(47)
*Bolaño. La pista de hielo. 1993. 198 pp.
This novel takes place in a campground in the Costa Brava. Gaspar is a nightwatchman, Remo the owner. Enric is an obese local political figure who embezzles public money so he can build an ice rink (in an abandoned mansion) for Nuria, a figure skater that is in love with. The three men take turns narrating in two to four page chapters. A dead body shows up in the ice rink...
Not a great novel, but if we're being completist about Bolaño, this had to be included.
So far, the best have been two novels about Chile, Estrella distante and Nocturno chileno, and Los detectives salvajes. I'm looking forward to reading La literatura nazi en América and 2666.
Mostrando entradas con la etiqueta Bolaño. Mostrar todas las entradas
Mostrando entradas con la etiqueta Bolaño. Mostrar todas las entradas
14 feb 2009
10 feb 2009
(46)
Los detectives salvajes. 1998. 609 pp.
I'm sure I'm the last person to read this (maybe literally, since I finished it a minute ago!), but I finally have finished the tale of Ulises Lima and Arturo Belano, related through multiple narrators. We never have any narration focalized through either of the two main characters, instead we get others' reactions to them. There are great moments of humor and passion, and also quite a few duller patches, told in the voices of dull people and in a flat, barely serviceable style. Somehow Bolaño gets away with it. I loved García Madero, the 17-year old narrator of the first and last sections.
I have few more books to read by Bolaño.
Los detectives salvajes. 1998. 609 pp.
I'm sure I'm the last person to read this (maybe literally, since I finished it a minute ago!), but I finally have finished the tale of Ulises Lima and Arturo Belano, related through multiple narrators. We never have any narration focalized through either of the two main characters, instead we get others' reactions to them. There are great moments of humor and passion, and also quite a few duller patches, told in the voices of dull people and in a flat, barely serviceable style. Somehow Bolaño gets away with it. I loved García Madero, the 17-year old narrator of the first and last sections.
I have few more books to read by Bolaño.
18 ene 2009
(220)
*Bolaño. The Romantic Dogs. Trans. Laura Healy. 2008. 143 pp.
RB is more of a novelist than a poet. Even when the poetry is good, which is often, it is good in the way an image from a novel or short-story is good. It's like reading Kerouac;s poetry, except I think Kerouac is more of a poet-- less of a prose sensibility--at least the part of JK that was of use to Coolidge.
I didn't really look much at the translation; it seemed ok, for you non-Spanish readers.
*Bolaño. The Romantic Dogs. Trans. Laura Healy. 2008. 143 pp.
RB is more of a novelist than a poet. Even when the poetry is good, which is often, it is good in the way an image from a novel or short-story is good. It's like reading Kerouac;s poetry, except I think Kerouac is more of a poet-- less of a prose sensibility--at least the part of JK that was of use to Coolidge.
I didn't really look much at the translation; it seemed ok, for you non-Spanish readers.
(40)
*Bolaño. Monseiur Pain. 1999. 171 pp.
Bolaño wrote this in the early 80s, but it wasn't published till much later. M. Pierre Pain is a mesmerist who is called in to try to help the dying César Vallejo in Paris, 1938. He becomes convinced that someone is trying to assassinate Vallejo, after a few Spaniards, presumably agents of Franco?, bribe him to get off the case.
The novel is only partially successful. Vallejo himself doesn't figure much, and the detective story doesn't really get off the ground.
*Bolaño. Monseiur Pain. 1999. 171 pp.
Bolaño wrote this in the early 80s, but it wasn't published till much later. M. Pierre Pain is a mesmerist who is called in to try to help the dying César Vallejo in Paris, 1938. He becomes convinced that someone is trying to assassinate Vallejo, after a few Spaniards, presumably agents of Franco?, bribe him to get off the case.
The novel is only partially successful. Vallejo himself doesn't figure much, and the detective story doesn't really get off the ground.
