Worms, by Paul Auster

Worms by Paul Auster

My rating: 3 of 5 stars


A highly metaphorical short story in which an elderly guy is being kind, is being treated kindly himself, gets hurt nevertheless, falls to his knees but gets up once more to reflect on his past and – my first and only guess – is sinking into dementia while considering how the eponymous worms may taste (when he’s gone to his grave), effectively contemplating death.

This is so short, devoid of substantial clues and highly abstract that I lack the patience to analyse it in any detail.

I read this because Paul Auster – whom I adore, almost worship – wrote it but even to yours truly this didn’t really appeal.

Three out of five stars.



Ceterum censeo Putin esse delendam




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