Page 63 and Classic Noir

The New York Trilogy is a meta-mystery; a mystery book about writing mystery books. Some say this is in poor taste. Page 63 of City of Glass makes the reader realize why, in fact, Auster is a genius and his book is great, taste be damned. It references the things that make mysteries mysteries: the mystery itself, the sometimes clueless but nonetheless intrepid detective, and, of course, The Woman.

You know, the woman. Maybe she's the wife of the missing person, or the lover of the guy who did it. It doesn't matter so much who she is as long as she's there. And she's always there, walking through the door dressed in clothes a little nicer than you would expect a random woman to go walking around in. She's young, almost always under 40. Her hair is pinned back in a hat with a veil on the front. She's wearing stockings, obviously. Think Mary Astor in The Maltese Falcon.

There they are, experiencing classic chemistry in front of
his classic private-eye style office door with
classic frosted glass with lettering over it.

Because obviously the detective himself is Humphrey Bogart. And obviously they have chemistry. And obviously it's a little bit wrong since she's usually linked to another character. Basically, it's quite steamy. In my mind though it's always Lauren Bacall. Anyway, so the girl walks in, reports the crime. Or maybe she committed the crime. Or whatever. It really doesn't matter. What does matter is that she's pretty and the detective and the girl have a thing.

I guess the hat doesn't have to have a veil. 

City of Glass references that, with Quinn "expecting something to happen" (63). He refers to an earlier kiss that the two shared. Again, classic lady-in-a-mystery-novel/film. He "felt certain that he would eventually find Mrs. Stillman in his arms" (63).

Usually the lady is up to no good (cough, Barbara Stanwyck's character in Double Indemnity).
Just look at her. Clearly up to no good.  And MacMurray wasn't even a gumshoe, just a "smart insurance man".

It would be impossible to look more guilty

Virginia Stillman may be no good, we don't know. The reader doesn't know a lot about Quinn's mystery. Stillman walks around, does he know he's being followed? Does he not? Who's that other guy? What does Virginia know?

Quinn doesn't know much either. He knows that Virginia is pretty and as the detective he should get to kiss her more. As Quinn isn't a real detective but an author of detective novels, he is familiar with such tropes. His character, Max Work, apparently "never failed to profit from such situations," and Quinn worries that he's getting real life and fiction mixed up again. Poor Quinn remained undaunted: "nor did her current lack of encouragement prevent him from continuing to imagine her naked. Lascivious pictures marched through Quinn's head each night" (63). Can't blame a guy for wanting poontang, especially since clearly our society tells private detectives that they can expect such compensation from beautiful, taken women in need. Honestly, that's probably why most of them get into that line of work. To judge from film, really the only group that has on average more sex (excluding prostitutes for obvious reasons) are people who start out hating each other, people stuck in bad or inescapable situations together, and college professors.

Word Count: 558