17 ene 2009
(39)
*Bolaño. Amberes. 2002. 119 pp.
Bolaño wrote this in 1980, during a more experimental phase. It's an extremely fragmented and discontinuous novel--with 56 very short chapters. Chapter 20 is a brief and helpful "synopsis":
"Synopsis. The little hunchback in the woods next to the campground and the tennis court and stables. In Barcelona a South American is dying in a stinking bedroom. Police dragnets. Cops fucking nameless girls. The English writer talks with the little hunchback in the woods. Agony and a rotten South American traveling. Five or six waiters return to the hotel on a solitary beach. The first days of autumn. The wind stirs up the sand and covers them."
Amberes is the name of a city. Has this one been translated to English? I don't think so.
*Bolaño. Amberes. 2002. 119 pp.
Bolaño wrote this in 1980, during a more experimental phase. It's an extremely fragmented and discontinuous novel--with 56 very short chapters. Chapter 20 is a brief and helpful "synopsis":
"Synopsis. The little hunchback in the woods next to the campground and the tennis court and stables. In Barcelona a South American is dying in a stinking bedroom. Police dragnets. Cops fucking nameless girls. The English writer talks with the little hunchback in the woods. Agony and a rotten South American traveling. Five or six waiters return to the hotel on a solitary beach. The first days of autumn. The wind stirs up the sand and covers them."
Amberes is the name of a city. Has this one been translated to English? I don't think so.
(38)
*Bolaño. El gaucho insufrible. 2003. 177 pp.
This is a posthumous book of short stories (and two strange lecture), published in the year of RB's death. The best story here is "El policía de las ratas," narrated by a rat-policeman, with Kafkaesque implications. (The police-rat's aunt is named Josephine, as in Kafka's story of Josephine, the rodent singer.) As Pepe, the police-rat, investigates a series of cases, he begins to suspect that the killer is another rat--which means that rats can kill other rats. This is a disturbing conclusion, since the idea is that only other animals kill them (humans, cats, weasels, snakes...). What does this mean for the future of the species?
The title story is also good: a prosperous Buenos Aires lawyer decides to go live on his property in the Argentine pampa, and little by little becomes an "insufferable gaucho." The intertext here is Borges's story "El sur." This is Argentine mythology turned to farce. The pampa is inhabited by rabbits rather than horses and cattle. The only way to live is by trapping rabbits, eating them and selling their skins.
*Bolaño. El gaucho insufrible. 2003. 177 pp.
This is a posthumous book of short stories (and two strange lecture), published in the year of RB's death. The best story here is "El policía de las ratas," narrated by a rat-policeman, with Kafkaesque implications. (The police-rat's aunt is named Josephine, as in Kafka's story of Josephine, the rodent singer.) As Pepe, the police-rat, investigates a series of cases, he begins to suspect that the killer is another rat--which means that rats can kill other rats. This is a disturbing conclusion, since the idea is that only other animals kill them (humans, cats, weasels, snakes...). What does this mean for the future of the species?
The title story is also good: a prosperous Buenos Aires lawyer decides to go live on his property in the Argentine pampa, and little by little becomes an "insufferable gaucho." The intertext here is Borges's story "El sur." This is Argentine mythology turned to farce. The pampa is inhabited by rabbits rather than horses and cattle. The only way to live is by trapping rabbits, eating them and selling their skins.
(37)
*Bolaño. Estrella distante. 1996. 157 pp.
This and Nocturno de Chile are the best RB novels I've read. He wanted to call Nocturno de Chile Tormenta de mierda (shit storm), but his publisher convinced him otherwise.
Carlos Wieder is a poet... or is he? His poems don't seem written by him; there is a strange disconnect. After Pinochet's golpe Wieder murders several women of his acquaintance (in an official capacity) and reappears sky-writing poems. The first is simply the first words of Genesis in Latin, which the nameless narrator of the novel sees from the courtyard of a prison. His career as an airforce pilot comes to an end when he mounts a private exhibition of photos of the women he's killed.
