In one scene, as the narrator describes how Quinn’s regular walks through New York stripped him of his individual identity, an abstract cityscape unravels into a maze, which then shrinks into a fingerprint upon the window by Quinn’s writing desk. I don’t know if there is a particular term to describe how one panel flows to the next, but City of Glass “flows” beautifully.
Muzzucchelli and Karasik’s adaptation is perhaps the sole example of a book to comic translation that rivals, if not transcends, its source material. As Quinn’s passage takes him to Auster himself – not the detective for Quinn he was mistaken, but the author of the book who just happens to have the same name – City of Glass’s detective trappings dissolve into a surreal tale of identity and reality, and the madness that inflicts anyone who is willing to gaze long enough into the world around them for answers.
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