Four years ago, in an attempt to help readers navigate the flood tide of Roberto Bolaño books appearing posthumously in English, we at The Millions put together a little syllabus. Little did we know how rash our promise to update "as further translations become available" would soon seem. Within two years, the release of six additional titles had rendered the first version nugatory. And since then, six more have become available. Indeed, it's hard to think of another figure in the history of weltliteratur whose catalogue has made it so quickly to these shores, or whose literary executors have been speedier - not to say more punctilious - in publishing his archive. Though Bolaño's imagination seems inexhaustible, it's hard not to greet the news of yet another "lost work" or "early work" or "lost early work" with fatigue. (Or even, given the overlap between certain editions, suspicion.) Yet the most recent publication, the poetry omnibus The Unknown University, is a major work, and should be the exclamation point at the end of the Bolaño boom. (Though there was that new story in The New Yorker a few weeks ago, so maybe Andrew Wylie knows something we don't... And there's always Advice from a Morrison Disciple to a Joyce Fanatic, co-written with A.G. Porta in 1984.) At any rate, this seems an opportune time to revisit, once and for all, our Bolaño syllabus, which has more than doubled in size since 2009. Where originally we arranged the list as a kind of guided tour, it seems most worthwhile at this point to divide the available work into tiers: what you need to read, what you might want to, and what you can pass over without losing sleep. The Essential 1. The Savage Detectives 2666 may be more admirable, but The Savage Detectives is more loveable (think Moby-Dick vs. Huckleberry Finn). As such, it's the Bolaño book I tend to urge on people first. Read The Savage Detectives all the way to the end, and you'll understand why one might want to try to read this writer's entire corpus. (See our review). 2. 2666 There is no other novel of the last decade that I think about more often, years after having read it. My enthusiastic take here now seems to me embarrassingly inadequate. A bona fide masterpiece. 3. Last Evenings on Earth The best, by a whisker, of the five collections of short fiction available in English - largely because New Directions can't have foreseen how big Bolaño was going to be, and so raided his Anagrama editions for the best stories. Highlights include "Dance Card," "Sensini," "The Grub," "Mauricio 'The Eye' Silva," and "Gomez Palacio." 4. The Return Another strikingly good collection, overlooked perhaps because of its appearance in 2010, when the Bolaño marketplace was already flooded. Between it and Last Evenings on Earth, you end up with the whole (I think) of the two collections published in Spanish during Bolaño's lifetime. I especially love the title story. And for those inclined to read the Bolaño oeuvre as a roman-fleuve, you get here the porny "Prefigurations of Lalo Cura." 5. Nazi Literature in the Americas This early "novel," a biographical encyclopedia of invented writers, offers our first glimpse of the ambition that would effloresce in the two big books. Not incidentally, it's an excellent introduction to Bolaño's peculiar sense of humor, which enjambs the absurd and the deadpan until it's hard to tell which is which. Come to think of it, it's probably his funniest book. (See our review). 6. Distant Star This is my favorite of Bolaño's short novels, and the other book I tend to recommend to neophytes. An expansion of a chapter in Nazi Literature, it yokes together two signature preoccupations: poetry and detectives. 7. The Unknown University This beautiful dual-language edition purports to include "all of the poems of the great Roberto Bolaño." Perhaps that should be "all of the great poems of Roberto Bolaño"; a quick comparison reveals some titles in The Romantic Dogs that I can't find here. But you get most of that collection, plus Tres, plus the novel in prose-poems Antwerp, as well as a couple hundred other poems. As with The Secret of Evil and Woes of the True Policemen, the "history of the book" Bolaño's executors provide here is weirdly hard to parse, but concerns fall away in the reading. At every turn there's a sense that this manuscript was indeed the life's work in poetry of a writer who valued poetry above all other genres. Verse narratives like "The Neochileans" have the impact of Bolaño's best short novels. The lyric poems lose more in Laura Healy's translation, especially as Bolaño likes to deal in fragments. As Jeff Peer noted here, the shorter pieces veer, albeit with a charming kind of indifference, between notebook and dream journal, genius and juvenilia. And because there are so many of these short poems, displayed one to a page, the book looks more tomelike than it is. Still, it is very much greater than the sum of its parts, and some of those parts are already very great indeed. The addictive element in Bolaño, more than anything else, is his sui generis sensibility, and this book is that sensibility distilled. 