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Between Parentheses: Essays, Articles and Speeches, 1998-2003
'Between Parentheses' collects most of the newspaper columns and articles Bolano wrote during the last five years of his life, as well as the texts of some of his speeches and talks and a few scattered prologues."
400 pages, Paperback
First published June 1, 2004
76 people are currently reading
2146 people want to read
About the author
Roberto Bolaño
148 books6,589 followersFor most of his early adulthood, Bolaño was a vagabond, living at one time or another in Chile, Mexico, El Salvador, France and Spain. 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.
He continued with his poetry, before shifting to fiction in his early forties. In an interview Bolaño stated that he made this decision because he felt responsible for the future financial well-being of his family, which he knew he could never secure from the earnings of a poet. This was confirmed by Jorge Herralde, who explained that Bolaño "abandoned his parsimonious beatnik existence" because the birth of his son in 1990 made him "decide that he was responsible for his family's future and that it would be easier to earn a living by writing fiction." However, he continued to think of himself primarily as a poet, and a collection of his verse, spanning 20 years, was published in 2000 under the title The Romantic Dogs.
Regarding his native country Chile, which he visited just once after going into voluntary exile, Bolaño had conflicted feelings. He was notorious in Chile for his fierce attacks on Isabel Allende and other members of the literary establishment.
In 2003, after a long period of declining health, Bolaño passed away. Bolaño was survived by his Spanish wife and their two children, whom he once called "my only motherland."
Although deep down he always felt like a poet, his reputation ultimately rests on his novels, novellas and short story collections. Although Bolaño espoused the lifestyle of a bohemian poet and literary enfant terrible for all his adult life, he only began to produce substantial works of fiction in the 1990s. He almost immediately became a highly regarded figure in Spanish and Latin American letters.
In rapid succession, he published a series of critically acclaimed works, the most important of which are the novel Los detectives salvajes (The Savage Detectives), the novella Nocturno de Chile (By Night In Chile), and, posthumously, the novel 2666. His two collections of short stories Llamadas telefónicas and Putas asesinas were awarded literary prizes.
In 2009 a number of unpublished novels were discovered among the author's papers.
He continued with his poetry, before shifting to fiction in his early forties. In an interview Bolaño stated that he made this decision because he felt responsible for the future financial well-being of his family, which he knew he could never secure from the earnings of a poet. This was confirmed by Jorge Herralde, who explained that Bolaño "abandoned his parsimonious beatnik existence" because the birth of his son in 1990 made him "decide that he was responsible for his family's future and that it would be easier to earn a living by writing fiction." However, he continued to think of himself primarily as a poet, and a collection of his verse, spanning 20 years, was published in 2000 under the title The Romantic Dogs.
Regarding his native country Chile, which he visited just once after going into voluntary exile, Bolaño had conflicted feelings. He was notorious in Chile for his fierce attacks on Isabel Allende and other members of the literary establishment.
In 2003, after a long period of declining health, Bolaño passed away. Bolaño was survived by his Spanish wife and their two children, whom he once called "my only motherland."
Although deep down he always felt like a poet, his reputation ultimately rests on his novels, novellas and short story collections. Although Bolaño espoused the lifestyle of a bohemian poet and literary enfant terrible for all his adult life, he only began to produce substantial works of fiction in the 1990s. He almost immediately became a highly regarded figure in Spanish and Latin American letters.
In rapid succession, he published a series of critically acclaimed works, the most important of which are the novel Los detectives salvajes (The Savage Detectives), the novella Nocturno de Chile (By Night In Chile), and, posthumously, the novel 2666. His two collections of short stories Llamadas telefónicas and Putas asesinas were awarded literary prizes.
In 2009 a number of unpublished novels were discovered among the author's papers.
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Displaying 1 - 30 of 122 reviews
April 27, 2023
Ceea ce m-a frapat în cartea lui Bolaño nu a fost doar plăcerea autorului de a vorbi despre cărți și autori, dar și plăcerea de a oferi liste de must read alături de îndemnul de a citi cît mai mult. Nu poți scrie bine dacă nu-i citești pe ceilalți. Iar Roberto Bolaño (1953 - 2003) a citit enorm. Într-o povestire din Tîrfe asasine, m-a frapat amănuntul că-i străbătuse cu luare aminte pînă și pe cei mai minusculi poeți suprarealiști. Așadar, lista lui Bolaño:
1. Satyricon de Petronius.
2. Don Quijote de Miguel de Cervantes.
3. Moby-Dick de Herman Melville (nu strîmbați din nas, romanul e cît se poate de lizibil...).
4. Jorge Luis Borges în întregime. Și nu doar o singură dată. Și nu numai Borges, ci și exegeții săi. De altfel, lecția lui Borges se simte în stilul și tematica povestirilor lui Bolaño...
5. Șotron (Rayuela) de Julio Cortázar (tocmai a apărut o ediție revizuită la Polirom).
Ar fi nedrept să nu menționez Castelul lui Franz Kafka. Bolaño îl socotea pe Kafka un scriitor desăvîrșit.
Cred că abia acela care a citit, re-citit, răs-citit acești cinci-șase autori poate vorbi cu sens despre proza lui Roberto Bolaño. De fiecare dată cînd îl citesc, mă conving că literatura nu înseamnă doar re-scriere și comentariu, chiar dacă eu însumi - în Porunca lui rabbi Akiba - am definit talentul ca exercițiu al memoriei și abilitate combinatorie...
1. Satyricon de Petronius.
2. Don Quijote de Miguel de Cervantes.
3. Moby-Dick de Herman Melville (nu strîmbați din nas, romanul e cît se poate de lizibil...).
4. Jorge Luis Borges în întregime. Și nu doar o singură dată. Și nu numai Borges, ci și exegeții săi. De altfel, lecția lui Borges se simte în stilul și tematica povestirilor lui Bolaño...
5. Șotron (Rayuela) de Julio Cortázar (tocmai a apărut o ediție revizuită la Polirom).
Ar fi nedrept să nu menționez Castelul lui Franz Kafka. Bolaño îl socotea pe Kafka un scriitor desăvîrșit.
Cred că abia acela care a citit, re-citit, răs-citit acești cinci-șase autori poate vorbi cu sens despre proza lui Roberto Bolaño. De fiecare dată cînd îl citesc, mă conving că literatura nu înseamnă doar re-scriere și comentariu, chiar dacă eu însumi - în Porunca lui rabbi Akiba - am definit talentul ca exercițiu al memoriei și abilitate combinatorie...
December 27, 2014
When I think about Roberto Bolaño, my imagination runs wild in directions both vague and inviting with the sole purpose of putting together an abstract view of life led by this writer who left behind a substantial oeuvre for the lovers of written word and it’s hardly surprising that people around the world are still in the process of discovering, translating and publishing his books. Because of the distance he maintained from the archetypal patterns of acceptable storylines, his writing becomes what one can easily call a solace, an attainable fantasy containing a compelling truth.
Between these parentheses lies the magnificent universe of Latin American literature, obscure poetry and candid ponderings of a voracious reader because if there was one thing Bolaño loved and respected more than writing, it was reading. Reading was his source of humility and happiness as much as it was the cause of his struggles and frustrations. It helped him manage the ever changing equations between different elements of an artist’s life and with the disposition of a transient walker oblivious of any border, he roamed freely in search of some perspective hidden in the poems of Nicanor Parra, the paintings of Titian and the silent emotions captured in the photographs by Sergio Larraín. A reader of everything who felt alive in getting lost among the things he found.
But more than anything else, it’s his brand of literary criticism which makes this book a gratifying read. Without the unnecessary rhetoric adorned with technical jargon, his ways of recommending a book are sincere and convincing which essentially implies that if there is a work out there adhering to some of the merits of ‘top-notch writing’ then it’s worth being placed in our library.
So what is top-notch writing? The same thing it’s always been: the ability to peer into the darkness, to leap into the void, to know that literature is basically a dangerous undertaking. The ability to sprint along the edge of the precipice: to one side the bottomless abyss and to the other the faces you love, the smiling faces you love, and books and friends and food. And the ability to accept what you find, even though it may be heavier than the stones over the graves of all dead writers.Indeed.
Between these parentheses lies the magnificent universe of Latin American literature, obscure poetry and candid ponderings of a voracious reader because if there was one thing Bolaño loved and respected more than writing, it was reading. Reading was his source of humility and happiness as much as it was the cause of his struggles and frustrations. It helped him manage the ever changing equations between different elements of an artist’s life and with the disposition of a transient walker oblivious of any border, he roamed freely in search of some perspective hidden in the poems of Nicanor Parra, the paintings of Titian and the silent emotions captured in the photographs by Sergio Larraín. A reader of everything who felt alive in getting lost among the things he found.
But more than anything else, it’s his brand of literary criticism which makes this book a gratifying read. Without the unnecessary rhetoric adorned with technical jargon, his ways of recommending a book are sincere and convincing which essentially implies that if there is a work out there adhering to some of the merits of ‘top-notch writing’ then it’s worth being placed in our library.
It was that The Temple of Iconoclasts came into my hands, during a cold, wet winter, and I still remember the enormous pleasure it brought me, and the consolation, too, at a time when almost everything was full of sadness. Wilcock’s book restored happiness to me, as is only the case with those masterpieces of literature that are also masterpieces of black humor, like Lichtenberg’s Aphorisms or Sterne’s Tristram Shandy. Of course, Wilcock’s book tiptoed out of bookstores.One can gauge his grief for writers only few people read but he sticks to a misty hope that somehow, somewhere words in different forms survive and the readers like him carry them everywhere for the sake of restoring a lingering past, to dream about the invisible cities of a lost youth.
March 4, 2025
Remove the dust jacket of the The Portable Beat Reader and you'll see the same solid semi-glossy black boards -- both this one by Bolano and that one by the Beats are top-notch reading-list reads. A laugh riot at times. Always bold. Every author is the best of a country or generation. Abyss and adventure! As a slant portrait of Bolano, it's a portrait of the author as a compendium of books, like the painting by Arcimboldo, who most likely inspired Archimboldi, the master writer in 2666.
