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The Little Buddhist Monk
In Korea, a little Buddhist monk (really very dwarf-sized) dreams of the Western world and secretly reads up on Western culture. When he meets the holidaying French couple Napoleon Chirac and Jacqueline Bloodymary, he offers his services as their guide, in the hope they will take him, a penniless monk, to Europe. He whisks them off on a tour of the temples. Among the many twists and turns, our stunned tourists encounter a suicidal horse and discover that a person can also be a robot. Though our monk appears to them as the very spirit of tourism, nothing is natural in this tour de force of Aira’s twisted imagination.
144 pages, Kindle Edition
Published March 23, 2017
7 people are currently reading
179 people want to read
About the author
César Aira
260 books1,148 followersCésar Aira was born in Coronel Pringles, Argentina in 1949, and has lived in Buenos Aires since 1967. He taught at the University of Buenos Aires (about Copi and Rimbaud) and at the University of Rosario (Constructivism and Mallarmé), and has translated and edited books from France, England, Italy, Brazil, Spain, Mexico, and Venezuela. Perhaps one of the most prolific writers in Argentina, and certainly one of the most talked about in Latin America, Aira has published more than eighty books to date in Argentina, Mexico, Colombia, Venezuela, Chile, and Spain, which have been translated for France, Great Britain, Italy, Brazil, Portugal, Greece, Austria, Romania, Russia, and now the United States. One novel, La prueba, has been made into a feature film, and How I Became a Nun was chosen as one of Argentina’s ten best books. Besides essays and novels Aira writes regularly for the Spanish newspaper El País. In 1996 he received a Guggenheim scholarship, in 2002 he was short listed for the Rómulo Gallegos prize, and has been shortlisted for the Man Booker International Prize.
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Displaying 1 - 30 of 37 reviews
June 14, 2018
-A review copy was sent to me from Disclaimer Magazine in association with And Other Stories. The original review was posted here.
The Review:
The west often dreams about the east, but this relationship is reciprocated as the orient also dreams of the occident. We all look for a sense of meaning in life, a reason to carry on, and for the little Buddhist monk here the reason is a dream of the west. He wishes to relocate; he believes such a thing will make him happier in life and more content.
A random encounter with a French couple sets him on such a path; however, as Aira shows us so eloquently perception and reality are two separate things altogether. The monk begins to guide the couple to various cultural landmarks that help to define Korea. As the narrative progresses, he realises that their vision of the east is somewhat distorted. It is generalised, completely lacking in individual character and undiscerning in regards to the rest of the orient. The monk is put on his guard; he becomes fiercely defensive of his culture; he even goes as far as to play with language and letters, with the names of things, to represent his country in the best possible way. This novel, though short, is nonetheless powerful with the ability to recognise universal truths. Aira’s playful prose dances around themes of misconception, ignorance and latent racism.
Edward Said writes in his ground breaking book Orientalism (1978) that the west perceive the east in a very reductionist and falsifying way. The occident views the orient as a parent would a child; it is a patronising relationship in which the west assumes their culture is superior, more intelligent and developed. The east is seen as childlike, primitive and simple in comparison. The monk seeks to debunk such assumptions by providing an image of Korea that is rich in diversity and individuality. In a world of globalisation, where all civilisations are supposedly connected, they are drastically unconnected based upon these ignorant misconceptions. The postcolonial themes poor out of the writing as the monk begins to capitalise on the situation, using it as a basis to educate the ignorant western couple.
He takes them to a traditional Korean Buddhist temple rather than the standard tourist traps that most people visit. Napoleon Chirac wishes to photograph the scene, but the monks confuse him with their behaviour. They tease him, disrupting his efforts at trying to capture an essence of their lives through a lens. They engage in distinctively western behaviour; they drink Coca-Cola and listen to western pop music as he attempts to put a label on their existence, a photograph that would define them in an instant and for an eternity. Such a thing comes with a stark realisation for Napoleon: it is better to live in the moment, to experience the now, rather than try to immortalise it on photography paper. Culture cannot be simplified. The essence of Korean Buddhism cannot be represented in its entirety in such a way. Any attempt to do so would be nothing short of insulting.
