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I had already made some tentative arrangements with Paul Auster's assistant, Nelly Reifler, before I embarked on my two week trip to Boston and New York, however, it wasn't until I actually arrived in the Big Apple that I was to finalise the meeting with the man himself.

The day that I rang Paul Auster reminded me of a scene from the 'City of Glass'. I was like Quinn traipsing up and down the streets and avenues of Manhattan trying to rally my nerve before I made the final call. Eventually I plucked up enough courage and used a telephone box not too far away from Central Park on Fifth Avenue. Indeed when he answered it was very tempting to ask for Paul Auster of the 'Auster Detective Agency' but I'm glad to say that I resisted such temptation. Anyway, as I say, Paul answered and we agreed the time and place of our meeting.

The next morning was a mission from Hell. I wanted to take some gifts as a token of my thanks for all the pleasure the author had given me over the years and the only truly appropriate gift I could think of were some Schimmelpennick cigars, (aka 'Smoke' and 'Blue In The Face'). And could I find any Schimmelpennick cigars in Hoboken or Manhattan on that hot and humid September day? I went from one Auggie Wren styled establishment to another without a whiff of success. That was until I finally stumbled across a cigar shop in Greenwich Village which stocked them. Since our meeting was to be at 2 p.m. at the author's house and it was now reaching that time I quickly grabbed the subway to Park Slope heavily laden with some other things that I'd bought.

Arriving at Park Slope subway station I headed towards his house and climbed the brownstone stairs leading up to his front door. When I reached the top of the stairs I pressed the buzzer and waited.

Soon Mr Auster came to the door with his dog Jack and let me in.

Whether first impressions count for anything or not I was impressed with how gentle this author of such great novels like 'The Music of Chance' and 'Moon Palace' looked. He struck me as an intellect, a thinker and someone who seemed very content in his own environment.

We proceeded through to the large kitchen/dining area.

"So why the website?"was Paul's first question. To which I gabbled an answer - something about teaching myself web design whilst at the same time providing a useful resource for his work. We then continued to talk a little while longer at the kitchen table. Amongst other things he asked me whether I had received the message via Andreas Hau and I explained that I had and attempted to waylay his quite understandable fears about the Internet, (see FAQ). Indeed Paul had not yet seen my site and that was one of the things we were going to do that day.

Paul then led me on a tour of his three or four storey house. Firstly, we entered his lounge where he showed me a video he'd just received if not half an hour previously. It was a short clip of him back in the days when he attended Columbia University. He seemed understandably thrilled with the nostalgia this had conjured up. We then entered his daughter Sophie's bedroom with the expressed purpose of looking at my website. I must say that I was quite relieved that the server was down and we were unable to look at it.

Next we descended two flights of stairs into the basement, something that was originally a separate flat but was now the author's workspace. I was struck by the low, extensive shelves of books in the hallways, the very tasteful artwork on the walls...this was my kind of place. Further down the corridor was the breeding ground for such characters as Master Yehudi, Anna Blume and Benjamin Sachs. It's a smallish room from what I remember. The walls are bare except for a drawing by his daughter. The desk itself is cluttered. I noticed other packs of Scimmelpennicks, ('Media' rather than 'Mono'!!), strewn about his work place. I then asked some question about a 'ritualised space' and was told that he writes mainly in the mornings.

Leaving this 'locked room', this 'white space', we headed into his assistant's office. 'Fantastic!', I thought. In cabinets on two of the walls were editions of every example of work by or on Paul Auster. Every language you could imagine, every change of cover, old or new, sometimes even more than one copy. Paul very kindly started to hand me books I didn't yet own, like 'L'Oeuvre De Paul Auster' and 'The Random House Book of Twentieth Century French Poetry'. A kind gesture I thought. Not only was he generous with his belongings but also with his time. He seems to be very conscious of helping out people with projects and requests - people like myself, Andreas Hau, Chris Pace of Stillman's Maze, Mr Turkigeldi - the man with the cigars all the way from Turkey - the list is endless.

We then climbed the stairs and returned to the kitchen. I asked whether I could take a portrait shot before I left which he accepted. He even said that I could take more photos when after a few minutes of fumbling with my SLR I just took one shot, (below). As you can see I should have taken more.

I then asked for the cliched autograph on my newly purchased 'I Thought My Father Was God' which again Mr Auster did graciously. We bid farewell and I was off down the brownstone steps to catch my bus back to Boston.

As I left and headed towards Port Authority I reflected on some of the key things we discussed during this short meet. Paul's attention to detail. His concern that I got the title of his new book right, it was 'The Book of Illusions' and not 'The Book of Illusion' as I had said previously. Obviously this is an important trait necessary for his line of work and an understandable concern that facts are completely accurate if I am going to do this site, (aka the 'Shell' incident on the FAQ page). His disappointing revelation that he doubts whether he will ever get involved with film again. From what he said, I think this is a combination of how film exhausts your time - demands that you give your complete time and energy to it at the behest of everything else, including writing - and also the bad taste left in his mouth with the 'Center of the World' situation. I wish I had said some words of encouragement, i.e. how many people I know of who have loved the likes of 'Smoke' and 'Blue In The Face' but I didn't. And finally seeing the very Olympia typewriter that Auster writes all his novels on - the typewriter that is to be the focus of a new book by painter Sam Messer 'The Story of my Typewriter'. It was a privilege.

It was actually one week to the very day that I met Paul Auster that Manhattan was devastated when two hijacked planes hit both towers of the World Trade Center.

Stuart Pilkington