Los detectives salvajes
Sorry, I meant to share my review of The Savage Detectives sooner but things got sort of crazy. I was enjoying a Cuba Libre at El Loto de Quintana on Avenida Guerrero near the Glorieta de Insurgentes with Ian Graye’s visceral reviewers, the self-proclaimed readers of the Goodreads avant-garde. We were discussing the poetry of Alberto Bonifaz Nuño and López Velarde and even the butch queer Manuel José de la Cruz from San Luis Potosí when I noticed the waitress Jacinta R...more
kept at a distance from our main characters, we hear testimonials by various people who knew them through different chapters...more
I just met a close friend from graduate school for dinner last week - he now lives in San Fr...more
Roberto Bolaño (1953-2003) created a very special novel with The Savage Detectives. The novel is constantly moving, grinding slowly across the years steady and sure as a freight train, carrying the baggage of our existence towards the inevitable finality of life. During the course of my reading, people would misinterpret the title and tell me they enjoyed a good crime thriller and inquire into the plot of the book I clutched lovingly in my hands. While this is no ‘whodunnit’ nov...more
I want to sum up my thoughts about this book using a quote from its pages…
“…What a shame that time passes, don’t you think? What a shame that we die, and get old, and everything good goes galloping away from us.”
But that seems insufficient. How about a song?
That doesn’t quite do it either. How about a poem?
SELF PORTRAIT AT TWENTY YEARS
I set off, I took up the march and never knew
where it might take me. I went full of fear,
my stomach dropped, my head was bu...more
I bought this book 15 months ago. I finished it yesterday. It started off as a crisp, thin-leafed semi-brick whose 648 pages intimidated me. I only got the courage to read it when a discussion group gave me the impetus I needed. Now, it sits less crisp, but read, on my desk, wondering who will read it next. Like me, it’s 15 months older, but we are both easing into middle age and are still making new friends. We two are friends now, as if we’ve known ea...more
Unconditional love of a mother, passionate love of a lover, bloody revenge by an enemy.
Teachings of a teacher, lessons learnt by a student, choosing a road untraveled.
Poems by poets, novels by writers, paintings by painters.
A lost idol, reminiscences by ironic souls, A regained Idol.
Love, obsession, sex, drugs, heart-breaks, longing, road-trip, search, survival.
Arturo Belano, Roberto Bolano, Ulises Lima, Mario Santiago-...more
I walked around Mexico City for a while. And then I sat in a coffee shop and wrote poetry for seven hours. And then I saw a crazy poet I know and we argued about Octavio Paz. And then I read (name drop about 30 Latin American poets of whom I've never heard). And then I wanted to see Maria.
But somebody who cares a lot about the history and insider references of Latin American poetry might love it. I only managed 150 pages.
This review, such as it is, might be considered spoilerish, actually, it’s a lotta spoilerish, it’s presented in a rambling, perhaps, incoherent manner, and it is tentatively offered. It also includes a speculative consideration, for your reading enjoyment—one you’re very entitled to disagree with. Take a little theory, take a little text, stir them together, you get speculation. Toward that end I focus on a single aspect of the novel. You’ve been warned.
Ladies and Gentlemen, you want to know wh...more
I'd like to phone in a review, please.
I don't know how to do it myself.
I'm sorry sir. As part of Goodreads terms of service, I could have accepted: illness, vacation, out of body experience, picking vegetables in a garden, working overtime, mission control for the Mars rover program, --
-- That's it, that's it, mission control. I'm working mission control. It's --
-- Be serious, sir.
Alright, fine. I'll work on it myself.
Now we want...more
This is a brilliant book. This is a frustrating book.
This is due to the brilliance and the frustration of its second section, the largest section of the Chilean born Roberto Bolaño’s debut novel. This, the book’s namesake, is a sprawling and splintered affair that features an array of thrilling locales that would make Roland Emmerich’s budget committee blush. From Mexico to...more
The Savage Detectives seems like a book written entirely between the lines. The plot consists of several people talking about their encounters with the poets Arturo Belano and Ulises Lima, the two creators of the visceral realist gang. The feeling of lost time, lost friends, lost ambitions builds with each of their testimonies so that by the last page - the last sentence, "What's outside the window?" - you have the feeling of being punched in the...more
There are no true individuals. Bolaño knew this.
Juan García Madero did not know this.
When we were 17 years old, none of us knew this either. Sometimes when we're 30 we still don't know this. And if we're lucky/unlucky/smart/stupid maybe when we're 60 we won't know this then either.
This book is a lingering smoke cloud, a feeling that will not go away, impending doom?, recognition?, a satire of the literary world and a hom...more
There is no reason for me to copy and paste Wikipedia's biography of Bolaño's life. The man was...more
Three visceral realists, an abused prostitute, a sphinx-like poet and a hounding masochistic pimp. Savage Detectives is a segmented nostalgia of barefaced narratives, miscellaneous testimonies and a thrilling road trip. It comes across as an intricate brainteaser that has passed the test of time by how artistic and diagnostically zealous youth can be. This is my third Bolano manuscript and I dearly yearn to pen an Ode to this bohemian soul. However, conf...more
300 pages later, and nothing has happened yet, so I'm having second thoughts about my first impression. It's not at all clear what the big deal is supposed to be about this book. I mean, seriousl...more
Literature isn't innocent.
There are some books one reads that hit the reader in some place the reader didn't know existed until the book just discovered it; where the reader feels s/he knows the characters so well, like they've interacted before, which is impossible because these are characters, not real flesh-and-blood people that the reader encountered through their life's journey; where the reader is so completely heartbroken that the author has died so young because there would have been s...more
~The Savage Detectives
I was trying to figure what is meant by the above statement. So I walked backwards gazing at a point. I felt no compass, I don’t know where I’m going, but I have my eyes on the goal, that point in the distance. It’s an odd fe...more
Maybe this book is a little like that. The vast middle section is a profile of “infrarealist” poet Arturo Belano (Bolano’s alter ego) and sidekick Ulises Lim...more
I'm not interested in what the book is about for this review, but rather the amazing feeling of wanting to read other books, like all of the great books in the world all at once, because literature really is important, and it all needs to be read. Or maybe j...more
|my book o' the summer||25||320||Feb 22, 2014 08:27AM|
|Roberto Bolano's ...: Poetry||8||39||Feb 03, 2014 03:50AM|
|First film adaptation of Bolaño||6||188||Nov 30, 2013 02:33AM|
|Roberto Bolano's ...: Comments on the Poetry||11||52||Oct 28, 2013 11:34AM|
|Roberto Bolano's ...: Who are the Interviewers and/or the Savage Detectives?||31||69||Jul 30, 2013 07:23PM|
|Roberto Bolano's ...: Short Stories||2||15||Feb 16, 2013 04:46AM|
Bolaño moved to Europe in 1977, and finally made his way to Spain, where he married and settled on the Mediterranean coast near Barcelona, working as a dishwasher, a campground custodian, bellhop and garbage collector — working during the day and writing at night.