‘How strange, commented Napoleon Chirac, that a translation should need a translation.”
Such is seen with the scathing sarcasm the monk directs at Napoleon. Napoleon reads a sign, and the monk mocks him by telling him he can learn the Korean language in just a few hours. The arrogance of the westerner demands chastisement as he stomps into unfamiliar territory and expects to be able to define it in a matter of moments with his camera. The didactical message the monk imparts is one aimed at the heart of such cultural stereotypes, and, incidentally, he also learns his own lesson in the process.
Central to this story is a sense of longing. It does not matter what your geographical location is, the soul will always long for more whether that be the occident or the orient is immaterial. It is how life works, and it is how the mind works, but what the Buddhist monk realises is that true peace comes from within. Contentment, the ability to recognise that such longing is only temporary (a state of impermanence), is the highest of truths. As he attempts to impart some wisdom, a situation only brought about by sheer chance, he begins his own spiritual journey. Although the couple were those in need of the most guidance, his actions make him understand the similar folly he once harboured to the west.
The journey left me considering exactly what is real within life and the importance of trying to find it. The narrative is interposed with themes of Buddhism; they are used extremely effectively to show that longing for the other, for the orient or the occidental, does not necessarily mean the fruition of such a goal will equal happiness. Something higher must be attained. Aira’s novel will undoubtedly be of particular interest to those invested in the Buddhist philosophy and those looking to hear another contemporary postcolonial voice in translation; certainly, a voice not to be ignored.
The Review:
The west often dreams about the east, but this relationship is reciprocated as the orient also dreams of the occident. We all look for a sense of meaning in life, a reason to carry on, and for the little Buddhist monk here the reason is a dream of the west. He wishes to relocate; he believes such a thing will make him happier in life and more content.
A random encounter with a French couple sets him on such a path; however, as Aira shows us so eloquently perception and reality are two separate things altogether. The monk begins to guide the couple to various cultural landmarks that help to define Korea. As the narrative progresses, he realises that their vision of the east is somewhat distorted. It is generalised, completely lacking in individual character and undiscerning in regards to the rest of the orient. The monk is put on his guard; he becomes fiercely defensive of his culture; he even goes as far as to play with language and letters, with the names of things, to represent his country in the best possible way. This novel, though short, is nonetheless powerful with the ability to recognise universal truths. Aira’s playful prose dances around themes of misconception, ignorance and latent racism.
Edward Said writes in his ground breaking book Orientalism (1978) that the west perceive the east in a very reductionist and falsifying way. The occident views the orient as a parent would a child; it is a patronising relationship in which the west assumes their culture is superior, more intelligent and developed. The east is seen as childlike, primitive and simple in comparison. The monk seeks to debunk such assumptions by providing an image of Korea that is rich in diversity and individuality. In a world of globalisation, where all civilisations are supposedly connected, they are drastically unconnected based upon these ignorant misconceptions. The postcolonial themes poor out of the writing as the monk begins to capitalise on the situation, using it as a basis to educate the ignorant western couple.
He takes them to a traditional Korean Buddhist temple rather than the standard tourist traps that most people visit. Napoleon Chirac wishes to photograph the scene, but the monks confuse him with their behaviour. They tease him, disrupting his efforts at trying to capture an essence of their lives through a lens. They engage in distinctively western behaviour; they drink Coca-Cola and listen to western pop music as he attempts to put a label on their existence, a photograph that would define them in an instant and for an eternity. Such a thing comes with a stark realisation for Napoleon: it is better to live in the moment, to experience the now, rather than try to immortalise it on photography paper. Culture cannot be simplified. The essence of Korean Buddhism cannot be represented in its entirety in such a way. Any attempt to do so would be nothing short of insulting.
