About halfway through The Skating Rink, I was already quite sure that this was my favorite out of all Bolano's short novels (the others being Distant Star, By Night in Chile, and Amulet; I didn't count Nazi Literature in the Americas because I wouldn't classify it as a novel, really, but I still enjoyed TSR more). I spent the rest of the text trying to figure out just why this was (and, of course, just enjoying it).
I think the reason I liked this book so much is that it reminded me, more than any other book, of my first exposure to Bolano: The Savage Detectives. On the surface, there aren't many similarities here, besides multiple narrators. TSD starts in Mexico but stretches out to the entire world: all of South/Central American, the United States, Europe, the Middle East, Africa; it has more characters than you can shake a stick at, and nearly all of them get their own sections of narration; and the action is spread over a period of nearly 25 years. The Skating Rink is the opposite in terms of dramatic unities: everything takes place in the Spanish town of Z; there are only about a dozen characters to keep track of, and only 3 get narration; and everything happens over the course of a few summer months. These mirrored attributes are conspicuous; I've no doubt that TSR was some sort of experimental playground, stylistically, of what would later become the world of TSD, and Bolano kept things simple to work out the kinks.
Do you ever consciously wonder, when you're reading a book that has a first-person narrator, exactly to whom the narrator is speaking? Unless the author makes a big deal about it, you probably don't. I never did, until I started to get really deep into Bolano. One of the best parts of The Savage Detectives is trying to figure out what the heck is going on there, and this carries over (or, actually, predates it) in The Skating Rink. You just get the feeling that these three guys need to spill their stories, that they need to confess at last. Are they talking to investigators (not much spoilage: a murder is central to the plot here), to their priests, to the general reading public? If the last of these, is it just to warn us, so we don't make the same errors? (I'm sure that's not it; that's be much too simple for Bolano.)
What's seeping through every single pore of this book is a deadly paranoia, the same thing that drives a lot of The Savage Detectives and (to some extent, or maybe to an even greater extent [I'll have to reread it:]) 2666. There are so many instances of characters watching, being watched, and thinking about being watched, found out, discovered, and....? The thought is not always completed here, as if the characters don't think it through but know it's a bad thing. It's extremely easy to find historical grounding for this theme: Bolano, like so many other Central/South Americans in the 20th century, lived under a number of regimes that could pull you out of bed at night and throw you in a cell forever. I'm sure there's more to it, though: something about that paradoxical human drive to seek companionship and community but also to suspect the worst from people; we must always be simultaneously open and closed; always (not a typo, repeated for emphasis). And what results from that? The failed relationships of The Skating Rink, the callous unfeeling of By Night in Chiles, the ultimate horror of Santa Teresa in 2666? Some of these, all of these? I am not sure yet, but I think I've stumbled across the one thing I'll want to keep in mind when reading all of these books a second time (as well as the other books that'll trickle in in translation for the next few years).
If I had to describe the feeling of the narration in one word, I'd call it Poe-ish...or Poean...or whatever the word is that means it's in the tradition of Edgar Allan Poe. Think "The Tell-Tale Heart" or "The Cask of Amontillado."
Also of note: once again, in the world of Bolano, the people here are just so bored. They go to work, go to parties, make love, eat, drink, and do anything any real person could do, but no one really cares. Their actions could not be devoid of any more meaning. This toes the line between tragic and comic all the time, but trust me, it's not as bad as it sounds.
Recommended for anyone, but especially to those looking to get into Bolano. If you're put off by the length of his bigger works, I suggest tasting this before jumping into The Savage Detectives.