two major problems with the text. First, the point of view is not even slightly a dog's point of view. Don't be fooled. Auster isn't even close to being consistent with Dr. Bone's voice (Ingloosh...English setter?) Ok, next, as pointed out, the forty pages or so spent in suburbia are very disenchanting, but one can argue that a suburban landscape requires suburban plot and imagery...cest la guerre.

BTW, if this book comes even close to being a best seller, I'll personally get a tatoo of Santa Claus on my arm. This is far from a sellout.

Mr. Auster must has a dog of his own to have written such a moving and entertaining book. Auster's observation of dogs, their behavior, and their relationships with humans is what makes this powerful story work.
Mr. Bones truly has a voice and it's heard loud and clear! Timbuktu is a sad but beautiful love story not to be missed by anyone who loves their canine countepart.

I read the novel in two days and I found it very exciting. Guided by the hand of a great story-teller, the book explores some subjects that are always present in Auster's novels: friendship, loneliness and chance. Original and funny, Timbuktu confirms us that Paul Auster is one of the most brilliant contemporary writers.