‘How strange, commented Napoleon Chirac, that a translation should need a translation.”
Such is seen with the scathing sarcasm the monk directs at Napoleon. Napoleon reads a sign, and the monk mocks him by telling him he can learn the Korean language in just a few hours. The arrogance of the westerner demands chastisement as he stomps into unfamiliar territory and expects to be able to define it in a matter of moments with his camera. The didactical message the monk imparts is one aimed at the heart of such cultural stereotypes, and, incidentally, he also learns his own lesson in the process.
Central to this story is a sense of longing. It does not matter what your geographical location is, the soul will always long for more whether that be the occident or the orient is immaterial. It is how life works, and it is how the mind works, but what the Buddhist monk realises is that true peace comes from within. Contentment, the ability to recognise that such longing is only temporary (a state of impermanence), is the highest of truths. As he attempts to impart some wisdom, a situation only brought about by sheer chance, he begins his own spiritual journey. Although the couple were those in need of the most guidance, his actions make him understand the similar folly he once harboured to the west.
The journey left me considering exactly what is real within life and the importance of trying to find it. The narrative is interposed with themes of Buddhism; they are used extremely effectively to show that longing for the other, for the orient or the occidental, does not necessarily mean the fruition of such a goal will equal happiness. Something higher must be attained. Aira’s novel will undoubtedly be of particular interest to those invested in the Buddhist philosophy and those looking to hear another contemporary postcolonial voice in translation; certainly, a voice not to be ignored.
April 18, 2019
I read it in English and I totally shouldn't have: the translation diminished the impact of the story and made it too ludicrous.
A suicidal pony, a neurotic fellow of diminutive size, witches tempting passengers off a train in the middle of nowhere, flight through a forest, the techno-twist which made the whole story even less satisfying…
Just color me unimpressed with the obfuscation technique.
Q:
The little fellow was giant-sized. (c)
Q:
he already wanted to go, as if he had been programmed within to receive the calls of faraway places. (c)
Q:
Intelligent and obstinate despite his diminutive size, he enjoyed a distinguished career as a monk while at night he studied languages, history, philosophy, politics and psychoanalysis, in addition to reading Shakespeare, Balzac, Kafka and anything else worthwhile. Our little Buddhist monk was living proof of the saying: ‘Knowledge takes up no space.’ (c)
Q:
To have a project can help make life liveable, and it doesn’t matter how madcap and unattainable it might be; quite the opposite, in fact, because if that is the case, its influence will be all the more absorbing and prolonged. (c)
Q:
… if it seems unnecessary for someone in the Orient to find orientation in this way, just imagine that if the Orient exists, it is because on the other side there is the Occident,… (c) I'm sure the author found this pun intellectual. Did he stop to consider that the protagonist likely didn't think English? And in Korean Orient has precious little to do with orientation?
Q:
he glimpsed in that inverted overlap of antipodean skies the triumphant congruence of dreams and life. (c)
Q:
one step for a pedestrian of normal size was equivalent to five from the little Buddhist monk. (c) Just how little he was?
Q:
In a flash, as if he were about to be hit by a train, he saw it all. A rich French traveller (it was a luxury hotel), for whom he could act as a guide, show him his worth, become his irreplaceable assistant, and by means of subtle diplomacy, win the favour of being taken with him… Beyond that, which was no more than a spark of his imagination, was the life he would lead in Paris, the fire this spark would ignite. He was astonished. (c)
Q:
He was relieved to see yet again that he was still smaller, incomparably smaller. But if new monks from the temple kept appearing who were smaller each time, wouldn’t one eventually beat him? (c) We even have a casting of little monks…
Q:
They could see what a vast difference there was between translation and direct reading. It seemed undeniable that translations were no use at all. (c)
Q:
‘I told you it was easy. When something is easy, it is completely easy. But no one believes it. Not even the proof convinces them.’ (c)
A suicidal pony, a neurotic fellow of diminutive size, witches tempting passengers off a train in the middle of nowhere, flight through a forest, the techno-twist which made the whole story even less satisfying…
Just color me unimpressed with the obfuscation technique.
