“The curious thing about Paul is that he doesn’t have an email address and communicates exclusively by telephone,” says Warner. Auster developed the narrative into a beguilingly original piece of pulp existentialism about a writer of cheap thrillers called Quinn, who is mistaken for a private eye named Paul Auster. Originally published in 1985 as the first volume of the New York Trilogy, City of Glass begins with one of the most potent opening lines of late-20th-century literature: “It was a wrong number that started it, the telephone ringing three times in the dead of night, and the voice on the other end asking for someone he was not.” The scenario was inspired by a genuine crossed wire, in which someone phoned the author’s apartment, trying to contact a detective agency. But, as videographers, we have arrived at a point where we can transform a stage environment to reflect the pace of Paul Auster’s ideas.” “What appealed to us was the fact that it couldn’t be done,” Warner says, “at least, not within a conventional theatrical framework. Leo Warner, the play’s director and 59 co-founder, explains that it was a longheld ambition to bring Auster’s oblique, metaphysical thriller to the stage – it was simply a case of waiting for technology to catch up.
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