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“I WAS THERE. I was the eighteen-year-old boy described in this book as the person who wrote poetry and studied French. Eight years after my freshman year at Columbia, when I was living in France and still writing poetry, I read Paul Spike’s Photographs of My Father and felt that my old college friend had written the book of our generation. A dead-on portrait of who we were at that early moment in our lives when American madness was everywhere around us and in us.

“Reading this book again forty-two years later, I am even more impressed than I was the first time. The account of the murder of Spike’s heroic father is unforgettable.

“Because that unsolved crime haunts every page of the book, Photographs of My Father becomes far more than the story of one struggling boy in the 1960s. It rises up into the heart of 1960s madness itself. The way Paul Spike’s narrative sings and howls and spins around in a fury of raw emotion is likewise unforgettable. So unforgettable that I felt my heart was breaking when I came to the end.”

—PAUL AUSTER