Highly recommended, highly readable reading. Unpredictable opinion movement. If Nazi Literature in the Americas is a novel, this can be read as a novel, too. The 21st century uncategorizable/unmarketable hybrid of journalism, memoir, opinion, story, locations, impressions, recommendations, lists of books and books and books to read, including:
Mantra (2025 update: haven't yet read but own in Spanish)
The Temple of Iconoclasts (read/loved)
Bartleby & Co. (read/loved)
Antipoems: How to Look Better & Feel Great (read/liked)
While the Women Are Sleeping (own but haven't read)
Bomarzo (bought, couldn't manage more than 20 pages, sold my copy)
My Dark Places (read/loved)
Soldiers of Salamis (read/loved)
Suicidios ejemplares (own in original, haven't read, have considered translating)
and a few dozen others . . .
Highly recommended, highly readable reading. Unpredictable opinion movement. If Nazi Literature in the Americas is a novel, this can be read as a novel, too. The 21st century uncategorizable/unmarketable hybrid of journalism, memoir, opinion, story, locations, impressions, recommendations, lists of books and books and books to read, including:
Mantra (2025 update: haven't yet read but own in Spanish)
The Temple of Iconoclasts (read/loved)
Bartleby & Co. (read/loved)
Antipoems: How to Look Better & Feel Great (read/liked)
While the Women Are Sleeping (own but haven't read)
Bomarzo (bought, couldn't manage more than 20 pages, sold my copy)
My Dark Places (read/loved)
Soldiers of Salamis (read/loved)
Suicidios ejemplares (own in original, haven't read, have considered translating)
and a few dozen others . . .
November 28, 2014
No one asks Balzac to be Stendhal. All anyone asks of Balzac is that he be God.
Two of my favorite books over the last few months have been The Novel: An Alternative History: Beginnings to 1600 and Written Lives This collection is in a similar vein. These are prefaces, reviews, speeches and other observations herded together posthumously, though Bolano imagined this possibility, especially as he began a weekly newspaper column which is also gathered here.
I took some fellow GRers advice and read straight through Between Parenthese, as if it were a single narrative, parts memoir, parts novel. This remains a rich copse of joy and insight. It can also charge many a reading list, given Bolano's penchant for recommendations.
Two of my favorite books over the last few months have been The Novel: An Alternative History: Beginnings to 1600 and Written Lives This collection is in a similar vein. These are prefaces, reviews, speeches and other observations herded together posthumously, though Bolano imagined this possibility, especially as he began a weekly newspaper column which is also gathered here.
I took some fellow GRers advice and read straight through Between Parenthese, as if it were a single narrative, parts memoir, parts novel. This remains a rich copse of joy and insight. It can also charge many a reading list, given Bolano's penchant for recommendations.
July 28, 2011
Siempre se cuela en todo lo que escribe Bolaño su amor por la literatura. Sus libros muestran un entusiasmo insaciable. Por eso este libro es tan especial, y tan importante para cualquier fan suyo, o de la Literatura en general. Se ve todo lo que piensa sobre otros escritores, se ve su visión sobre la literatura latinoamericana, y sobre la literatura en general. Se te pega el entusiasmo inevitablemente, ahora tengo una gran necesidad de leer a muchos de los escritores de los que habla, como Vila Matas, o Roldolfo Wilcock, a Rodrigo Pinto, y ahora sí entrarle de una vez por todas a Borges.
Me sorprende enterarme de cosas que no sabía, porque yo de Bolaño solo conozco su literatura, pero sé poco de su vida. Este libro es el más autobiográfico, y me sorprende descubrir que es un punkie. Que habla mal de la gente con tanta pasión como habla bien de los que le entusiasman. Pero es un necesario, alguien con esa curiosidad y esa tenacidad, le da valor a la literatura latinoamericana. Porque hay muchas cosas buenas que merecen ser resaltadas, igual que hay cosas que hay que llamar la atención por lo malas que son. Qué bueno saber que alguien lo dice, hay cosas horribles, hay copiones, hay cosas que no valen la pena. Valorar a clásicos indiscutibles, pero también a autores menos conocidos. Aunque hay momentos en donde no estoy de acuerdo con su entusiasmo (Fresán, aunque sea su gran amigo, como escritor me irrita, y Carmen Boullosa, a quien admiré mucho tiempo ahora solo me saca bostezos)
Me pregunto qué diría de lo que es ahora mismo la Literatura, o el mundo. Qué diría de los nuevos escritores como Guadalupe Nettel, Brenda Lozano o Alejandro Zambra. Qué diría de nuestro México apocalíptico, de la violencia desatada.
Falta Bolaño, eso es indudable, pero quedan sus libros y todo lo que aportó a la literatura, y queda esta maravilla, que muestra su amor y su entusiasmo por esa hermosa e inigualable experiencia que es leer.
Me sorprende enterarme de cosas que no sabía, porque yo de Bolaño solo conozco su literatura, pero sé poco de su vida. Este libro es el más autobiográfico, y me sorprende descubrir que es un punkie. Que habla mal de la gente con tanta pasión como habla bien de los que le entusiasman. Pero es un necesario, alguien con esa curiosidad y esa tenacidad, le da valor a la literatura latinoamericana. Porque hay muchas cosas buenas que merecen ser resaltadas, igual que hay cosas que hay que llamar la atención por lo malas que son. Qué bueno saber que alguien lo dice, hay cosas horribles, hay copiones, hay cosas que no valen la pena. Valorar a clásicos indiscutibles, pero también a autores menos conocidos. Aunque hay momentos en donde no estoy de acuerdo con su entusiasmo (Fresán, aunque sea su gran amigo, como escritor me irrita, y Carmen Boullosa, a quien admiré mucho tiempo ahora solo me saca bostezos)
Me pregunto qué diría de lo que es ahora mismo la Literatura, o el mundo. Qué diría de los nuevos escritores como Guadalupe Nettel, Brenda Lozano o Alejandro Zambra. Qué diría de nuestro México apocalíptico, de la violencia desatada.
Falta Bolaño, eso es indudable, pero quedan sus libros y todo lo que aportó a la literatura, y queda esta maravilla, que muestra su amor y su entusiasmo por esa hermosa e inigualable experiencia que es leer.
June 1, 2023
U ovoj knjizi su sabrani raznorodni kraći tekstovi Roberta Bolanja, te ih nije lako odložiti u žanrovsku fioku, čak ni onoj fiction nasuprot non-fiction. Ima ovde eseja, govora, putopisa, prikaza, kratkih priča, lirskih pasaža i čega sve ne. Odredimo li idealnog čitaoca kojeg ova knjiga potražuje, to bi bio onaj koga zanima šta je Bolanjo mislio na različite teme, posebno o knjigama, i to tuđim. Baš kao i Borhes, Bolanjo je smatrao da je važnije šta si pročitao nego šta si napisao. A čitao je dosta, sa žarom i velikim apetitom: od žanra, preko klasike do savremene književnosti iliti od Markesa do pesnika čija je zbirka doživela jedno izdanje štampano 1977.
Bolanjo je znao da sastavlja vrlo efektne uvrede, ali i da se postavi kao nežan, velikodušan čitalac koji se ne stidi da o knjigama govori sa patosom (a nema prave izjave ljubavi bez violina). Tekstovi su lišeni teorijskih i filozofskih komplikacija. U njima su samo mišljenje i emocija i humor. Humor mu se ponekad pretače u promoćurnu lucicidnost ( tipa: „ Romani Sesara Aira sprovode Gombrovičeve teorije u praksu, sa jednom važnom razlikom: dok je Gombrović bio sveštenik u izmaštanom luksuznom manastiru, dotle je Aira monahinja ili iskušenica Reči bosonogih karmelićanki. Ponekad podseća na Remona Rusela (Rusela na kolenima u kadi crvenoj od krvi)”.
Gledajući preko Kobisa pojedini eseji i govori mogu da se pronađu na srpskom i onlajn: Književni tokovi teške kategorije, Sevilja me ubija, Ko bi se usudio?, Izgnanstva
Bolanjo je znao da sastavlja vrlo efektne uvrede, ali i da se postavi kao nežan, velikodušan čitalac koji se ne stidi da o knjigama govori sa patosom (a nema prave izjave ljubavi bez violina). Tekstovi su lišeni teorijskih i filozofskih komplikacija. U njima su samo mišljenje i emocija i humor. Humor mu se ponekad pretače u promoćurnu lucicidnost ( tipa: „ Romani Sesara Aira sprovode Gombrovičeve teorije u praksu, sa jednom važnom razlikom: dok je Gombrović bio sveštenik u izmaštanom luksuznom manastiru, dotle je Aira monahinja ili iskušenica Reči bosonogih karmelićanki. Ponekad podseća na Remona Rusela (Rusela na kolenima u kadi crvenoj od krvi)”.
Gledajući preko Kobisa pojedini eseji i govori mogu da se pronađu na srpskom i onlajn: Književni tokovi teške kategorije, Sevilja me ubija, Ko bi se usudio?, Izgnanstva
June 16, 2025
For those of us who love Bolano’s work, this collection is a wonderful gift. It contains newspaper’s columns, short essays and the sketches and other miscellaneous pieces. Reading it is like digging into a treasury chest newly found on a deserted beach. But that is also why it defies any attempt to review it coherently. So i just leave some quotes here with my short comments.
On writing:
From my reader’s perspective, it is often quite clear when the writer dares to take risks and when he/she stays in the safe but shallow waters. The latter way actually might provide with more readership. But i wouldn’t personally regret if this latter category would face fierce competition from AI. Would it provide more space for the risk takers? I am not sure unfortunately. But i believe it would be always individuals who are talented and brave to look into this ‘bottomless abyss’. It is just the question who to find and read their work.
On auto-fiction:
This passage has been written at least twenty years ago. “Mini-me” industry has subsided somewhat but still flourish while “the bad boys” literature is hard to find, especially the talented example of it. In fairness, ‘mini-me’ got broaden a bit and become relatively sophisticated. I’ve personally recently read a few very good examples of it and the one absolutely atrocious. At the same time i’ve failed to find an outstanding example of a contemporary plot-driven fiction. Bolano himself has left a profound influence on the younger writers. Some of the recent novels inspired by him I’ve read were very good in its own right.
On finishing a novel:
I can say a similar thing about writing a review actually. By no means i dare to compare writing a novel with composing a little report on reading. But that feeling of not being able to move on to a new book properly is there. And i find it quite frustrating sometimes. Occasionally it is a relief to forget a book just read for many reasons.
About Savage Detectives - i would never guess that it is a response to Huckleberry Finn. Note to myself: remember to look here when re-reading it:
On homeland: My homeland consists of my son and my books. Having moved there countries and probably around ten places, I can totally relate to his sentiment. I cary my homeland inside as well and it is not geographically or nationally bound at all.