8. Between Parentheses For those of you keeping score at home, that's four genres Bolaño excelled in: the meganovel, the novella, the poem, and the short story. What are the odds that his collected nonfiction could be indispensable? Especially when most of it consists of occasional speeches and short newspaper work? Well, odds be damned. This book is great, in a way that reminds me of Jonathan Lethem's recent and similarly loose-limbed The Ecstasy of Influence. There's something fascinating about listening in as a writer talks shop, more or less off the cuff. Parts two through five do double-duty as an encyclopedia of Latin American fiction. And "Beach," actually a short story, is one of Bolaño's best. 9. By Night in Chile Bolaño's most formally perfect short novel, it is also the most self-contained. It offers a torrential dramatic monologue by a Catholic priest implicated in torture during Chile's U.S.-backed Pinochet era. Some readers I respect think this is his best book. Though it plays its source material straighter than is typical in Bolaño, it might be another good one for norteamericanos to start with. The Merely Excellent 1. The Third Reich This was another book that I thought got a bit lost in the shuffle of 2009-2011, when an astonishing 1,800 pages of Bolaño's prose made their way into English. Otherwise, it might have been recognized as one of the best novels published in English in the latter year. Certainly, it's the strongest of Bolaño's apprentice books. Here, the master seems to be David Lynch; all is atmosphere, atmosphere, atmosphere, as the failure of a plot to precipitate becomes itself a source of terrible foreboding. I'm also a sucker for the "visceral realism" of Natasha Wimmer's translations, though I can't speak to their accuracy. 2. Amulet Amulet on its own is a wonderful reworking of the Auxilio Lacouture monologue from The Savage Detectives, and a chance to get to spend more time with that book's presiding spirits, Ulises Lima and Arturo Belano. It also contains some of Bolaño's most bewitching sentences, including the one that seems to give 2666 its title: "Guerrero, at that time of night, is more like a cemetery than an avenue, not a cemetery in 1974 or 1968, or 1975, but a cemetery in the year 2666, a forgotten cemetery under the eyelid of a corpse or an unborn child, bathed in the dispassionate fluids of an eye that tried so hard to forget one particular thing that it ended up forgetting everything else." 3. The Insufferable Gaucho Here you get the sublime Kafka takeoff "Police Rat" and a sort of cover version of Borges's "The South," each approaching novella length. However, the decision to pair the five stories (a version of one of which also appears in Between Parentheses) with two (excellent) essays gives this collection as a whole a distinctly "odds and sods" feel. 4. The Secret of Evil Another posthumous gallimaufry, but one I found totally delightful. Notwithstanding the magician's indirection with which the "Preliminary Note" attempts to justify the book's publication, it's pretty clear that much of what's here is in rough form. But as with Between Parentheses, it's thrilling to see Bolaño at work, and to see where he might have gone next. And it's always nice to see a little more of Ulises and Arturo. 5. Antwerp One of Bolaño's earliest pieces of fiction, Antwerp's not much like the others, save for a hunchback who will also pop up in The Skating Rink. But it's one of the greatest avant-garde "novel in fragments" out there (see our review). In fact, as the inclusion in The Unknown University of a slightly different version (titled "People Walking Away") suggests, the prose here is close to poetry. So why "merely excellent" instead of "essential"? Well, if you already have a copy there, why buy the stand-alone version? 6. The Last Interview Like many non-Anglophone writers, Bolaño treated the interview less as a promotional opportunity than as a form of performance art. That makes this entry in Melville House's "Last Interview" series less illuminating, but also more fun, than it could have been. And of course the posthumous cash-in angle is right there in the title. In addition to Marcela Valdes's long and brilliant introduction - one of the best pieces of critical writing on Bolaño available in English - you get four interviews. Though caveat emptor: the actual last interview also shows up at the end of Between Parentheses, so again you may be paying for what was already yours to begin with. Necessary For Completists Only 1. Woes of the True Policeman There was a concerted effort to market this first as a "missing piece" of 2666, and then as a novel proper, but it's pretty clear that what Woes of the True Policeman truly is is an early stab at the big novel. The Amalfitano who appears here is a different character, but an equally deep one, and that and the rhetorical pyrotechics are the real selling points. (Am I the only person who finds the opening here really funny?) Still, aside from specialists and scholars, there's something a little unsettling about pretending that what the writer didn't think deserved our attention deserves our attention. Our review is here. 2. Monsieur Pain When the jacket copy for Keith Ridgway's forthcoming Hawthorn & Child calls it "the trippiest novel New Directions has published in years," it must mean three years - since this one came out. And damned if I can make heads or tails of old Mr. Bread. It concerns an ailing César Vallejo and some mysterious policemen...or something. Bolaño wrote this in the early '80s, and may have been surprised to be able to sell it to Anagrama in his breakthrough year, 1999. The most notable feature, for me, is formal: the "Epilogue for Voices" seems to anticipate the structural innovations of The Savage Detectives. 