*Bolaño. Estrella distante. 1996. 157 pp.
This and Nocturno de Chile are the best RB novels I've read. He wanted to call Nocturno de Chile Tormenta de mierda (shit storm), but his publisher convinced him otherwise.
Carlos Wieder is a poet... or is he? His poems don't seem written by him; there is a strange disconnect. After Pinochet's golpe Wieder murders several women of his acquaintance (in an official capacity) and reappears sky-writing poems. The first is simply the first words of Genesis in Latin, which the nameless narrator of the novel sees from the courtyard of a prison. His career as an airforce pilot comes to an end when he mounts a private exhibition of photos of the women he's killed.
(36)
*Bolaño. Llamadas telefónicas. 1997. 204 pp.
Not a novel, but a collection of short stories, some written in a flat, monotonous style. At times, you are waiting for some kind of epiphany, some kind of point to the story, that may or may not come. There's nothing brilliant here in the writing itself--much exorcism of demons, a few memorable images.
In my effort to become an instant Bolaño expert, I've learned that he admired the poetry of my friends Miguel Casado and Olvido García Valdés. He knew who Frank O'Hara was, and Carson McCullers. He looked down on Isabel Allende (who doesn't?) and Antonio Skármeta. He considered himself more a poet than a novelist.
*Bolaño. Llamadas telefónicas. 1997. 204 pp.
Not a novel, but a collection of short stories, some written in a flat, monotonous style. At times, you are waiting for some kind of epiphany, some kind of point to the story, that may or may not come. There's nothing brilliant here in the writing itself--much exorcism of demons, a few memorable images.
In my effort to become an instant Bolaño expert, I've learned that he admired the poetry of my friends Miguel Casado and Olvido García Valdés. He knew who Frank O'Hara was, and Carson McCullers. He looked down on Isabel Allende (who doesn't?) and Antonio Skármeta. He considered himself more a poet than a novelist.
14 ene 2009
(216)
*Robert Bolaño. Tres. 2000. 105 pp.
This book consist of three longer poems. Prosa del otoño en Gerona is a series of prose fragment about a Chilean writer living in Gerona. "Los neochilenos" is the story of a rock band by that name traveling by bus from Chile to Peru and then Ecuador. "Un paseo por la literatura" is a series of dreams about literary figures, including Carson McCullers, Enrique Lihn, Archibold McCleish, George Perec... This third section is the most successful of the three. In one dream, the speaker is an old Latin American detective hired by Mark Twain to save the life of someone with no face.
*Robert Bolaño. Tres. 2000. 105 pp.
This book consist of three longer poems. Prosa del otoño en Gerona is a series of prose fragment about a Chilean writer living in Gerona. "Los neochilenos" is the story of a rock band by that name traveling by bus from Chile to Peru and then Ecuador. "Un paseo por la literatura" is a series of dreams about literary figures, including Carson McCullers, Enrique Lihn, Archibold McCleish, George Perec... This third section is the most successful of the three. In one dream, the speaker is an old Latin American detective hired by Mark Twain to save the life of someone with no face.
27 dic 2008
(34)
*Bolaño. Nocturno de Chile. 2000. 150 pp.
I'm a little embarrassed about not having read much Bolaño, since he is all the rage now. I read 3/4 of this in the public library today. I don't like joining bandwagons but this is the one Latin American writer who has hit it big with the English speaking audience in the last little while, so it's kind of bad if people ask me about him and I am completely ignorant.
Anyway, the narrator is a priest who is a member of the Opus Dei, a literary critic, and a kind of idiot, ultimately. The kind of idiot that is not incompatible with being an intellectual. Toward the beginning, he meets Neruda. (Bolaño likes the trick of placing real characters in a fictional context.) He goes to Europe to discover techniques for preserving old churches against pigeon dung: it turns out the priests there use falcons to hunt the pigeons! There is another long digression about a shoemaker in the Austrio-Hungarian empire who wants to build a monument to heroes of said empire. Bolaño has a gift of invention, for sure. Quasi-probable episodes involving real historical figures are his speciality here. The book is written in one long continuous paragraph, and structured around a series of discrete episodes--some of which seem digressive.