Short stories: writing advice - to be successful, write more than two stories at a time. And Borges has written indisputably superb books of poetry that went unremarked in the midst of his own glory as a teller of tales.
There was also a section called “Scenes” in the book - simple sketchs about places and people Bolano has seen or managed to know when he moved to Blanes in Catalonia. And between them was a story “Beach”. Bolano just gave up on hard drugs and was taking a methandone treatment. To try to withstand withdrawing symptoms he has started to frequent a city beach. In a few pages he sketchs the other people there, the old couple, the young girls, the baby while he observes all of this he struggles to keep it all together. Though the story is written in one urgent sentence with a lot of comas, there is nothing special in the writing: just factual observations and repetitiveness of it all. However, at the end in the story, Bolano in the story starts to weep imagining the end of it all, the end of the world. And somehow it made me vividly imagine this scene, those simple words, those random people and his state of mind. And it was overwhelming. That is a black magic of his writing i would not be able to explain. One has to feel it on herself.
On writing:
So what is too notch writing? The same thing it’s always been: ability to peer into the darkness, to leap into the void, to know that literature is basically a dangerous undertaking. The ability to sprint along the edge of the precipice: to one side the bottomless abyss and to the other the faces you love, the smiling faces you love, and books and friends and food. And the ability to accept what you find, even though it may be heavier than the stones over the graves of all dead writers.
From my reader’s perspective, it is often quite clear when the writer dares to take risks and when he/she stays in the safe but shallow waters. The latter way actually might provide with more readership. But i wouldn’t personally regret if this latter category would face fierce competition from AI. Would it provide more space for the risk takers? I am not sure unfortunately. But i believe it would be always individuals who are talented and brave to look into this ‘bottomless abyss’. It is just the question who to find and read their work.
On auto-fiction:
The literature of the I, if extreme subjectivity, of course must and should exist. But if all writers were solipsists, literature would turn into the obligatory military service of the mini-me or into a river or autobiographies, memoirs, journals that would soon become a cesspit, and then, again, literature would cease to exist. …It goes without saying that if I had to choose between the solipsists and the bad boys of the literature of doom I’d take the latter. But only as a lesser evil.
This passage has been written at least twenty years ago. “Mini-me” industry has subsided somewhat but still flourish while “the bad boys” literature is hard to find, especially the talented example of it. In fairness, ‘mini-me’ got broaden a bit and become relatively sophisticated. I’ve personally recently read a few very good examples of it and the one absolutely atrocious. At the same time i’ve failed to find an outstanding example of a contemporary plot-driven fiction. Bolano himself has left a profound influence on the younger writers. Some of the recent novels inspired by him I’ve read were very good in its own right.
On finishing a novel:
There are some nice things - not many- about finishing a novel, and one of them is beginning to forget it, remembering a dream or a nightmare that gradually fades so that we can face new books, new days, without the constant reminder of what in all likelihood we could have done better and didn’t.
I can say a similar thing about writing a review actually. By no means i dare to compare writing a novel with composing a little report on reading. But that feeling of not being able to move on to a new book properly is there. And i find it quite frustrating sometimes. Occasionally it is a relief to forget a book just read for many reasons.
About Savage Detectives - i would never guess that it is a response to Huckleberry Finn. Note to myself: remember to look here when re-reading it:
Savage Detectives almost forgotten by him so he can write something new. “I can venture a few thoughts about it. On the one hand I think I see it as a response, one of many, to Huckleberry Finn; the Mississippi of Savage Detectives is the flow of voices in the second part of the novel. It’s also the more or less faithful transcription of a segment of the life of the Mexican Poet Mario Santiago whose friend I was lucky enough to be. In this sense the novel tries to reflect a kind of generational defeat and also the happiness of a generation, a happiness that at times delineated courage and the limits of courage. To say that I’m permanently indebted to the work of Borges and Cortázar is obvious. I believe there are as many ways to read my novel as there are voices in it. It can be read as a deathbed lament. It can also be read as a game.
On homeland: My homeland consists of my son and my books. Having moved there countries and probably around ten places, I can totally relate to his sentiment. I cary my homeland inside as well and it is not geographically or nationally bound at all.
Short stories: writing advice - to be successful, write more than two stories at a time. And Borges has written indisputably superb books of poetry that went unremarked in the midst of his own glory as a teller of tales.
There was also a section called “Scenes” in the book - simple sketchs about places and people Bolano has seen or managed to know when he moved to Blanes in Catalonia. And between them was a story “Beach”. Bolano just gave up on hard drugs and was taking a methandone treatment. To try to withstand withdrawing symptoms he has started to frequent a city beach. In a few pages he sketchs the other people there, the old couple, the young girls, the baby while he observes all of this he struggles to keep it all together. Though the story is written in one urgent sentence with a lot of comas, there is nothing special in the writing: just factual observations and repetitiveness of it all. However, at the end in the story, Bolano in the story starts to weep imagining the end of it all, the end of the world. And somehow it made me vividly imagine this scene, those simple words, those random people and his state of mind. And it was overwhelming. That is a black magic of his writing i would not be able to explain. One has to feel it on herself.
October 19, 2022
অনেকদিন ধরে অন্য বইয়ের ফাঁকে পড়তে পড়তে শেষ করলাম রবার্তো বোলানোর ‘Between Parentheses’ । বোলানো একজন চিলিয়ান, কবিতা তো লেখেনই, আর তার ‘The Savage Detectives’ তো একবিংশ শতাব্দীরই ‘দা গ্রেট লাতিন আমেরিকান নভেল’ বলে খ্যাতি পাচ্ছে আজ অনেকদিন।
‘Between Parentheses’ অবশ্য চিরকালের ভ্যাগাবন্ড, তুমুল হিরোইনচি বোলানোর অকল্প-সাহিত্য ঘরানার লেখার সংকলন। 'নির্বাসন' প্রসঙ্গে দারুণ একটা ভাষণ আছে এখানে বোলানোর, আছে প্রথমজীবনে তার নিজের বইচুরি বিষয়ক একটা চমৎকার লেখা। Distant Star নামে Play Boy পত্রিকার জন্য একটা সাক্ষাতকারও আছে সংকলনে, প্যারিস রিভিউতে দেয়া সাক্ষাৎকারটার চাইতেও এখানেই যেন বোলানোকে চেনা যায় বেশি।
তবে বইয়ের বড় অংশটা ওই মার্জিনে মন্তব্য ঘরানার লেখাগুলো দিয়েই তৈরি। আকারে এযুগে বড় ফেসবুক পোস্টগুলোর মতো লেখাগুলো, পড়া শুরু হতেই শেষ হয় অধিকাংশ ক্ষেত্রে। শুরুতে একটু এলোমেলো লাগে, এরপর ধরা পড়ে লেখাগুলোর সৌন্দর্য্য। অধিকাংশই একেবারে তাৎক্ষণিক ভাবনা। কিন্তু নিয়মিত বিরতিতে এমন কিছু লেখা সামনে আসে, যেগুলোর কাছে ফিরে ফিরে যেতে পারলে নিশ্চিত ভালো লাগবে। তুর্গেনিভ বা সুইফটের মতো ক্লাসিকদের নিয়ে যেমন আলাপ আছে, একালের সিজার আইরা বা হাভিয়ের কারাকাসের নতুন বইটা নিয়েও আছে বোলানোর লেখা। ফিলিপ কে ডিক থেকে শুরু করে হ্যানিবল লেকটার, কাউকে নিয়েই কথা বলতে বোলানো ছাড়েন না।
সবচেয়ে বড় কথা, লেখক, যা নিয়েই লেখা হোক না কেন; বোলানোর চাঁচা-ছোলা, অমার্জিত রসবোধ পাঠকের কাছে কেমন যেন আপন করে তোলে বিষয়টাকে। আর বহু চেনা-অচেনা লেখক, বহু জানা-অজানা বই, বইয়ের জগতের বহু মানুষের অন্তঃস্থলও যেন পাঠকের চেনা হয়ে যায়।
‘Between Parentheses’ অবশ্য চিরকালের ভ্যাগাবন্ড, তুমুল হিরোইনচি বোলানোর অকল্প-সাহিত্য ঘরানার লেখার সংকলন। 'নির্বাসন' প্রসঙ্গে দারুণ একটা ভাষণ আছে এখানে বোলানোর, আছে প্রথমজীবনে তার নিজের বইচুরি বিষয়ক একটা চমৎকার লেখা। Distant Star নামে Play Boy পত্রিকার জন্য একটা সাক্ষাতকারও আছে সংকলনে, প্যারিস রিভিউতে দেয়া সাক্ষাৎকারটার চাইতেও এখানেই যেন বোলানোকে চেনা যায় বেশি।
তবে বইয়ের বড় অংশটা ওই মার্জিনে মন্তব্য ঘরানার লেখাগুলো দিয়েই তৈরি। আকারে এযুগে বড় ফেসবুক পোস্টগুলোর মতো লেখাগুলো, পড়া শুরু হতেই শেষ হয় অধিকাংশ ক্ষেত্রে। শুরুতে একটু এলোমেলো লাগে, এরপর ধরা পড়ে লেখাগুলোর সৌন্দর্য্য। অধিকাংশই একেবারে তাৎক্ষণিক ভাবনা। কিন্তু নিয়মিত বিরতিতে এমন কিছু লেখা সামনে আসে, যেগুলোর কাছে ফিরে ফিরে যেতে পারলে নিশ্চিত ভালো লাগবে। তুর্গেনিভ বা সুইফটের মতো ক্লাসিকদের নিয়ে যেমন আলাপ আছে, একালের সিজার আইরা বা হাভিয়ের কারাকাসের নতুন বইটা নিয়েও আছে বোলানোর লেখা। ফিলিপ কে ডিক থেকে শুরু করে হ্যানিবল লেকটার, কাউকে নিয়েই কথা বলতে বোলানো ছাড়েন না।
সবচেয়ে বড় কথা, লেখক, যা নিয়েই লেখা হোক না কেন; বোলানোর চাঁচা-ছোলা, অমার্জিত রসবোধ পাঠকের কাছে কেমন যেন আপন করে তোলে বিষয়টাকে। আর বহু চেনা-অচেনা লেখক, বহু জানা-অজানা বই, বইয়ের জগতের বহু মানুষের অন্তঃস্থলও যেন পাঠকের চেনা হয়ে যায়।
January 8, 2019
«Sono molto più felice quando leggo che quando scrivo.»
