Bookmarks has not yet published a review of this book. We may do so in the future; in the meantime, please see the other review sources to the right and browse the information from Amazon.com below.
Henry Holt and Co.
<P><B>From the bestselling novelist and author of <I>The Invention of Solitude</I>, a moving and highly personal meditation on the body, time, and language itself</B></P><P>"<I>That is where the story begins, in your body, and everything will end in the body as well.</I> </P><P>Facing his sixty-third winter, internationally acclaimed novelist Paul Auster sits down to write a history of his body and its sensations—both pleasurable and painful. </P><P>Thirty years after the publication of <I>The Invention of Solitude</I>, in which he wrote so movingly about fatherhood, Auster gives us a second unconventional memoir in which he writes about his mother's life and death. <I>Winter Journal</I> is a highly personal meditation on the body, time, and memory, by one of our most intellectually elegant writers.</P>
Henry Holt and Co.
<strong>Amazon Best Books of the Month, August 2012</strong>: At nearly 64, one of our greatest modern writers is feeling his age. In his quietly transfixing new memoir, <i>Winter Journal</i>, Paul Auster meditates on what it means for his mind, body, and creativity to experience the unforgiving passage of time. This should be--and is--an intensely personal chronicle, but Auster makes the journey equally ours by inviting us into its unfolding. "No doubt you are a flawed and wounded person," he cautions, and suddenly you are. <i>You</i> are the player in this story: running away from your pregnant mother in a department store; learning to wrangle your adolescent hormones; taking an "inventory of your scars, in particular the ones on your face"; marveling at the beauty of your wife as she sleeps; moving in and out of 21 homes, recalling their addresses and aesthetics in astonishing detail. "Writing begins in the body, it is the music of the body," Auster notes. With <i>Winter Journal</i>, he reminds us that it is also the joyful, then melancholy, then reluctantly accepting soundtrack of our full and finite lives. --<i>Mia Lipman</i>