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by Paul Auster
Our country is built on these two primal sins: the sin of slavery and the sin of genocide. We can’t really become a fully functioning, mature country unless we own up to how we started.
On the eve of the Frankfurt Book Fair, it's striking evidence of a literary trade imbalance that so many American books should be prominent in German buchhandlungs when so few German writers are available in English at all.
Every time there’s a new Auster novel out, I think it may be different, and I give him a chance, and soon find I’m back in the usual territory: identity puzzles, murky timelines, ominous danger. And I’ve given the guy so many chances.