Q:
The little fellow was giant-sized. (c)
Q:
he already wanted to go, as if he had been programmed within to receive the calls of faraway places. (c)
Q:
Intelligent and obstinate despite his diminutive size, he enjoyed a distinguished career as a monk while at night he studied languages, history, philosophy, politics and psychoanalysis, in addition to reading Shakespeare, Balzac, Kafka and anything else worthwhile. Our little Buddhist monk was living proof of the saying: ‘Knowledge takes up no space.’ (c)
Q:
To have a project can help make life liveable, and it doesn’t matter how madcap and unattainable it might be; quite the opposite, in fact, because if that is the case, its influence will be all the more absorbing and prolonged. (c)
Q:
… if it seems unnecessary for someone in the Orient to find orientation in this way, just imagine that if the Orient exists, it is because on the other side there is the Occident,… (c) I'm sure the author found this pun intellectual. Did he stop to consider that the protagonist likely didn't think English? And in Korean Orient has precious little to do with orientation?
Q:
he glimpsed in that inverted overlap of antipodean skies the triumphant congruence of dreams and life. (c)
Q:
one step for a pedestrian of normal size was equivalent to five from the little Buddhist monk. (c) Just how little he was?
Q:
In a flash, as if he were about to be hit by a train, he saw it all. A rich French traveller (it was a luxury hotel), for whom he could act as a guide, show him his worth, become his irreplaceable assistant, and by means of subtle diplomacy, win the favour of being taken with him… Beyond that, which was no more than a spark of his imagination, was the life he would lead in Paris, the fire this spark would ignite. He was astonished. (c)
Q:
He was relieved to see yet again that he was still smaller, incomparably smaller. But if new monks from the temple kept appearing who were smaller each time, wouldn’t one eventually beat him? (c) We even have a casting of little monks…
Q:
They could see what a vast difference there was between translation and direct reading. It seemed undeniable that translations were no use at all. (c)
Q:
‘I told you it was easy. When something is easy, it is completely easy. But no one believes it. Not even the proof convinces them.’ (c)
April 19, 2017
There's something really compelling and endearing about the prolific maverick Argentinian writer César Aira. He takes an idea and runs with it pulling the reader through madcap, existential or surreal adventures. Previously, I've only read his novel “The Seamstress and the Wind” but I can tell likes to take his characters on trips: both physical journeys and through altered psychological states that warp reality. “The Little Buddhist Monk” (first published in 2005 under the title “El Pequeño Monje Budista”) is about a diminutive monk who feels his life was meant for something much larger than the circumscribed existence in his native Korea. French couple Napoleon and Jacqueline arrive in the country seeking artistic inspiration and cultural edification. The small man has difficulty being seen, but once they notice him he offers to take them to an out of the way monastery. What at first appears like a realistic cross-cultural experience gradually morphs into something much more strange and abstract. In this way, Aira challenges and surprises while making uncommon connections.
Read my full review of The Little Buddhist Monk by César Aira on LonesomeReader
Read my full review of The Little Buddhist Monk by César Aira on LonesomeReader
April 16, 2023
There’s a quote from a review on the cover of this book, something I dislike, though in this case I must admit that it is accurate, ‘reading Aira is dizzying’ it says.
He is an expert at subverting expectations, and once again I was fooled. It begins with no fuss..
So the tiny monk studies language and culture, and chooses his right moment to interrupt a French photographer and his wife, to help them with sightseeing and to get around the city.
He takes them to places that the French photographer begins to question. He and his wife wonder what they have agreed to. Before they (and of course the reader) realise it they are they are caught up in irrationality.
Though grounded in reality we are into the realm of the absurd, to the point of surreality.
