Although Paul Auster and J. M. Coetzee had been reading each other’s books for years, the two writers did not meet until February 2008. Not long after, Auster received a letter from Coetzee, suggesting they begin exchanging letters on a regular basis and, “God willing, strike sparks off each other.”
Here and Now is the result of that proposal: the epistolary dialogue between two great writers who became great friends. Over three years their letters touched on nearly every subject, from sports to fatherhood, film festivals to incest, philosophy to politics, from the financial crisis to art, death, family, marriage, friendship, and love.
Their correspondence offers an intimate and often amusing portrait of these two men as they explore the complexities of the here and now and is a reflection of two sharp intellects whose pleasure in each other’s friendship is apparent on every page.
“Many, this reviewer among them, would consider [Coetzee] the greatest living novelist in English.” —The New York Times Book Review
"Coetzee may turn out to be one of the last great novelists, exalted by the intensity of his self-awareness and his willingness to make his home in a spiritual and intellectual impasse of which few of his contemporaries were even aware."--The Nation
“South Africa’s most brilliant novelist . . . challenges us to doubt our preconceived notions not only of love but of truth itself.” —The Seattle Times
"Coetzee's signature brilliance...A mixture of penetrating insight and brittle wit that forces our attention on common terrors we don't want to think about."--The Washington Post
Praise for Paul Auster
“A writer of lean, genre-tinged novels whose unaffected prose belies their philosophical complexity….He's also one of our most playful novelists, a lover of narrative labyrinths on par with Borges, to whom he has often been compared.”—The Washington Post
"Paul Auster is one of those sages with confounding talent—confounding for one because he's simply that good... He belongs among Vonnegut, Roth, and DeLillo.”—The Daily Beast