《The Invention of Solitude》读后感1000字

《The Invention of Solitude》是一本由Paul Auster著作，Penguin Books出版的Paperback图书，本书定价：USD 15.00，页数：192，特精心收集的读后感，希望对大家能有帮助。

《The Invention of Solitude》读后感(一)：A Philosophical work

Auster’s subtle use of words is very philosophical, sometimes even a little bit vague and obscure, yet it is as important for Auster to write in this relatively philosophical form as to have a moving and edifying content. Words and grammar are not only the medium of thought but also contain profound meaning in itself. The writing form manifests the way in which the author feels and thinks about the world which are difficult to convey otherwise, by the unique manipulation of words and sentences. The juxtaposition of life and death, presence and past are things that I appreciate most besides its penetrating and powerful thoughts. Like "One day there is life . . . and then, suddenly, it happens there is death" - so begins THE INVENTION OF SOLITUDE, which arouses profound questions of life among people who are thus vouchsafed a special angle of how they could interpret their lives.

《The Invention of Solitude》读后感(二)：记忆的迷宫

记忆如同迷宫，试图回忆过去就像雾中夜行，视野被局限在狭窄的空间里，记忆的碎片如遥远的街灯穿过迷雾向你涌来。保罗·奥斯特在此书里的回忆叙述一如他在Man In The Dark中的叙事，虚构的故事交织于真实的记忆中，但真实与虚构的界限也在这样的叙述中变得模糊不清，回忆的过程本身也如同虚构的过程，记忆的断片并非是遗落在迷宫中的古董，而是在回忆的过程中被重新构建出来的新事物。奥斯特的这本回忆录在某种程度上像是一部虚构作品，而他的小说有时又像是包含了某些非虚构的成分，也许这是因为奥斯特对回忆的偏爱，这本书的前半部分是作家对父亲的追忆，后半部分则由13章记忆之书组成，其中夹杂着许多离题的玄想。阅读这样一本书的过程也像是一次记忆的旅行，书的结构如同记忆的结构，庞杂，枝蔓丛生，充塞着断片而难以窥其全貌。于是奥斯特的回忆也引发了读者的回忆，阅读同时也是回忆，奥斯特重建的每一个童年记忆也让我想到自己的童年，奥斯特对父亲的追忆也让我重新审视自己与父亲的关系。奥斯特的这种叙述模式似乎天然的具有强大的共情作用，大概无论多么喜欢刻意与叙述者保持距离的读者在面对记忆的迷雾时都不能够再无动于衷的吧。记忆让人着迷，让人心醉，让人像趋光的飞蛾情不自禁。在孤独的，失眠的黑夜，也许只有记忆是唯一的安慰。

有些奇怪的是，奥斯特的这部回忆录是他的第一本书（在此之前似乎只有几步零零散散的诗集），当这本书在1982年出版时，奥斯特已经35岁，在巴黎住过5年，离婚又结婚。也许我们可以猜测，父亲的离世激发了奥斯特的写作欲望，而他的写作自始至终都像是对父亲的死亡的回应，也许奥斯特对回忆的偏爱也正是来源于此。在奥斯特的叙述中，父亲是一个“invisible man”，独自一人住着空荡荡的房子，离群索居，与自己的儿子也鲜有交流，仿佛是一个透明人，与世界隔绝，就连死亡也显得那么透明，那么悄无声息，那么无足轻重。奥斯特对父亲的回忆不同于通常的模式：悲痛的孝子泣不成声，在哽咽的话语中一件一件的数着父亲生前的好。奥斯特的立场似乎有些过于中立了，他像是一个旁观者，不小心闯入了这位可怜的孤独而终的老人的生活，他的回忆叙述看起来如此精确，仿佛不是来自于一个丧父的儿子。如果说奥斯特在书中确实有流露出悲伤的情绪的话，这种悲伤也并非是源于对父亲亡故的悲恸，而更像是一个孤独的人对另一个孤独的人的同情和理解。也许正是因为他与父亲的关系十分疏远，奥斯特对于父亲的孤独才更有体会，也因而在父亲的死亡中获得了灵感的源泉。