3. The Skating Rink More straightforward than Monsieur Pain, this early novel seems like another pass at the material in Antwerp/"People Walking Away." It's a quick, entertaining read, but for me the strange characterological magic that makes the voices in the later novels come alive never quite happens in this one. 4. The Romantic Dogs On its own, The Romantic Dogs is a fine collection. The same poem-to-poem unevenness that mars The Unknown University is present here, but because the selection tends toward the longer, more narrative poems, more of Bolaño makes it through the translation. Still, if much of what's here is included there, this edition would seem to have been superseded for all but the most ardent Bolañophiles. See also: Tres. 5. Tres See The Romantic Dogs.
Though the great Roberto Bolaño fever of 2008 appears to have moderated somewhat, this year saw new Bolaño titles pop up in American bookstores with the frequency of periodicals. We've probably passed that point in the hype cycle - and in Bolaño's own back catalogue - where we might look for critical consensus: in January, reviewers seemed hesitant to gainsay Monsieur Pain; by autumn, The Return was getting a decidedly mixed reception. (In between, no one except our own Emily St. John Mandel seemed to know what to do with Antwerp.) So where was a Bolañophile to turn first? We first tried to answer this question with our original Bolaño syllabus. With the aim of offering continued guidance to newcomers and enthusiasts alike, we've updated it below to take into account the two most recent novels and the thirteen stories in The Return. The Insufferable Gaucho will be added shortly. We continue to feel, hype notwithstanding, that this is one of the most important authors to emerge in the last decade, and we'll try to stay on top of the work yet to appear: an essay collection, a book of poetry, and The Sorrows of the Real Policeman (a.k.a. the "sixth part of 2666.") Updated 1. "Dance Card" and "Sensini" (from Last Evenings on Earth) and "Detectives" (from The Return) [1997 - 2001] Together, these three stories offer a précis of the personal mythology that animates Bolaño's most important writing. The first explores Latin American - and especially Chilean - politics in the 1960s and 1970s and their impact on a generation of young writers. The second finds a Bolaño-like narrator many years later, in artistic and geographic exile. The third offers a finer-grained look at "Arturo Belano's" brief but transformative stint in Pinochet's prison system. 2. Nazi Literature in the Americas  This early novel, a compendium of fictional writers, offers our first glimpse of the hugeness of Bolaño's ambition. Not incidentally, it's an excellent introduction to his peculiar sense of humor, which compacts the absurd and the deadpan until it's hard to tell which is which. It's a favorite (See our review). 3. Distant Star  When it was published, this probably constituted Bolaño's most compelling narrative to date. An expansion of a chapter in Nazi Literature, it yokes together two signature preoccupations: poetry and detectives. Another favorite. 4. "Last Evenings on Earth" and "The Grub" (from Last Evenings on Earth) [1997 - 2001] Tales of young Arturo Belano, I'm guessing. The former provides one of Bolaño's rare glimpses of fatherhood; the latter introduces the Caborca knife and Villaviciosa, the town of assassins. Both are implicated in Bolaño's later work. Updated 5. Antwerp [1980s - 2002] New Directions' decision to publish this 90-page novella as a hardcover initially roused my suspicions, but it amply repays the investment. It is a total avant-garde freakout, and has to be among the most linguistically beautiful things Bolaño wrote. Initially, it presents as an aleatory collection of prose poems, half Nicanor Parra, half David Lynch. Quickly, though, it develops into a kind of quantum murder mystery, in which we're trying to identify both the perpetrator and crime. In its enjambment of poetry and mayhem, a perfect set-up for... 6. The Savage Detectives  What remains to be said about The Savage Detectives? Once you read this book, you'll want to read everything else this guy wrote (See our review). 7. "Photos" (from The Return)  A moving coda to The Savage Detectives, this story finds Arturo Belano in exile, as usual. 8. The Romantic Dogs [1980 - 1998] Now that you've read The Savage Detectives, you're probably wondering: why all this fuss about poetry? You're probably also willing to bear with this collection, which mingles wheat and chaff, cream and crop, as it further adumbrates Bolaño's personal mythology. It's worth noting that Bolaño's gifts as a poet - narrative, character, and a dreamlike vision - are identical to his gifts as a novelist. Updated 9. "Henri Simon LePrince," "A Literary Adventure," and "Anne Moore's Life" ; "Phone Calls," "Vagabond in France and Belgium," and "Days of 1978"  (from Last Evenings on Earth), "Meeting With Enrique Lihn" (from The Return)  The first three of these stories read like minor-key variations on Nazi Literature. The second three share a narrator, B, who in some incarnation - protagonist or revenant - haunts most of Bolaño's fiction. And the third offers us a literary dream that feels almost like a dry-run for "Sensini." Updated 10."Cell Mates" and "Clara" (from The Return)  Two of Bolaño's most straightforward and accessible stories about love, these nonetheless manage to be mysteriously harrowing. 