Va bene, non tutti i pezzi saranno da cinque, ma che gioia di lettura, che voglia di leggere e non fare altro!
«Molto meglio leggere.»
Va bene, non tutti i pezzi saranno da cinque, ma che gioia di lettura, che voglia di leggere e non fare altro!
«Molto meglio leggere.»
February 28, 2011
that nearly all of bolaño's non-fictional and autobiographical writings fit into a single volume is bittersweet. lucky we are that these works were collected and published (let alone translated by the fabulous natasha wimmer), so that neophyte and devotee alike may espy a glimpse of the author beyond his often apocryphal mystique. unfortunate it remains, however, that these pages make up the sum of what otherwise could have been a much more voluminous collection (had a liver transplant come ready before that fateful 2003 summer).
between parentheses, edited by bolaño's friend and literary executor, ignacio echevarria, is divided into six mostly distinct parts. the third and largest of these, from which the book takes its name, is comprised of weekly columns bolaño wrote for las últimas noticias, a chilean newspaper. these writings concern themselves almost entirely with forgotten books, neglected and/or underappreciated authors, and the writerly lifestyle. the five other parts feature short pieces, essays (some left unfinished), speeches, and brief vignettes dealing mostly with literature, place, and the personal. also present is a reprinting of the last interview he gave, to the mexican edition of playboy, shortly before his death.
between parentheses, above all, demonstrates bolaño's love of books, seemingly more so as a reader of them than as their writer. he was known to have read widely, and this work offers his opinions (mostly favorable, yet sometimes acerbically critical) on a wide array of books, poets, and authors well-known and obscure. as from some of his other titles, one could cull quite the impressive reading last (spanning continents and centuries) from amongst its pages. omnipresent is bolaño's trademark prose style, as his non-fiction reads with the same unique voice that brought so many ardent fans to his fiction. bolaño seldom strays into the realm of the political, but his few forays are terse and powerful. amidst his wide knowledge of all things bibliophilic is a singular sense of humor, one that is familiar to readers of both his novels and short stories.
while bolaño presumably never intended these writings to stand in lieu of a more cohesive autobiographical work (which, given the sentiments contained within the book, is not something he was ever likely to have penned in any proper way), it is nonetheless all we as readers are left with to make sense of him as an individual and lover of great fiction. it seems the late chilean writer was more than content to let his books stand upon their own merits, as he seemed to have a general disregard for awards, critics, and the like. between parentheses is an indispensable collection for those who count bolaño as a remarkable and important literary figure (one, too, perhaps even more essential for his naysayers, detractors, and other assorted maligners).
behind this crowd, however, hides the one true patron. if you have patience enough to search, maybe you'll catch a glimpse of what you're looking for. and when you find it, you'll probably be disappointed. it isn't the devil. it isn't the state. it isn't a magical child. it's the void.
between parentheses, edited by bolaño's friend and literary executor, ignacio echevarria, is divided into six mostly distinct parts. the third and largest of these, from which the book takes its name, is comprised of weekly columns bolaño wrote for las últimas noticias, a chilean newspaper. these writings concern themselves almost entirely with forgotten books, neglected and/or underappreciated authors, and the writerly lifestyle. the five other parts feature short pieces, essays (some left unfinished), speeches, and brief vignettes dealing mostly with literature, place, and the personal. also present is a reprinting of the last interview he gave, to the mexican edition of playboy, shortly before his death.
between parentheses, above all, demonstrates bolaño's love of books, seemingly more so as a reader of them than as their writer. he was known to have read widely, and this work offers his opinions (mostly favorable, yet sometimes acerbically critical) on a wide array of books, poets, and authors well-known and obscure. as from some of his other titles, one could cull quite the impressive reading last (spanning continents and centuries) from amongst its pages. omnipresent is bolaño's trademark prose style, as his non-fiction reads with the same unique voice that brought so many ardent fans to his fiction. bolaño seldom strays into the realm of the political, but his few forays are terse and powerful. amidst his wide knowledge of all things bibliophilic is a singular sense of humor, one that is familiar to readers of both his novels and short stories.
while bolaño presumably never intended these writings to stand in lieu of a more cohesive autobiographical work (which, given the sentiments contained within the book, is not something he was ever likely to have penned in any proper way), it is nonetheless all we as readers are left with to make sense of him as an individual and lover of great fiction. it seems the late chilean writer was more than content to let his books stand upon their own merits, as he seemed to have a general disregard for awards, critics, and the like. between parentheses is an indispensable collection for those who count bolaño as a remarkable and important literary figure (one, too, perhaps even more essential for his naysayers, detractors, and other assorted maligners).
behind this crowd, however, hides the one true patron. if you have patience enough to search, maybe you'll catch a glimpse of what you're looking for. and when you find it, you'll probably be disappointed. it isn't the devil. it isn't the state. it isn't a magical child. it's the void.
July 24, 2023
'Entre paréntesis' es una recopilación de textos de no ficción del autor Roberto Bolaño, publicada de forma póstuma. La obra fue dividida en varias partes, que fueron cuidadosamente seleccionadas y presentadas por su amigo y editor, Ignacio Echevarría:
1. Tres discursos insufribles: En esta sección, el autor evoca su lejana tierra natal, Chile, describiéndola como "ese país pasillo". Aquí, Bolaño reflexiona sobre aspectos personales y culturales que marcaron su vida, su infancia y su visión del mundo y de latinoamericana o del sentir latinoamericano.
2. Fragmentos de un regreso al país natal: Esta parte incluye una serie de artículos, algunos de ellos inéditos, que fueron publicados en distintos medios. Bolaño se centra en la literatura latinoamericana y chilena, especialmente en su poesía, compartiendo su perspectiva y análisis crítico. A punto: Nicanor Parra, Pablo Neruda, Vicente Huidobro, Gabriela Mistral, Enrique Lihn o Pedro Lembel.
3. Entre paréntesis: En esta sección, se agrupan textos breves que originalmente aparecieron en una columna semanal en el Diari de Girona y posteriormente, con algunas modificaciones, en el diario chileno Las Últimas Noticias. Bolaño tenía la intención de publicar estos escritos, incluso bromeó con la idea de un posible título, 'Así habló Bolaño'.
4. Escenario: Aquí, se recopilan los textos dedicados a su ciudad de adopción, Blanes. También se incluye el discurso que pronunció en el pregón de la fiesta mayor, donde expresa su afecto y conexión con ese lugar y su gente. En Blanes siempre se sintió muy querido.
5. El bibliotecario valiente: Yo diría el bibliotecario carnívoro. En esta parte, Bolaño comparte sus gustos literarios y opiniones, así como recomendaciones de lecturas que fui anotando al desconocer. Destaca especialmente su recomendación de la novela 'La sinagoga de los iconoclastas' de Juan Rodolfo Wilcock. Roberto Bolaño fue fundamentalmente un gran lector de la literatura latinoamericana.
6. Un narrador en la intimidad: En esta sección, encontramos textos de carácter más autobiográfico que permiten al lector adentrarse en la vida íntima del autor. También se incluye una entrevista que concedió a la revista Playboy semanas antes de su prematuro fallecimiento.
1. Tres discursos insufribles: En esta sección, el autor evoca su lejana tierra natal, Chile, describiéndola como "ese país pasillo". Aquí, Bolaño reflexiona sobre aspectos personales y culturales que marcaron su vida, su infancia y su visión del mundo y de latinoamericana o del sentir latinoamericano.
2. Fragmentos de un regreso al país natal: Esta parte incluye una serie de artículos, algunos de ellos inéditos, que fueron publicados en distintos medios. Bolaño se centra en la literatura latinoamericana y chilena, especialmente en su poesía, compartiendo su perspectiva y análisis crítico. A punto: Nicanor Parra, Pablo Neruda, Vicente Huidobro, Gabriela Mistral, Enrique Lihn o Pedro Lembel.
3. Entre paréntesis: En esta sección, se agrupan textos breves que originalmente aparecieron en una columna semanal en el Diari de Girona y posteriormente, con algunas modificaciones, en el diario chileno Las Últimas Noticias. Bolaño tenía la intención de publicar estos escritos, incluso bromeó con la idea de un posible título, 'Así habló Bolaño'.
4. Escenario: Aquí, se recopilan los textos dedicados a su ciudad de adopción, Blanes. También se incluye el discurso que pronunció en el pregón de la fiesta mayor, donde expresa su afecto y conexión con ese lugar y su gente. En Blanes siempre se sintió muy querido.
5. El bibliotecario valiente: Yo diría el bibliotecario carnívoro. En esta parte, Bolaño comparte sus gustos literarios y opiniones, así como recomendaciones de lecturas que fui anotando al desconocer. Destaca especialmente su recomendación de la novela 'La sinagoga de los iconoclastas' de Juan Rodolfo Wilcock. Roberto Bolaño fue fundamentalmente un gran lector de la literatura latinoamericana.
6. Un narrador en la intimidad: En esta sección, encontramos textos de carácter más autobiográfico que permiten al lector adentrarse en la vida íntima del autor. También se incluye una entrevista que concedió a la revista Playboy semanas antes de su prematuro fallecimiento.
June 9, 2016
Primer libro de Bolaño que leo. Mezcla insuperable de inteligencia, ternura y humor que solo puedo fundir en una palabra: Genialidad.
September 14, 2017
Sarà l'età, la crisi economica globale e personale, saranno le delusioni politiche e amorose, sarà quel che sarà (come cantavano i Ricchi e Poveri e come ora cantano i ricchi e i poveri), o sarà colpa di quella signora che davanti a me sull'autobus leggeva Fante mentre terminavo questo libro - una donna che superati i diciotto anni legge Fante è intollerabile anche da un punto di vista puramente estetico- ma quel che è rimasto dopo aver frugato tra le parentesi di Bolano è un senso di brillante insoddisfazione, come dopo aver guardato qualcosa di molto bello e completamente inutile. Sarà anche che Tra parentesi è una raccolta di articoli, interventi ecc.. assemblata da altri in modo un po' furbetto per dare quel tocco alla Bolano e perpetuare la facile mitologia che recita che gli scrittori "originali" non pongono membrane tra arte e vita - e forse letti invece nelle loro sedi proprie, tra le colonne di un quotidiano o tra le pagine di una rivista, diluiti nel tempo, a Bolano vivo, l'effetto sarebbe stato altro e assai diverso, di certo migliore- ma la sensazione è stata quella di un qualcosa arrivato da un passato prossimo, vicinissimo, ma invecchiato peggio e più malamente che se a scrivere queste notarelle fossero stati Goethe o Dickens; la colpa non è neppure dell'autore, romanziere di indubbia grandezza, ma forse di chi forzatamente - tirando fuori materiali che potevano restare al loro posto - vuole inserire un grande scrittore postmoderno nella categoria del popmoderno, nella più fragile, consumabile e inutile delle categorie culturali, dove niente ha importanza, dove non esistono differenze nè complessità, ma solo sguardi personali sorretti da una robusta estetica: lo sguardo è tutto, il pensiero può aspettare.
