Timbuktu

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.

The star of _Timbuktu_ is Mr. Bones, a dog unlike any other one is likely to meet in a novel. In this incredibly heart warming book the narrator invites the reader to hear Mr. Bones's every thought, and to feel his joy, his pain, his sorrow, and his loneliness. His first master, the late failed poet Willy Gurevitch a/k/a Willy G. Christmas because he enjoyed dressing up as Santa Claus, visits Mr. Bones in his dreams and advises him about surviving in the world without him. Mr. Bones lived with Willy and his Polish-Jewish immigrant mother in Brooklyn. Willy and Mr. Bones often travelled on the road together, his constant companion throughout their myriad journeys. After Willy, Mr. Bones briefly lives in the back yard of an 11 year old Chinese boy whose father hates dogs, then in Virginia with a well-to-do family, the wife and young daughter of whom dote on Mr. Bones (they call him Sparky) and tell him their every secret. The husband reluctantly allows Mr. Bones into their lives as a sop to his wife and daughter. One of the most wondrously fanciful aspects of this novel is Mr. Bones's ability to understand everything that the humans around him say to him, unfortunately lacking the ability to understand their motivations. Of course, Mr. Bones was unable to communicate his needs back to them, although he often tried. Willy always regretted that he never taught Mr. Bones to speak English or to master the use of the typewriter as some other dog supposedly did. Sick, tired, and knowing that he was fast approaching the winter of his life, Mr. Bones seeks comfort by imagining being reunited with Willy in Timbuktu, a heaven where both he and his beloved master can hold endless conversations together. Paul Auster has written a uniquely beautiful, deeply affecting, and ultimately heartbreaking book about man's best friend.

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'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.

I'm a dog lover not someone who knows the author's works. I bought the book pretty much on the strength of that wonderful canine half-face on the cover. The cover did not mislead. This is a short book, but it contains long, poignant, unwritten passages that emerged sweetly in my mind as memories of my own dogs. I've finished the book, yet Mr. Bones is still in my head. He will be there for a long time, I think. He told me everything, we became close. Fellow dog and animal lovers read this book with caution, you are entering an emotional whirlpool, and you will emerge thinking about Timbuktu for a long time.