11. The Skating Rink  I humbly dissent from Wyatt Mason; this isn't a masterpiece. It is Bolaño's first published novel, however, and is one of his most technically accomplished. It won a regional writing contest, back in the days when (per "Sensini") Bolaño was entering scores of them. By this point, such things are probably interesting to you. 12. "Joanna Silvestri," "Snow," "Buba" (from The Return) [1997 - 2001] This triumvirate is, for me, the heart of The Return. Whereas the earlier Bolaño collection in English circled around the author's fictional mirror image, these three - concerning a porn star, a gangster, and a soccer star, respectively - look outward, with spectacular results. 13. "Gomez Palacio," "Mauricio 'The Eye' Silva," "Dentist" (from Last Evenings on Earth) [1997 - 2001] To hell with technique; here the other side of Bolaño holds sway. These pieces are not so much crafted as dreamed into being, and the hallucinatory intensity of the latter two serve as a perfect warm-up for 2666... 14. Amulet  ...As does this novella-length expansion on an incident from The Savage Detectives. I don't think this one is as successful as Distant Star, but by now, you're willing to forgive that, right? Arturo Belano features heavily here. And the heroine, Auxilio Lacoutre, feels like a sketch for Florita Almada of 2666...about which Auxilio (like Césarea Tinajero) seems to be having visions...is anyone else getting dizzy? 15. "Enrique Martin" (from Last Evenings on Earth)  This is one of my two or three favorite Bolaño stories. Enrique seems to have contracted his numerological delirium from Auxilio and Césarea. 16. 2666  Supernova and apotheosis. You can read my take here. Updated 17. Monsieur Pain [1981 - 1982] Again, I dissent from the newspaper reviews. Monsieur Pain strikes me as the least essential of Bolaño's novels to appear in English. It's palpably an early work, and far less incendiary than Antwerp. Atmospherically, it has affinities with his best short novels, but in historical drag that somehow cuts against Bolaño's usual sense of suspense. At this point you may be willing to put up with that. Updated 18. "William Burns," "Murdering Whores" (from The Return) [1997 - 2001] Speaking of inessential, I wasn't particularly taken with these two. Updated 19. "Prefiguration of Lalo Cura" (from The Return)  This story, on the other hand, deserves mention alongside the stronger "Joanna Silvestri" for its enthusiastically gritty take on the porn industry. Curiously, this Lalo Cura is not the same as - or at least doesn't share parents with - the character of that name we meet in 2666. Hence "prefiguration?" 20. By Night in Chile  Some people think that this short, late novel is Bolaño's finest, and though I don't agree with them, it's always good to save something for dessert. Of all Bolaño's books, this one seems to have the fewest connections with the others, and so perhaps it would be as good a place to start as to end. Updated 21. "The Return" (from The Return)  This story, at once revolutionary and relaxed, suggests to me where Bolaño might be headed were he still alive to day...which is to say, everywhere.
1. When I was back in the States for Christmas last year, what surprised me more than Obama-mania, or the eerie presence of snow, was the widespread fame of Roberto Bolaño. He went from obscure to star in little over a year, following the English translation of The Savage Detectives. Every reader seemed to have his own version of the story: the desperate bohemian, the heroin addict love poet, the Chilean-Mexican-Spaniard. For the next week I saw the book's tabloidish cover on nearly every train I got on. Such are literary trends I guess. There has been so much written about him by now, it's hard not to disagree with somebody about who Roberto Bolaño was, never mind who he is. Without getting into any of the biographical debates, he was poet for most of his life, until he began writing novels in the 80s. Like most poets he was poor. As he tells it in his forward to Monsieur Pain, he began writing his first novels to win the literary contests that nearly every rinky-dink town in the Iberian peninsula awards annually. As absurd as that may have sounded, it paid off. Nearly every novel and novella won him something. So he repeated the formula and kept on winning. This went on for some time, maybe ten years, until his best friend died and he began writing The Savage Detectives, the book that would win him the grand mother of literary prizes in Spanish, the Premio Romullo Gallegos. His work was certainly popular by then, especially in Latin America, but nothing like the craze one finds in the States. I wouldn´t be surprised if someone gave Obama a copy of 2666 as a welcoming gift in the White House. Ten years ago when I bought Bolaño's books in