La parte che più colpisce e stranisce ( a me, almeno ) è l'insieme di articoli dedicati al suo ritorno in Cile dopo molti anni di esilio dove ovviamente si parla del Cile di oggi - di un decennio fa - per parlare del Cile di Pinochet; quel suo vagare per frammenti, per vie laterali, per spigoli, schermandosi continuamente dietro una esibita mancanza di coscienza politica - il giochetto del io so che tu sai che voglio dire il contrario - diverte e irrita al tempo stesso, il Cile di Bolano - il Cile di Pinochete il Cile del dopo - somiglia qui molto alla famosa cronaca della crociera di Foster Wallace, ma quel che fa sorridere divertiti in mezzo al mare non sortisce sempre lo stesso effetto su certe parti della terraferma. C'è un bellissimo pezzo, fulminante, di un paio di pagine, in cui Bolano parte dalle voci intercettate e registrate dei golpisti l'11 settembre del '73, intelligentemente decontestualizzate per dare un senso di miserabile buffoneria, e poi, con un procedere ipnotico, simile a un mantra, associa quelle intonazioni a un generico quanto terribile noi "Il nastro avanza e a poco a poco le voci si fanno sempre più familiari, come se fossero sempre state lì, a parlarci, a minacciarci.[..] Non c’è niente da fare: sono le voci della nostra infanzia. Voci cilene, come infiltrate in un film troppo grande per loro, voci che trasmettono un messaggio che loro stesse non capiscono del tutto. Un dialogo al di là della realtà, là dove il dialogo è impossibile. Eppure l’immagine finale, per quanti fatti straordinari accumuli, non sfugge a una banalità fin troppo familiare, ripetuta fino alla nausea. Tutti noi, in qualche momento della nostra vita, abbiamo conosciuto gli uomini che stanno parlando" e quella che potrebbe essere una disarmante descrizone delle responsabilità, delle colpe, delle scelte, traslata da una potente voce letteraria, schiacciata in questo calderone offre al massimo il destro a una momentanea scossa emotiva (quella scossa emotiva che è il sale di ogni esperienza pop).
Anche laddove si parla di letteratura, e se ne parla molto: Borges, Burroughs, Dick, Ellroy, Wilcock e ogni altro suo nume tutelare, il gioco di Bolano alla lunga mostra la corda. Lo sviare dal campo della critica, quella estrema personalizzazione della materia, quel porsi al centro con voce ora ironica, ora secca, ora irridente, dà l'avvio a meravigliose intuizioni e aforismi fulminanti come a ingenue cadute di tono che neppure a un quindicenne nel chiuso della sua cameretta verrebbero perdonate: ad esempio recensendo le rispettive biografie di Ellroy e di Amis se ne esce con "Il libro di Ellroy finisce con le lacrime e la merda. Finisce con un uomo solo che rimane in piedi. Finisce con il sangue. Vale a dire, non finisce mai." (e qui viene da aggiungere boom! a matita in margine). E a leggere queste frasi mi sento un po' in colpa, come dovrebbe sentirsi la signora di mezza età che davanti a me legge Fante.
La parte che più colpisce e stranisce ( a me, almeno ) è l'insieme di articoli dedicati al suo ritorno in Cile dopo molti anni di esilio dove ovviamente si parla del Cile di oggi - di un decennio fa - per parlare del Cile di Pinochet; quel suo vagare per frammenti, per vie laterali, per spigoli, schermandosi continuamente dietro una esibita mancanza di coscienza politica - il giochetto del io so che tu sai che voglio dire il contrario - diverte e irrita al tempo stesso, il Cile di Bolano - il Cile di Pinochete il Cile del dopo - somiglia qui molto alla famosa cronaca della crociera di Foster Wallace, ma quel che fa sorridere divertiti in mezzo al mare non sortisce sempre lo stesso effetto su certe parti della terraferma. C'è un bellissimo pezzo, fulminante, di un paio di pagine, in cui Bolano parte dalle voci intercettate e registrate dei golpisti l'11 settembre del '73, intelligentemente decontestualizzate per dare un senso di miserabile buffoneria, e poi, con un procedere ipnotico, simile a un mantra, associa quelle intonazioni a un generico quanto terribile noi "Il nastro avanza e a poco a poco le voci si fanno sempre più familiari, come se fossero sempre state lì, a parlarci, a minacciarci.[..] Non c’è niente da fare: sono le voci della nostra infanzia. Voci cilene, come infiltrate in un film troppo grande per loro, voci che trasmettono un messaggio che loro stesse non capiscono del tutto. Un dialogo al di là della realtà, là dove il dialogo è impossibile. Eppure l’immagine finale, per quanti fatti straordinari accumuli, non sfugge a una banalità fin troppo familiare, ripetuta fino alla nausea. Tutti noi, in qualche momento della nostra vita, abbiamo conosciuto gli uomini che stanno parlando" e quella che potrebbe essere una disarmante descrizone delle responsabilità, delle colpe, delle scelte, traslata da una potente voce letteraria, schiacciata in questo calderone offre al massimo il destro a una momentanea scossa emotiva (quella scossa emotiva che è il sale di ogni esperienza pop).
Anche laddove si parla di letteratura, e se ne parla molto: Borges, Burroughs, Dick, Ellroy, Wilcock e ogni altro suo nume tutelare, il gioco di Bolano alla lunga mostra la corda. Lo sviare dal campo della critica, quella estrema personalizzazione della materia, quel porsi al centro con voce ora ironica, ora secca, ora irridente, dà l'avvio a meravigliose intuizioni e aforismi fulminanti come a ingenue cadute di tono che neppure a un quindicenne nel chiuso della sua cameretta verrebbero perdonate: ad esempio recensendo le rispettive biografie di Ellroy e di Amis se ne esce con "Il libro di Ellroy finisce con le lacrime e la merda. Finisce con un uomo solo che rimane in piedi. Finisce con il sangue. Vale a dire, non finisce mai." (e qui viene da aggiungere boom! a matita in margine). E a leggere queste frasi mi sento un po' in colpa, come dovrebbe sentirsi la signora di mezza età che davanti a me legge Fante.
December 31, 2011
This chatty collection of short essays probably deserves an extra star for Bolano's invaluable fiction and poetry recommendations, which serve as a virtual roadmap of interesting Latin American and Spanish literature over the past 30 years. Other highlights: His keen essay on the weirdness of "Huck Finn," his Chilean travelogues, and his insights into Borges - "Arlt, Gombrowicz: he might have been friends with them and wasn't. This lack of dialogue left a great void that is also part of our literature." That great void is precisely what Bolano himself set out to bridge.
April 15, 2016
Sono più o meno a metà lettura di questa raccolta di articoli, saggi, discorsi e interventi vari di Roberto Bolano nello stesso momento in cui mi trovo a metà di una raccolta di articoli e corsivi di Giorgio Manganelli ("Lunario dell'orfano sannita", sempre Adelphi).
Seppur entrambi estremamente ironici, i due autori non non potrebbero essere più diversi, atmosfera e affabulazione e fisicità e visioni in impennata per il cileno, mentre Manganelli, più oculato e ragionatore, ha un approccio analitico ed esiti spessissimo inusuali e sorprendenti.
Mi colpisce invece un fatto che accomuna queste due letture e che ha a che fare con la tipologia di libro in questione, cioè una raccolta di scritti originariamente usciti sulle colonne di un giornale o su una rivista in un arco di tempo più o meno lungo e con frequenze più o meno regolari e che qui invece ti trovi compressi tutti insieme.
Ebbene il fatto è che questa formula editoriale fa sì che emergano aspetti "negativi" (ad esempio una certa ripetitività in Bolano nel battere su certi suoi argomenti e formule, che ricorrono in modo ossessivo, o una certa tendenza alla ricercatezza in Manganelli che sconfina nel lezioso e talvolta suona parecchio snob) che, preso il pezzo in questione nella sua collocazione originaria, certamente il lettore non avrebbe percepito, anzi, quasi ogni singolo testo secondo me sarebbe risultato ottimo quando non grandioso.
Per cui emerge un Bolano un po' ripetitivo, quando per la millesima volta leggi la parola "coraggio" o "coraggioso", accusi un po' di stanchezza anche se ormai hai capito che lo scrittore è un guerriero che combatte contro i fantasmi senza dare né chiedere quartiere. Se questo scrittore ha una sua stella polare, più altre due o tre stelle (distanti) che gli servono da orientamento, un conto è (per il lettore) orientarsi grazie ad esse quando ti si svelano a poco a poco sulle pagine di un racconto o di un romanzo tutto un'altro paio di maniche è quando ti trovi certi concetti ripetuti, articolo dopo articolo, in formule somiglianti.
Qual è la conclusione? Che se non ti piace non è colpa di Bolano, ma è colpa tua o della Adelphi :D
------------
La lettura è terminata dopo una lunga pausa, giusta e sensata, non è un libro da leggere tutto d'un fiato, non è un libro da leggere in ordine dalla prima all'ultima pagina, meglio saltare qua e là secondo l'ispirazione del momento. In teoria non è neanche un libro da leggere necessariamente tutto, anche se per me E' CERTAMENTE un libro da leggere tutto. E' un libro da tenere sempre accanto a sé, da aprire ogni tanto, leggere qualche pagina e fermarsi quando una frase, un pensiero dell'autore va a segno. E rimanere un po' lì, col libro chiuso, a pensarci un po' su. Oppure da aprire per leggere un commento ad un libro, ad un autore fin lì mai sentito nominare e lasciarsi sedurre dal desiderio di scoprirlo.