It hasn't been explained yet how the priest can be in the Opus yet also be the most liberal possible member of the Opus, how he can be learned and yet so idiotic, etc...
After Pinochet's coup takes place, our narrator is enlisted (by the same mysterious import / export guys that sent him to Europe to study the dove-shit problem), to give a mini-course to Pinochet and the other generals of the junta on Marxism. He dutifully prepares and give his course, going through all the major texts of Marx and ending with Castro and Mao. At the end, he asks Pinochet whether he's done a good job and the general reassures him. When the library closed, Pinochet was explaining to the narrative that Allende was not really an intellectual, just a guy who read magazines and had other people tell him what to think.
I've given up on the Calvino novel about real-estate development. I just don't care what happens with this particular building project. I have another one by Calvino about the resistance that looks a bit more promising.
[Update: a chilling scene provides the conclusion to Bolaño's novel. At a literary soirée a drunken guest gets lost in huge house and finds, behind a door in a basement, a man chained to a bed and gagged. Returning to the party, he says nothing. It turns out that the husband of the hostess, "Jimmy," is CIA and uses the house as a place to interrogate and torture. The narrator/priest seems somewhat shocked--but this is the same guy who obsequiously taught Marxism to Pinochet with no qualms. Who does he think ordered the torture?]
*Bolaño. Nocturno de Chile. 2000. 150 pp.
I'm a little embarrassed about not having read much Bolaño, since he is all the rage now. I read 3/4 of this in the public library today. I don't like joining bandwagons but this is the one Latin American writer who has hit it big with the English speaking audience in the last little while, so it's kind of bad if people ask me about him and I am completely ignorant.
Anyway, the narrator is a priest who is a member of the Opus Dei, a literary critic, and a kind of idiot, ultimately. The kind of idiot that is not incompatible with being an intellectual. Toward the beginning, he meets Neruda. (Bolaño likes the trick of placing real characters in a fictional context.) He goes to Europe to discover techniques for preserving old churches against pigeon dung: it turns out the priests there use falcons to hunt the pigeons! There is another long digression about a shoemaker in the Austrio-Hungarian empire who wants to build a monument to heroes of said empire. Bolaño has a gift of invention, for sure. Quasi-probable episodes involving real historical figures are his speciality here. The book is written in one long continuous paragraph, and structured around a series of discrete episodes--some of which seem digressive.
It hasn't been explained yet how the priest can be in the Opus yet also be the most liberal possible member of the Opus, how he can be learned and yet so idiotic, etc...
After Pinochet's coup takes place, our narrator is enlisted (by the same mysterious import / export guys that sent him to Europe to study the dove-shit problem), to give a mini-course to Pinochet and the other generals of the junta on Marxism. He dutifully prepares and give his course, going through all the major texts of Marx and ending with Castro and Mao. At the end, he asks Pinochet whether he's done a good job and the general reassures him. When the library closed, Pinochet was explaining to the narrative that Allende was not really an intellectual, just a guy who read magazines and had other people tell him what to think.
I've given up on the Calvino novel about real-estate development. I just don't care what happens with this particular building project. I have another one by Calvino about the resistance that looks a bit more promising.
[Update: a chilling scene provides the conclusion to Bolaño's novel. At a literary soirée a drunken guest gets lost in huge house and finds, behind a door in a basement, a man chained to a bed and gagged. Returning to the party, he says nothing. It turns out that the husband of the hostess, "Jimmy," is CIA and uses the house as a place to interrogate and torture. The narrator/priest seems somewhat shocked--but this is the same guy who obsequiously taught Marxism to Pinochet with no qualms. Who does he think ordered the torture?]
Suscribirse a:
Entradas (Atom)