Spain, where seemingly everyone reads (or at least acts like they do), my friends would ask me why I was buying him. Why not Javier Marias? Why not Almudena Grandes? Because Bolaño's books are dark, funny, allusive, erratic, and most importantly, sincere — at least, that's what attracted to me about him. And I had never read anything like him. I just didn't know what to make of him, so I read his novellas and his books of short stories, until I worked up enough courage to take on The Savage Detectives. After reading just the first half of Arturo Belano and Ulises Lima's adventures I knew: (1) I wanted to be them, (2) I was only getting a quarter of the literary references, (3) I would likely have to reread it. As Belano and Lima poetically conquer Mexico City, and later the world - talking lit, getting drunk, falling in love, writing manifestos, being poor, being really poor - they emulate an entire generation’s experience. Like On the Road many key literary figures appear, in some cases cryptically, in others blatantly, sometimes with pseudonyms, other times with their real names. They are not solely from Mexico, or Spain, or Chile, where Bolaño had lived; they are all from that larger republic of letters, Spanish. (When asked about his nationality he told the Mexican newspaper La Reforma that he was from "Strangerland, whose natives are foreigners.") I thought if I had spotted one or two writers halfway hidden behind a pseudonym, there were probably more. A name is just a name, but I don't know if the book wouldn't be as "extremely fun" as it could be - and as the Argentine writer Cesar Aira described it - without wondering about the real person behind each character. As revealed in an article published last year in the Spanish newspaper Vanguardia, Bolaño was a gamer, and as such clearly wants us to play. The mystery is laid out in the very first line of the novel, “I've been cordially invited to join the visceral realists.“ But who are the visceral realists? 2. They begin as teenagers in Mexico in the 1960s, an unprecedented period of turbulence, optimism, violence, vivacity for all of Latin America. In the rash optimism of their youth, they rebel against everything and everyone. They joke about murdering future Noble Laureate Octavio Paz, member of the New Left. They stumble into the Tlatelolco massacre in 1968 (retold in Bolaño´s novella Amulet; something like the Tianamen Square of Latin America); the very same year, socialist Salvador Allende is elected president. In 1970 Argentine former dictator Aramburu is kidnapped and killed by the leftist guerrillas the Montoneros. Three years later, Pinchoet strikes Chile with a military coup. Through Lima and Belano, they peripherally witness the fall of Franco. Finally, they follow the last Latin American leftist movement of the twentieth century to Nicaragua, where the Sandinistas have just claimed victory. Then the Sandanistas sink and the last hope for the Left is gone. From there some go to the Feria de Libros in Madrid, the world of boring book signings and banal book discussions. By the end of the twentieth century, the balls-to-the-wall bravado of avant-garde literature has gone the way of Barnes and Noble. By then our hero Ulises Lima, along with his nonconforming optimism, has also vanished; Belano, like an inverse Che in the Congo with a touch of Rimbaud, wanders through warring Monrovia hoping to die. In Latin America, literature has always been a part of politics. Colombus's records are the new world's first book in Spanish, followed by other conquistadors and later their mendicant colleagues. Before Ronald Regan, Simon Bolivar was considered the great communicator. In fact, name any Latin American leader in the 19th century and chances are they have written a book of grammar or poetry. Likewise, many famous writers become politicians (i.e, Vargas Llosa’s presidential campaign in Peru; Ernesto Cardenal’s position in the Sandanistas). If not, being exiled because of your writing remains a possibility, as it was during the military dictatorships (the –ettis, Uruguayans Benedetti and Onetti suffice as examples). Thus, to write a book about Latin American writers - from the obscure to the famous - is to write a political work. The Savage Detectives is as much a story of a two artists as young men, as it is the trajectory of the Left in the second half of the twentieth century, which Bolaño eulogized in a brilliant speech when he won the Romulo Gallegos. 3. Traditionally Spanish publishers (most publishers that publish in Spanish are owned by Spaniards) stuff their books with introductions and notes. You have to skip the fifty pages of critical essays to read the twelve pages of poems. Although I don't think this novel needs all of that, an answer key, a cheat sheet, what in Argentina they call a machete, might do. Let’s start with the easy ones. Bolaño is Belano, although sometimes, Juan Garcia Madero. Ulises Lima is Bolaño's real life friend the late Mario Santiago Papsquiaro. In Nicaragua, we encounter Pancracio Montesol, an older Guatemalan writer (referred to as don Pancracio), who, despite being often compared to Borges, is called the “legitimate son of Alfonso Reyes.” This is none other than Augosto Monterroso, modern fabulist, writer of the shortest short story in the