Quindi, non è di certo un libro per gli amanti delle gare di lettura, questa ridicola e perniciosa moda che miete vittime su vittime e molti devia e distoglie dal vero senso del leggere, del perché leggere e del come leggere.
Nel complesso, con questa raccolta, un lettore può farsi una parziale idea di chi sia stato lo scrittore Roberto Bolano, e quale idea di letteratura gli frullasse in testa. Non consiglierei, a chi Bolano non l'ha mai letto, di partire da qui. Gli consiglierei di partire dai racconti e dai romanzi. Poi gli consiglierei di leggere pure questo, che di Bolano va letto tutto, essendo la sua opera come un'unica visione, o un unico viaggio senza una meta prestabilita, un'unica grande avventura con tutta la precarietà, l'incanto, la paura, le estasi che hanno le grandi avventure.
E', anche, una miniera di consigli di lettura, perché qui si parla soprattutto di letteratura e di scrittori. Da questo punto di vista questo libro è come un tesoro.
Seppur entrambi estremamente ironici, i due autori non non potrebbero essere più diversi, atmosfera e affabulazione e fisicità e visioni in impennata per il cileno, mentre Manganelli, più oculato e ragionatore, ha un approccio analitico ed esiti spessissimo inusuali e sorprendenti.
Mi colpisce invece un fatto che accomuna queste due letture e che ha a che fare con la tipologia di libro in questione, cioè una raccolta di scritti originariamente usciti sulle colonne di un giornale o su una rivista in un arco di tempo più o meno lungo e con frequenze più o meno regolari e che qui invece ti trovi compressi tutti insieme.
Ebbene il fatto è che questa formula editoriale fa sì che emergano aspetti "negativi" (ad esempio una certa ripetitività in Bolano nel battere su certi suoi argomenti e formule, che ricorrono in modo ossessivo, o una certa tendenza alla ricercatezza in Manganelli che sconfina nel lezioso e talvolta suona parecchio snob) che, preso il pezzo in questione nella sua collocazione originaria, certamente il lettore non avrebbe percepito, anzi, quasi ogni singolo testo secondo me sarebbe risultato ottimo quando non grandioso.
Per cui emerge un Bolano un po' ripetitivo, quando per la millesima volta leggi la parola "coraggio" o "coraggioso", accusi un po' di stanchezza anche se ormai hai capito che lo scrittore è un guerriero che combatte contro i fantasmi senza dare né chiedere quartiere. Se questo scrittore ha una sua stella polare, più altre due o tre stelle (distanti) che gli servono da orientamento, un conto è (per il lettore) orientarsi grazie ad esse quando ti si svelano a poco a poco sulle pagine di un racconto o di un romanzo tutto un'altro paio di maniche è quando ti trovi certi concetti ripetuti, articolo dopo articolo, in formule somiglianti.
Qual è la conclusione? Che se non ti piace non è colpa di Bolano, ma è colpa tua o della Adelphi :D
------------
La lettura è terminata dopo una lunga pausa, giusta e sensata, non è un libro da leggere tutto d'un fiato, non è un libro da leggere in ordine dalla prima all'ultima pagina, meglio saltare qua e là secondo l'ispirazione del momento. In teoria non è neanche un libro da leggere necessariamente tutto, anche se per me E' CERTAMENTE un libro da leggere tutto. E' un libro da tenere sempre accanto a sé, da aprire ogni tanto, leggere qualche pagina e fermarsi quando una frase, un pensiero dell'autore va a segno. E rimanere un po' lì, col libro chiuso, a pensarci un po' su. Oppure da aprire per leggere un commento ad un libro, ad un autore fin lì mai sentito nominare e lasciarsi sedurre dal desiderio di scoprirlo.
Quindi, non è di certo un libro per gli amanti delle gare di lettura, questa ridicola e perniciosa moda che miete vittime su vittime e molti devia e distoglie dal vero senso del leggere, del perché leggere e del come leggere.
Nel complesso, con questa raccolta, un lettore può farsi una parziale idea di chi sia stato lo scrittore Roberto Bolano, e quale idea di letteratura gli frullasse in testa. Non consiglierei, a chi Bolano non l'ha mai letto, di partire da qui. Gli consiglierei di partire dai racconti e dai romanzi. Poi gli consiglierei di leggere pure questo, che di Bolano va letto tutto, essendo la sua opera come un'unica visione, o un unico viaggio senza una meta prestabilita, un'unica grande avventura con tutta la precarietà, l'incanto, la paura, le estasi che hanno le grandi avventure.
E', anche, una miniera di consigli di lettura, perché qui si parla soprattutto di letteratura e di scrittori. Da questo punto di vista questo libro è come un tesoro.
February 16, 2022
For fans of 2666 or The Savage Detectives still searching for clues to unlock the mystery, skip the shorter novels (go back to them later, there's plenty of time) and try this. Defiantly not the cash-in it could have been, Between Parentheses is in some ways more personal than anything in Bolano's fiction, and proves the late Chilean master to be as big-hearted as he is sardonic, as in love with literature as he is critical of it. Funny, candid, illuminating... I missed him when I finished this. Here he is in 'Translation is an Anvil':
Maybe it's kind of specialised, but my favourite is the penultimate piece, 'Advice on the Art of Writing Short Stories'. After first recommending that you never tackle short stories one by one ('Really, if you tackle them one by one you could be writing the same story until the day you die'), he goes on to list the writers that you must read (Quiroga, Felisberto Hernandez, Borges, Monterosso, never Cela or Umbral, Cortazar, Bioy Casares, some French symbolists) and eventually comes to the following:
Word. Rest in peace, Roberto.
How to recognize a work of art? How to separate it, even if just for a moment, from its critical apparatus, its exegetes, its tireless plagiarizers, its belittlers, its final lonely fate? Easy. Let it be translated. Let its translator be far from brilliant. Rip pages from it at random. Leave it lying in an attic. If after all this a kid comes along and reads it, and after reading makes it his own, and is faithful to it (or unfaithful, whichever) and reinterprets it and accompanies it on its voyage to the edge, and both are enriched and the kid adds an ounce of value to its original value, then we have something before us, a machine or a book, capable of speaking to all human beings: not a plowed field but a mountain, not the image of a dark forest but the dark forest, not a flock of birds but the Nightingale.
Maybe it's kind of specialised, but my favourite is the penultimate piece, 'Advice on the Art of Writing Short Stories'. After first recommending that you never tackle short stories one by one ('Really, if you tackle them one by one you could be writing the same story until the day you die'), he goes on to list the writers that you must read (Quiroga, Felisberto Hernandez, Borges, Monterosso, never Cela or Umbral, Cortazar, Bioy Casares, some French symbolists) and eventually comes to the following:
9) The honest truth is that if we read Edgar Allan Poe that would be more than enough. 10) Consider that ninth point. Consider and reflect. It's not too late. You must consider point number nine. If possible: on your knees.
Word. Rest in peace, Roberto.
May 31, 2016
"Estoy impartiendo un curso de nueva literatura chilena. El que da el curso soy yo y el único que asiste al curso soy yo." Es lo mismo que sentí leyendo todo el libro (pero de literatura latinoamericana), que recopila ensayos, columnas de crítica literaria, discursos y una entrevista de un autor al que siempre vuelvo, no sé por qué.
Comencé a leer a Bolaño porque era un autor conocido cuando sabía incluso menos que ahora de literatura pero fue una decisión acertada. Si has leído las novelas de Bolaño notarás que su estilo en sus escritos de no ficción no cambia tanto, lo que hace la lectura aún más interesante.
Roberto amaba la literatura y la vivía a concho, lo gracioso es que no leía mucho porque le reportase grandes ingresos, no fue así hasta Los detectives salvajes ni se repitió después, así que su dedicación a los libros, a la poesía, a la cursilería cotidiana era completamente sincera.
Aunque tenía su ego, como lo tengo yo también no temía reírse de él mismo (a diferencia de otros escritores) y reconocer sus fracasos. Había leído mucho, quizás demasiado y eso hace que este libro sea una apropiada guía para internarse en la literatura un poco más en serio. Tengo que ir a dejarlo a la biblioteca y me arrepiento de no haber tomado más apuntes. Así que si lo lees, asegúrate de tener un cuaderno sea que se trate de un lector de poesía o de narrativa.
Lo envidio, envidio la vida que logró tener, tenía muchas anécdotas que contar, y en la frugalidad que siempre vivió (eso sí, cerca del mar) consiguió hacer la vida que quería, cerca de la literatura aunque no necesariamente viviesen de ello y finalmente, trascender.
Sé que de momento estoy reprobando el curso que estoy impartiéndome pero sé que puedo repetirlo una y mil veces y a cada intento sé que lo disfrutaré un poco más.
Comencé a leer a Bolaño porque era un autor conocido cuando sabía incluso menos que ahora de literatura pero fue una decisión acertada. Si has leído las novelas de Bolaño notarás que su estilo en sus escritos de no ficción no cambia tanto, lo que hace la lectura aún más interesante.
Roberto amaba la literatura y la vivía a concho, lo gracioso es que no leía mucho porque le reportase grandes ingresos, no fue así hasta Los detectives salvajes ni se repitió después, así que su dedicación a los libros, a la poesía, a la cursilería cotidiana era completamente sincera.
Aunque tenía su ego, como lo tengo yo también no temía reírse de él mismo (a diferencia de otros escritores) y reconocer sus fracasos. Había leído mucho, quizás demasiado y eso hace que este libro sea una apropiada guía para internarse en la literatura un poco más en serio. Tengo que ir a dejarlo a la biblioteca y me arrepiento de no haber tomado más apuntes. Así que si lo lees, asegúrate de tener un cuaderno sea que se trate de un lector de poesía o de narrativa.
Lo envidio, envidio la vida que logró tener, tenía muchas anécdotas que contar, y en la frugalidad que siempre vivió (eso sí, cerca del mar) consiguió hacer la vida que quería, cerca de la literatura aunque no necesariamente viviesen de ello y finalmente, trascender.
Sé que de momento estoy reprobando el curso que estoy impartiéndome pero sé que puedo repetirlo una y mil veces y a cada intento sé que lo disfrutaré un poco más.
