Paul Auster, City of Glass

The opening lines of Auster's postmodern detective story
Paul Auster, The New York Trilogy
I've spent the last few days revisiting Paul Auster's City of Glass, an experimental detective story known to many as the first part of The New York Trilogy. A truly superb book. This is how it begins:
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. Much later, when he was able to think about the things that happened to him, he would conclude that nothing was real except chance. But that was much later. In the beginning, there was simply the event and its consequences. Whether it might have turned out differently, or whether it was all predetermined from the first word that came from the stranger's mouth, is not the question. The question is the story itself, and whether or not it means something is not for the story to tell.
Paul Auster, City of Glass in The New York Trilogy
Also at A Piece of Monologue