Spanish language, who, in his playful, concise modern allegories, does resemble Borges, as the narrator, Hugo Montero alleges. Then there’s Reinaldo Arenas. If you’ve seen the movie starring Javier Bardem, Before Night Falls, you know the Cuban writer described in The Savage Detectives as “not afraid of police, or poverty, or of not being published.” Later Felipe Muller describes the Cuban as struggling to write his last book before he dies of AIDS, just as Arenas did. In Madrid, Pedro Ordoñez's ultra-conservative complaints and aspirations to enter the Real Academia have brought many to conclude he is the nonagenarian Catalan poet Pere Gimferrer, who not incidentally was Bolaño's friend. I think it's worth mentioning that Bolaño was very sociable during his short period of fame; he seems to have met nearly everyone with a novel published in Spanish; like Belano, everyone has a Bolaño story. In the end, the visceral realists are or were real people, a group called of poets the infra-realists, hardly known until The Savage Detectives rocked the world. Since then, Mario Santiago Papasquiaro's poems have been anthologized and released by a major publisher last year. Thanks to Bolaño’s immortalization of his friend as Ulises Lima, his name lives on. The last mystery, and the hardest to solve, is that of the mother of visceral realism Cesárea Tinajero. Some characters in the book think that Lima and Belano made her up, but at the end of the novel Octavio Paz remembers something Tinarejo published in 1924. Literary detectives think Tinarejo is Salvador Novo, Mexican poet, playwright, a sort Modernist Mexican version of Oscar Wilde. Novo was respected greatly by the visceral realists as much as the real life infra-realists, and he began publishing just when Paz says. Also, like Tinarejo, Novo led a grandiose life of letters, much grander than his books bécame after his death. There's only one catch: Cesárea is a woman. There are hardly any famous female poets from that generation in Mexico, at least none that I can find. So Bolaño wins. The Case of Tinarejo has not been solved. I'm left like Amadeo Salvatierra raising my glass to "all those strange or unfamiliar names, remembered or forgotten even by their own grandchildren." Is that it? Are they now just names? After rereading the novel a few times, I'm left wondering if who's who is the really the stuff of literary history. If so, Ulises Lima's poetic quest is an empty one, as is the reader's. Or is this a parody of the secret language of literati? Or is it about the suffering, the innocence, the loss and loneliness that accompany artistic ventures? I can't answer that; however, in an epoch that allegedly traded in sincerity for visibility, The Savage Detectives seems particularly apt at presenting us with difficult questions. I hope this machete can make those questions as real as it was to those who were living them. Here in no particular order is a machete to cut The Savage Detectives to size: Fictional Name Real Name Arturo Belano Roberto Bolaño Ulises Lima Mario Santiago Papsquiaro, born José Alfredo Zendejas Unnamed Cuban poet Reinaldo Arenas Pacracio Montesol Augosto Moneterroso Octavio Paz Octavio Paz Efrain Huerta Efrain Huerta Pere Ordoñez Pere Gimferrer Bonus Link (Spanish): The lesser known infra-realists are identified by José Vicente Anaya and Heriberto Yépez in their article "A Guide to The Savage Detectives" along with other suspects.
If I could read just one book by Author X, which would it be? This may be the hardest question we can ask a fellow reader, insofar as it assumes that we can teleport straight to the heart of aesthetic experience, rather than journeying there over weeks or years. In fact, we often come to the books we love - and learn to love them - by way of other books: Dubliners primes us for Portrait, which shapes our expectations for Ulysses, which earns our indulgence for Finnegans Wake. In this way, the justified hype surrounding the English publication last year of late Roberto Bolaño's 2666 (If you read only one book this year...) may have done some readers a disservice. Like Joyce's, Bolaño's is a sensibility that demands immersion, and for the kind of person who prefers to adjust to the swimming pool by inches rather than jumping straight into the deep end, the massive 2666 may have felt a lot like drowning. Further complicating the approach to Bolaño is the suggestion of a single roman-fleuve that glimmers around the edges of the work, now brighter, now darker. A knife in the story "The Grub" resurfaces in The Savage Detectives. The first mention of the number 2666 appears in Amulet, while a note among Bolaño's papers announces that the narrator of the former is none other than Arturo Belano, protagonist of the latter. (And is Belano the same "B" who features in the short stories of Llamadas telefónicas? Or is that Bolaño himself?) Moreover: like our own universe, Bolaño's continues to expand long after the Big Bang that birthed it has gone dark. As Wyatt Mason recently noted in The New York Times, In addition to the eight [books] that have swiftly and ably arrived in translation in the six years since his death in 2003 at age 50, four new books by Bolaño are scheduled to appear in 2010 (two novels, two story collections) with three others promised for 2011. What’s more, according to recent reports out of Spain, another two finished novels have been found among Bolaño’s papers, as well as a sixth, unknown part of . . . 