June 2, 2019
Bolaño, genio, brillante, carismático, valiente, involuntariamente agradable, guía. Siento decirte esto, porque sé que no te gusta escucharlo, pero te admiro, te venero, pregono tus citas y exalto tus libros, te nombro hasta cuando no corresponde. Hay una única y gran razón para ello, la más importante, y es que, de esto no me cabe duda, eres la primera de las voces que me grita: escribe, escribe, escribe.
April 7, 2019
el libro de mi vida
August 11, 2016
Me he dado cuenta, con la edad, de que la literatura me hace feliz. O tal vez lo supe desde niño, pero ya lo había olvidado. Vuelvo a la edad. Leer a Bolaño me alegra. Aunque a veces lo que escribe Bolaño sea triste, feroz. Lo que pasa, en realidad, es que leer a Bolaño me alegra hasta cuando me entristece. Pienso que este libro fue solo una manera burda, patética, materialista, de exprimir a Bolaño, ya muerto (se trata de una compilación de artículos publicada después de su muerte). Pero sí que se deja exprimir, Bolaño, aunque tal vez no lo hubiera consentido. O tal vez sí, pues creo que hasta el prólogo menciona que Bolaño tenía idea de compilar algunos de los artículos que escribía –la muerte, como a veces pasa, lo gano-. De esto se trata este libro. Cuánto menos me habría gustado si no fuera una compilación? Si hubiera leído los artículos, uno a uno, en la revistas o periódicos en los que los publicaba, me habrían gustado tanto? Porque un libro ejerce sobre mí la misma atracción que el vacío. O que la luz (o será el calor) a algunos insectos (o todos los insectos? –no lo se-). Con una revista o un periódico, la cosa es diferente. El libro, el empaste, el hecho de que sea un libro, al fin, le dan un cierto sentido de permanencia a lo escrito. De propósito. De escribir algo que se pueda guardar. De escribir algo que perdure, que no termine en la basura un domingo, con el resto de periódicos. Ni en el olvido.
Bolaño es visceral. Salvaje. Como sus detectives. Depelleja a autores como un loco despellejaria a un perro: sin pena. Está enojado. Con la política. Con la izquierda. Con la derecha. Con Chile. Con la poesía chilena. Con los poetas chilenos, que más bien se creen poetas, casi todos. Es inconforme. Como un niño. Pero tiene el entendimiento que solo, presumo, se alcanza con la edad (otra vez la edad). Escribe en sueños. Pero son, casi todos, sueños de una lucidez demencial, opresiva. Los artículos permiten conocer de cerca lo que, bueno, Bolaño quiso que conociéramos de él: su amor por la literatura. Los autores que le gustan. Los que no (sus opiniones siempre claras le deben haber ganado algunas manos de enemigos). Su desprecio por la pompa, la adulacion vacia, la literatura que se cree literatura pero que no resiste el más ligero análisis. Me siento más cerca del autor, siento que entreabrió una puerta a la intimidad de sus ideas, de su furia (porque Bolaño escribe con las tripas), de esa que alimenta ese humor mordaz, que no perdona a nadie. Leerlo a veces es como conversar con un amigo.
Una parte del libro está compuesta por las reseñas (será apropiado llamarlas “reseñas”?) que Bolaño escribió. Es la parte que más me asusta (y digo más, porque leer a Bolaño siempre asusta: ya no hay más de él): porque voy a buscar a Bolaño en los autores que le gustaban. En las decenas, tal vez cientos, que menciona. Y como en uno de los libros que comenta, sé que me voy a quedar esperando. Porque a Bolaño ya no se le encuentra más. La ultima lectura del libro es, me parece, la ultima entrevista que dio Bolaño (a Playboy, revista que solo por la esperanza de encontrar otra entrevista así evaluare comprar). De lectura obligada (la entrevista, no Playboy). Bolaño, integro, en 5 paginas. Un remolino de sangre suspendido en el aire (así fue la frase de Bolaño?)
Único motivo para las cuatro estrellas y no las cinco: el miedo de que la obsesión por Bolaño me ande ganando.
Bolaño es visceral. Salvaje. Como sus detectives. Depelleja a autores como un loco despellejaria a un perro: sin pena. Está enojado. Con la política. Con la izquierda. Con la derecha. Con Chile. Con la poesía chilena. Con los poetas chilenos, que más bien se creen poetas, casi todos. Es inconforme. Como un niño. Pero tiene el entendimiento que solo, presumo, se alcanza con la edad (otra vez la edad). Escribe en sueños. Pero son, casi todos, sueños de una lucidez demencial, opresiva. Los artículos permiten conocer de cerca lo que, bueno, Bolaño quiso que conociéramos de él: su amor por la literatura. Los autores que le gustan. Los que no (sus opiniones siempre claras le deben haber ganado algunas manos de enemigos). Su desprecio por la pompa, la adulacion vacia, la literatura que se cree literatura pero que no resiste el más ligero análisis. Me siento más cerca del autor, siento que entreabrió una puerta a la intimidad de sus ideas, de su furia (porque Bolaño escribe con las tripas), de esa que alimenta ese humor mordaz, que no perdona a nadie. Leerlo a veces es como conversar con un amigo.
Una parte del libro está compuesta por las reseñas (será apropiado llamarlas “reseñas”?) que Bolaño escribió. Es la parte que más me asusta (y digo más, porque leer a Bolaño siempre asusta: ya no hay más de él): porque voy a buscar a Bolaño en los autores que le gustaban. En las decenas, tal vez cientos, que menciona. Y como en uno de los libros que comenta, sé que me voy a quedar esperando. Porque a Bolaño ya no se le encuentra más. La ultima lectura del libro es, me parece, la ultima entrevista que dio Bolaño (a Playboy, revista que solo por la esperanza de encontrar otra entrevista así evaluare comprar). De lectura obligada (la entrevista, no Playboy). Bolaño, integro, en 5 paginas. Un remolino de sangre suspendido en el aire (así fue la frase de Bolaño?)
Único motivo para las cuatro estrellas y no las cinco: el miedo de que la obsesión por Bolaño me ande ganando.
August 4, 2013
http://msarki.tumblr.com/post/5735193...
From an article I found interesting in one of 2011's summer issues of The New Yorker I almost accidentally discovered the Chilean writer Roberto Bolaño. I took a stab at reading his writing by purchasing the New Directions title Between Parenthesis which was highly touted as a great work which included articles, speeches, and essays Bolaño had given the world from 1998 to 2003, the year in which he died. One of many striking and thus remarkable discoveries I made while reading the book was that Bolaño referred constantly to Canada, Mexico, and his native homeland Chile, as all being America. Not unlike George W. Bush, Bolaño referred to his personal America as if the world would know without a doubt what and where he was talking about. The number of times I read him mentioning America caused me to discover for myself again what an idiot George W. Bush really is, not to mention as well, his devoted followers.
Bolaño's America, I am most positive, contained the entire continent of South America, including parts of North America as well, even though he was referring sometimes specifically to Chile alone and rarely favorably. The author's preface in Between Parenthesis states Bolaño was born in Chile, lived for a time in Mexico, and then Spain for the last twenty years of his life that spanned a mere fifty. Bolaño was extremely critical of many things, not only literature, but took his literature very seriously. He passionately urged most of our contemporary writers to put their own pens down and instead of writing, read. And I take him at his word on this, and read and read I will, especially more Bolaño.
From an article I found interesting in one of 2011's summer issues of The New Yorker I almost accidentally discovered the Chilean writer Roberto Bolaño. I took a stab at reading his writing by purchasing the New Directions title Between Parenthesis which was highly touted as a great work which included articles, speeches, and essays Bolaño had given the world from 1998 to 2003, the year in which he died. One of many striking and thus remarkable discoveries I made while reading the book was that Bolaño referred constantly to Canada, Mexico, and his native homeland Chile, as all being America. Not unlike George W. Bush, Bolaño referred to his personal America as if the world would know without a doubt what and where he was talking about. The number of times I read him mentioning America caused me to discover for myself again what an idiot George W. Bush really is, not to mention as well, his devoted followers.
Bolaño's America, I am most positive, contained the entire continent of South America, including parts of North America as well, even though he was referring sometimes specifically to Chile alone and rarely favorably. The author's preface in Between Parenthesis states Bolaño was born in Chile, lived for a time in Mexico, and then Spain for the last twenty years of his life that spanned a mere fifty. Bolaño was extremely critical of many things, not only literature, but took his literature very seriously. He passionately urged most of our contemporary writers to put their own pens down and instead of writing, read. And I take him at his word on this, and read and read I will, especially more Bolaño.
December 23, 2022
Some features of this book:
The Insanity of Bolaño
I don't mean insanity in a pejorative sense at all. I mean that Bolaño is in touch with a world, or experience, that the rest of us are not. He is out of touch with our reality--or we are out of touch with his--and that allows him to write the way he does. To see things in a way that continually astounds me and puts a broad grin on my face. This insanity is present all throughout these pieces and Bolaño applies his insanity to just about every topic worth writing about.
The Humility, Love, and Erudition of Bolaño
I'd like to break these up for the sake of my gimmick in this review, but, alas, they're too deeply intertwined. Perhaps the feature that stands out the most about this collection is Bolaño's deep love of literature. He engages with it on a level and to an intensity that is astonishing. He has seemingly read everything--and has opinions on everything. However, he never comes off as arrogant or haughty; he's never rubbing in your face how much he's read. He's the first to admit his weaknesses and he's the first to point out others' strengths. He mentions several times friends who have "read everything," failing to see that he's one of those people, too. He's a man who seems to know everything and, naturally, refuses to admit it.
The Exile of Bolaño
Exile is a recurring theme throughout Bolaño's nonfiction. And the way he approaches it is fascinating. What does nationality mean? How does one define a home? What do all Latin Americans have in common? Why are they all completely different? Why is Chile an island? You will find all of this and more across these engrossing snapshots.
The Magnetism of Bolaño
I couldn't come up with a better word. The compulsion? The obsession? What I'm trying to say, is that it's impossible to put Bolaño down. I hadn't heard of well over half (spare me my pride and don't make me give exact numbers) of the authors and books that Bolaño wrote about in these pieces. That was no obstacle to me savagely consuming them in rapid succession, hungry and eager to absorb more of Bolaño's thoughts, opinions, and musings. It was fascinating just to be with a mind like his for the duration of the book. The only time he lost me was in an essay on photography, and that was only briefly.