也正是因为奥斯特的克制，这本无疑充满了感伤情愫的书才不显得造作。记忆有如透镜，有时把那些庸常的事物也塑造的很美，但那样的美好却是虚假的，脆弱的，镜花水月一样碰一下就会碎掉。奥斯特的记忆却是精确的，毫不矫情，如冷峻的法官，公正无私。这种罕见的真诚引发了强烈的，穿透五脏六腑的真正共鸣，胸腔振动，呼吸凝滞，情感上的共鸣激发身体的反应，于是奥斯特的孤独透过文字击中了我，奥斯特的孤独也成了我的孤独。

我常常想起奥斯特在Man In The Dark 中创造的那个年老的失眠者，与外孙女一起在客厅里看过《东京物语》，独自躺在黑暗的房间里，听着外面的黑暗世界的声响，编造着自己内心世界的故事，但他还是不能入睡，于是他诉诸记忆，终于在记忆的迷宫里迷了路。

《The Invention of Solitude》读后感(三)：On the book of memory

The book The Invention of Solitude consists of two parts: The Portrait of a Man and The Book of Memory. Part I is a memoir on his journey to get to know his father after his death. Part II is more of a collection of seemingly scattered proses yet with underlying coherence. Since I read Winter Journal Before this book, which is somewhat similar partly in content and entirely in style with Part I, it does not amuse me as much as Part II.

In The Book of Memory, Auster presents fragments of his own memories not in order, but in a stream of thoughts to the reader. Let me pick on a few interesting concepts in his writing.

“The Room”. The room of one particular woman poet, Anne Frank. It starts with A. entering this room where she had lived, suffered, joyed, written poems, and died. Being in there gives him a chill down the spine of being within someone else’s self. A room is a confined space. However, when inhabited by a woman, it turns into a breathing witness of her life, and death, and the followers who come to gaze around. Pascal: “All the unhappiness of man stems from one thing only: that he is incapable of staying quietly in his room”. Like in Buddhism where one’s suffering solely comes from his unfulfilled desires, this room is a symbol of a pure self, a place one is completely and only with oneself, an idea that echoes with Virginia Woolf’s A Room of One’s Own in its significance in restoring independence in women. Auster comes back to the point over and over again as this is the spatial definition of solitude.

Moments. Auster skillfully plays with moments. Indeed it is moments that make up memories. An observation of Vermeer’s Woman in Blue explores the “fullness and self-sufficiency of the present moment”. It is so overwhelmingly attractive that it often dominates one’s mind, yet one must also experience moments of the past, more interestingly, the connections between them. The rhyme of moments, or so-called coincidence, stimulates one to look at the world, his own life, as reading a novel. One discovers potential connections, establishes assumptions, and forges relationships. Exactly in this way of experiencing the world, one converse with solitude. Therefore in writing The Book of Memory, Auster extracts himself away from his authorship by referring to himself as “A.” instead of the usual “I”. One has to be in solitude to be in the present, absent in the past to remember.

The overall theme of the father-son relationship throughout the entire book. Auster spends pages talking about children and childhood: children’s instinct to view the world “uncannily”, to grasp the essence of imaginary; childhood’s role in one’s development and worldview. The Portrait of A Man is on his relationship with his father, and The Book of Memory talks about his relationship with his son, and the connection being Auster himself. In the former he is the child, the care-seeker remembering his childhood with his father. In the latter, he is the observer of his own child, the care-taker to his son who is living through his childhood at the moment. The connection itselfs presents the continuity of living, of giving birth and dying. The ties of blood, however, does not break the walls of solitude. The three of them exist in their own realms. Though Auster seems to be the connector, he merely experiences his own living in the presence of the other two.

So, how does memory enter the concept of solitude？ Through the aforementioned ways and alike. But maybe, if I may claim, is through reading them. In reading, one experiences moments, in one’s own mind interpreting the prose, and expanding one’s own imaginary based on Auster’s masterful storytellings. To read is to remember, to live. And yet to live is to let live.