2666. And so, to help acclimate newcomers to this odd and essential author; to continue mapping the Bolañoverse, as Malcolm Cowley mapped Yoknapatawpha; and to impose some order on the flood of Bolaño releases, The Millions offers the following syllabus, which we'll update as further translations become available, and as we take comments into account. 1. "Dance Card" and "Sensini" (from Last Evenings on Earth) [1997 - 2001] Together, these two stories offer a précis of the personal mythology that animates Bolaño's most important work. The first explores Latin American - and especially Chilean - politics in the 1960s and 1970s and their impact on a generation of young writers. The second finds a Bolaño-like narrator many years later, in artistic and geographic exile. 2. Nazi Literature in the Americas  This early novel, a compendium of fictional writers, offers our first glimpse of the hugeness of Bolaño's ambition. Not incidentally, it's an excellent introduction to his peculiar sense of humor, which compacts the absurd and the deadpan until it's hard to tell which is which. It's a favorite (See our review). 3. Distant Star  When it was published, this probably constituted Bolaño's most compelling narrative to date. An expansion of a chapter in Nazi Literature, it yokes together two signature preoccupations: poetry and detectives. Another favorite. 4. "Last Evenings on Earth" and "The Grub" (from Last Evenings on Earth) [1997 - 2001] Tales of young Arturo Belano, I'm guessing. The former provides one of Bolaño's rare glimpses of fatherhood; the latter introduces the Caborca knife and Villaviciosa, the town of assassins. Both are implicated in Bolaño's later work. 5. The Savage Detectives  What remains to be said about The Savage Detectives? Once you read this book, you'll want to read everything else this guy wrote (See our review). 6. The Romantic Dogs [1980 - 1998] Now that you've read The Savage Detectives, you're probably wondering: why all this fuss about poetry? You're probably also willing to bear with this collection, which mingles wheat and chaff, cream and crop, as it further adumbrates Bolaño's personal mythology. It's worth noting that Bolaño's gifts as a poet - narrative, character, and a dreamlike vision - are identical to his gifts as a novelist. 7. "Henri Simon LePrince," "A Literary Adventure," and "Anne Moore's Life" ; "Phone Calls," "Vagabond in France and Belgium," and "Days of 1978"  (from Last Evenings on Earth) The first three of these stories read like minor-key variations on Nazi Literature. The last three share a narrator, B, who in some incarnation - protagonist or revenant - haunts most of Bolaño's fiction. (One wonders when all of Phone Calls (from which these three stories are excerpted) will appear in English.) 8. The Skating Rink  I humbly dissent from Wyatt Mason; this isn't a masterpiece. It is Bolaño's first published novel, however, and is one of his most technically accomplished. It won a regional writing contest, back in the days when (per "Sensini") Bolaño was entering scores of them. By this point, such things are probably interesting to you. 9. "Gomez Palacio," "Mauricio 'The Eye' Silva," "Dentist" (from Last Evenings on Earth) [1997 - 2001] To hell with technique; here the other side of Bolaño holds sway. These pieces are not so much crafted as dreamed into being, and the hallucinatory intensity of the latter two serve as a perfect warm-up for 2666... 10. Amulet  ...As does this novella-length expansion on an incident from The Savage Detectives. I don't think this one is as successful as Distant Star, but by now, you're willing to forgive that, right? Arturo Belano features heavily here. And the heroine, Auxilio Lacoutre, feels like a sketch for Florita Almada of 2666...about which Auxilio (like Césarea Tinajero) seems to be having visions...is anyone else getting dizzy? 11. "Enrique Martin" (from Last Evenings on Earth)  This is one of my two or three favorite Bolaño stories. Enrique seems to have contracted his numerological delirium from Auxilio and Césarea. 12. 2666 Supernova and apotheosis. You can read my take here. 13. By Night in Chile  Some people think that this short, late novel is Bolaño's finest, and though I don't agree with them, it's always good to save something for dessert. Of all Bolaño's books, this one seems to have the fewest connections with the others, and so perhaps it would be as good a place to start as to end.
Our friend "Tom" finds that music soothes the savage vampire.Joseph O'Neill explores the "wholesome... misanthropy" of Flannery O'Connor.The Nation offers up a depressing assessment of the book business: "It is a confused, confusing and very fluid situation, and no one can predict how books and readers will survive.""Why Donald Duck Is the Jerry Lewis of Germany"NPR talks to the author of the just published biography, Gabriel Garcia Marquez: A Life.Daniel Green launches new online journal Critical Distance."Will Philadelphia be the place where the American newspaper dies?" (via)The Complete Review considers Bolaño's Amulet.