The Genius of Bolaño
This may be the most succinct way to capture everything I've said up to this point. Bolaño shines his radiant intellect on a broad number of topics that enriches them significantly. If this collection isn't as brilliant as his fiction, it's only because almost nothing is--and this comes closer than I have any right to expect.
The Insanity of Bolaño
I don't mean insanity in a pejorative sense at all. I mean that Bolaño is in touch with a world, or experience, that the rest of us are not. He is out of touch with our reality--or we are out of touch with his--and that allows him to write the way he does. To see things in a way that continually astounds me and puts a broad grin on my face. This insanity is present all throughout these pieces and Bolaño applies his insanity to just about every topic worth writing about.
The Humility, Love, and Erudition of Bolaño
I'd like to break these up for the sake of my gimmick in this review, but, alas, they're too deeply intertwined. Perhaps the feature that stands out the most about this collection is Bolaño's deep love of literature. He engages with it on a level and to an intensity that is astonishing. He has seemingly read everything--and has opinions on everything. However, he never comes off as arrogant or haughty; he's never rubbing in your face how much he's read. He's the first to admit his weaknesses and he's the first to point out others' strengths. He mentions several times friends who have "read everything," failing to see that he's one of those people, too. He's a man who seems to know everything and, naturally, refuses to admit it.
The Exile of Bolaño
Exile is a recurring theme throughout Bolaño's nonfiction. And the way he approaches it is fascinating. What does nationality mean? How does one define a home? What do all Latin Americans have in common? Why are they all completely different? Why is Chile an island? You will find all of this and more across these engrossing snapshots.
The Magnetism of Bolaño
I couldn't come up with a better word. The compulsion? The obsession? What I'm trying to say, is that it's impossible to put Bolaño down. I hadn't heard of well over half (spare me my pride and don't make me give exact numbers) of the authors and books that Bolaño wrote about in these pieces. That was no obstacle to me savagely consuming them in rapid succession, hungry and eager to absorb more of Bolaño's thoughts, opinions, and musings. It was fascinating just to be with a mind like his for the duration of the book. The only time he lost me was in an essay on photography, and that was only briefly.
The Genius of Bolaño
This may be the most succinct way to capture everything I've said up to this point. Bolaño shines his radiant intellect on a broad number of topics that enriches them significantly. If this collection isn't as brilliant as his fiction, it's only because almost nothing is--and this comes closer than I have any right to expect.
July 13, 2013
Bolano was gifted. Pure and simple. In this collection of newspaper columns from the last five years of his life he writes of many things, sometimes people, writers, poets and things that I am totally unfamiliar with. He can write about anything and make it interesting. That is his gift.
December 22, 2016
This is the perfect book. If it were 10,000 pages long (or endless), I would be happy to keep reading.
January 30, 2025
All the content within the Between Parentheses was created over a brief span of five years. It also features some discussions and speeches delivered by the author. This book serves as the nearest representation of Roberto Bolaño's autobiography, despite its fragmented nature. Given the lack of a comprehensive biography of the author for various reasons, I think Between Parentheses essential reading for fans of Bolaño.
Roberto Bolaño's sharp wit, intellect, and deep affection for children, friends, cherished authors, and literature itself radiate throughout his works. He was one of the rare writers who engaged with the works of his contemporaries. I think he is the most voracious reader i've ever known.
Quote;
"And I’m reminded of this because to a great extent everything that I’ve written is a love letter or a farewell letter to my own generation, those of us who were born in the 1950s and who at a certain moment chose military service, though in this case it would be more accurate to say militancy, and we gave the little we had — the great deal that we had, which was our youth — to a cause that we thought was the most generous cause in the world and in a certain way it was, but in reality it wasn’t."
This book is a delightful and informative read, even if you're not a Bolaño enthusiast but have a passion for Latin American literature. I highly recommend it.
Roberto Bolaño's sharp wit, intellect, and deep affection for children, friends, cherished authors, and literature itself radiate throughout his works. He was one of the rare writers who engaged with the works of his contemporaries. I think he is the most voracious reader i've ever known.
Quote;
"And I’m reminded of this because to a great extent everything that I’ve written is a love letter or a farewell letter to my own generation, those of us who were born in the 1950s and who at a certain moment chose military service, though in this case it would be more accurate to say militancy, and we gave the little we had — the great deal that we had, which was our youth — to a cause that we thought was the most generous cause in the world and in a certain way it was, but in reality it wasn’t."
This book is a delightful and informative read, even if you're not a Bolaño enthusiast but have a passion for Latin American literature. I highly recommend it.
March 4, 2017
3 1/2 estrellas (redondeadas a 4 por ser de uno de mis autores favoritos) para esta completa recopilación de columnas, discursos, ensayos y entrevistas de Bolaño. Un personaje muy interesante, por sus influencias y gustos (Borges, Cortázar, Philip K. Dick, Nicanor Parra...), por su personalidad, por su biografía, pero por sobre todo por sus libros. Que sea chileno es un privilegio. ¿Qué tiene nuestro país que saca a tantos escritores de primer nivel? Si Bolaño seguía vivo, seguro ganaba el Nobel. Con Nicanor aún no pierdo la esperanza.
De muestra una joyita del libro:
"¿Cómo reconocer una obra de arte? ¿Cómo separarla, aunque sólo sea un momento, de su aparato crítico, de sus exégetas, de sus incansables plagiarios, de sus ninguneadores, de su final destino de soledad? Es fácil. Hay que traducirla. Que el traductor no sea una lumbrera. Hay que arrancarle páginas al azar. Hay que dejarla tirada en un desván. Si después de todo esto aparece un joven y la lee, y tras leerla la hace suya, y le es fiel (o infiel, qué más da) y la reinterpreta y la acompaña en su viaje a los límites y ambos se enriquecen y el joven añade un gramo de valor a su valor natural, estamos ante algo, una máquina o un libro, capaz de hablar a todos los seres humanos: no un campo labrado sino una montaña, no la imagen del bosque oscuro sino el bosque oscuro, no una bandada de pájaros sino el Ruiseñor."
Entre columna y columna, Bolaño nos habla de libros y autores, reseñados de tal manera que no queda más que buscarlos. Un imperdible para todos los bolañistas.
De muestra una joyita del libro:
"¿Cómo reconocer una obra de arte? ¿Cómo separarla, aunque sólo sea un momento, de su aparato crítico, de sus exégetas, de sus incansables plagiarios, de sus ninguneadores, de su final destino de soledad? Es fácil. Hay que traducirla. Que el traductor no sea una lumbrera. Hay que arrancarle páginas al azar. Hay que dejarla tirada en un desván. Si después de todo esto aparece un joven y la lee, y tras leerla la hace suya, y le es fiel (o infiel, qué más da) y la reinterpreta y la acompaña en su viaje a los límites y ambos se enriquecen y el joven añade un gramo de valor a su valor natural, estamos ante algo, una máquina o un libro, capaz de hablar a todos los seres humanos: no un campo labrado sino una montaña, no la imagen del bosque oscuro sino el bosque oscuro, no una bandada de pájaros sino el Ruiseñor."
Entre columna y columna, Bolaño nos habla de libros y autores, reseñados de tal manera que no queda más que buscarlos. Un imperdible para todos los bolañistas.
September 20, 2012
"Mi sarebbe piaciuto essere un investigatore della squadra omicidi, molto più che fare lo scrittore. Di questo sono assolutamente certo. Uno sbirro della omicidi, uno che riesce a tornare da solo, di notte, sulla scena del delitto, e a non aver paura dei fantasmi. Forse così sì che sarei impazzito, ma questo, se si è poliziotti, si risolve con uno sparo in bocca."
July 1, 2012
Reading Bolaño, the English-speaker has to be overwhelmed by the vast ocean of Latin American literature that is virtually invisible in the United States. But, as Bolaño points out, that's hardly a problem unique to North Amerrica: "which brings us to a problem even worse than being forgotten: the provincialism of the book market, which corrals and locks away Spanish-language literature, which, simply put, means that Chilean authors are only of interest in Chile, Mexican authors in Mexico, and Colombians in Colombia, as if each Latin American country spoke a different language or as if the aesthetic taste of each Latin American reader were determined first and foremost by national — that is, provincial — imperatives, which wasn’t the case in the 1960s, for example, when the Boom exploded, or in the 1950s or 1940s, despite poor distribution." Bolaño's text could easily be used as an introduction to modern Spanish literature. He's incredibly widely read, and he covers a lot of authors in these mostly throw-away pieces he wrote for Spanish papers. Bolaño's enthusiasm is infectious--of the many books he mentions, I added to my reading list practically all of them that I could find in English translation (which was unfortunaely not many). So typical, his exhortation to read, as in this commentary:
"Thus it was that The Temple of Iconoclasts came into my hands, during a cold, wet winter, and I still remember the enormous pleasure it brought me, and the consolation, too, at a time when almost everything was full of sadness. Wilcock’s book restored happiness to me, as is only the case with those masterpieces of literature that are also masterpieces of black humor, like Lichtenberg’s Aphorisms or Sterne’s Tristram Shandy. Of course, Wilcock’s book tiptoed out of bookstores. Today, seventeen years later, it has just been reprinted. If you want to have a good time, if you want to cure what ails you, buy it, steal it, borrow it, but most importantly, read it."
These essays are an endless pleasure to read: always invigorating, clever, opinionated, and sharp. Impossible to take everything in one reading: without question a book that will reward repeated readings.
April 20, 2014
Roberto Bolaño left us too soon. He was one of the best contemporary Latin American writers. Hell, scratch that: he was one of the best contemporary writers, period. Read The Savage Detectives or his magnum opus, 2666, and you'll see what I'm talking about. Bolaño started writing poetry, and that love and care for the written word is something you can see (even in translation). But his stories can be straightforward and cruel; his poetry, witty to the point of savagery. The essays, articles and speeches reunited in this book aren't the best point of entry to his literature - they are, however, a good, interesting conversation with the author. Each one of these texts is full of vitality and wit, something we don't see every day. It's a book to be read constantly, to be consulted as a dictionary - the wit and wisdom of Roberto Bolaño.
May 31, 2020
Bolaño and I have quite the love affair going, yes. But this collection meanders at times, and I could've done without many of these pieces for their dullness. The glory of this collection is Bolaño's praise of a wide range of authors and books, many of which I would never have been interested in without his glowing endorsements. I shall certainly follow where he leads, but otherwise, this collected work of journalism doesn't have quite the impact of his inimitable fictional output...and I'm okay with that.
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