It must have appealed to Roberto Bolaño's sense of irony that novels, rather than poems, won him his place in the contemporary pantheon. For Bolaño's protagonists, (and, we can imagine, for Bolaño himself) poetry is the art that endures. Still, to read Amulet or By Night in Chile is to find oneself immersed in verse - not because the prose is self-consciously lyrical (not in translation, anyway), but because all of the major characters are poets. Were these characters merely unheralded virtuosos, like Kerouac's Subterraneans, the novels might take on an air of wish fulfillment. As it stands, however, Bolaño's fictionalized Lives of the Poets are an inversion, or complication, of Kerouac's: He seems more interested in the bad poets, the failed poets, than he is in the angelic ones.For this reason, and for several others, the recently published English edition of Nazi Literature in the Americas is an ideal introduction to the Bolaño oeuvre. The book comprises 30 short portraits of imaginary right-wing poets. The form of the fictional reference work (a subgenre close to my heart) allows for accessibility, while playing to several of Bolaño's great strengths.The book begins in Argentina "at the dawn of the twentieth century," with the Mendiluce clan. The matriarch, Edelmira Thompson de Mendiluce, has a long and busy life, writing books of poetry (Argentinean Hours) and autobiography (The Century as I Have Lived It) and a libretto for opera (Ana, the Peasant Redeemed), and, most significantly, founding magazines: Modern Argentina, American Letters, and The Fourth Reich in Argentina ("and, subsequently, the publishing house of the same name.") As these inflated titles indicate, Bolaño has a lot of fun inventing his poets, and the dry humor seems to play to Chris Andrews' strengths as a translator. One paragraph ends: "By the end of the audience Edelmira and Carozzone were committed Hitlerites." The next begins: "1930 was a year of voyages and adventures."After droll biographies of Edelmira's progeny - "throughout her life, [Luz Mendiluce Thompson] treasured the famous photo of her baby self in Hitler's arms" - the book will gradually work its way north, to the pop-inflected poets of the United States, and then south again, to end up in Bolaño's native Chile, at the lightless dawn of the Pinochet years. Here as elsewhere, Bolaño excels in the art of ekphrasis - describing the fruits of one medium with the techniques of another. Rarely do we see an actual excerpt from the poems in question; instead, we are treated to summaries such as this one (concerning the works of Luz Mendiluce Thompson):In 1953...she published the collection Tangos of Buenos Aires, which, as well as a revised version of "I Was Happy with Hitler," contained some of her finest poems: "Stalin," a chaotic fable set among bottles of vodka and incomprehensible shrieks; "Self Portrait," one of the cruelest poems written in Argentina during the fifties, which is no mean claim; "Luz Mendiluce and Love," in the same vein as her self-portrait, but with doses of irony and black humor, which make it somewhat less grueling; and "Apocalypse at Fifty," a promise to kill herself when she reached that age, which those who knew her regarded as optimistic.Even when Bolaño does quote from the poems in question - "[they] were free of political allusions," we are told, "except for the odd unfortunate metaphor (such as 'in my heart I am the last Nazi')" - he relies on the reader to flesh out the fictional world, in Borgesian fashion.The form of the vignette means, inevitably, that certain entries are stronger than others; some, like "Luiz Fontaine da Souza," are merely a single, extended joke. In general, though, Nazi Literature in the Americas gathers momentum as it goes on, which is perhaps a way of saying that it teaches the reader how to read it. The science-fictional leanings of several of the U.S. poets allow Bolaño to indulge in the same sort of hallucinatory symbolism that animates his finest short stories, and the final three entries, covering "The Fabulous Schiaffino Boys" and "The Infamous Ramirez Hoffman," swell to the amplitude of bravura short stories themselves. (Indeed, Bolaño would rework the latter piece into the novel Distant Star, which is probably the next book to tackle if you're looking to ease your way into the longer works.)It is as a whole, however, that Nazi Literature in the Americas makes its strongest statement. Beyond the humor, and the game-like pleasure of tracing the chain of influence and patronage among the various poets (abetted by an "Epilogue for Monsters"), the book offers a subtle analysis of the constituent parts of fascism: humorlessness, a longing for an imagined past, a persecution complex. They are often, Bolaño suggests, the same things that drive us to create art, and though the poems described in the book are often bad, they are not uniformly so. By the end of the book, we come to see poetry as a symbol of the broader moral universe (whereas in Kerouac's novels it tends to represent some form of redemption from it). Bolaño muse, like the muse that spoke to Ezra Pound and Ernst Jünger, is morally and politically indiscriminate. The lives that surround the poems are where the greatest triumphs, and greatest failures, occur.Bonus link: An excerpt from Nazi Literature in the Americas, courtesy of Bookforum