It’s perhaps not the best Aira to start with, but nonetheless a charming short read.
Interestingly the New Directions edition is paired with The Proof, which would be a good place to start. Though it is worth noting that Aira cannot be predicted, no two novels bear any resemblance to anything else he has written, which is just one of the reasons that he is such a pleasure to read.
He is an expert at subverting expectations, and once again I was fooled. It begins with no fuss..
A little Buddhist monk was anxious to emigrate from his native land, which was none other than Korea. He wanted to go to Europe or America. The project had been incubating in his brain from his early years, almost since infancy, and had coloured his entire life.
So the tiny monk studies language and culture, and chooses his right moment to interrupt a French photographer and his wife, to help them with sightseeing and to get around the city.
He takes them to places that the French photographer begins to question. He and his wife wonder what they have agreed to. Before they (and of course the reader) realise it they are they are caught up in irrationality.
They had been very rash in allowing themselves to be taken so far, but before that they had been even more rash in trusting everything they were seeing and hearing uncritically, without thinking..
Though grounded in reality we are into the realm of the absurd, to the point of surreality.
It’s perhaps not the best Aira to start with, but nonetheless a charming short read.
Interestingly the New Directions edition is paired with The Proof, which would be a good place to start. Though it is worth noting that Aira cannot be predicted, no two novels bear any resemblance to anything else he has written, which is just one of the reasons that he is such a pleasure to read.
March 9, 2025
Con este son 58 los libros que leí de aira fua
May 27, 2022
Sehr abstrus, aber mit Witz und Überraschungen, für mich etwas zu abgehoben.
September 16, 2018
Una nueva novela
Evidentemente, la novela experimental no ha muerto como tantos y tan afiebrados protectores del mundo Flaubert-Dostoyevsky afirman. Pues antes bien, no ha muerto sino mutado, convirtiendo a César Aira en uno de sus representantes más emblemáticos en este principio de nuevo siglo. Le cobro una estrella por su majadera insistencia de uasr anglicismos donde no son necesarios, pero el resto de la obra es lo que se debe esperar de un maestro; valga decir: impecable.
Evidentemente, la novela experimental no ha muerto como tantos y tan afiebrados protectores del mundo Flaubert-Dostoyevsky afirman. Pues antes bien, no ha muerto sino mutado, convirtiendo a César Aira en uno de sus representantes más emblemáticos en este principio de nuevo siglo. Le cobro una estrella por su majadera insistencia de uasr anglicismos donde no son necesarios, pero el resto de la obra es lo que se debe esperar de un maestro; valga decir: impecable.
January 19, 2018
No es de sus mejores, pero tiene muy buenas páginas por momentos; los malentendidos provocados por las estereotípicas barreras culturales no dejan de hacer sonreír. Además, Aira ensaya nuevamente con el exotismo y da vida a la figura cómica del 'pequeño monje budista', mitad talismán, mitad acompañante, que sirve de guía a una pareja de turistas franceses, ansiosos por visitar los templos y pagodas de Corea. Ya hacia el final—vaya sorpresa— se va al carajo.
August 27, 2024
This book in one image:
July 24, 2015
Ein-Satz-Review
Umschlag und Aufmachung des Buches versprechen Überraschungen, aber ausser der unendlichen Anzahl von Schreibfehlern und Grammatikschnitzern, die in dieser Matthes&Seitz-Ausgabe sogar völlig unironisch einen Hund «rapportieren» lassen, zeichnet sich der kurze Band nur noch durch jene Unerwartetheit aus, dass er sehr viel ruhiger und linearer ist, als erwartet, so sehr, dass die Geschichte — ein kleiner buddhistischer Mönch ist aus Verehrung für die westliche Gesellschaft eurozentristischer Intellektueller geworden, der in der Hoffnung, Aufmerksamkeit von Europäern zu finden, einem französischen Künstlerpärchen eine seltsame Pagode zeigt, wobei nicht nur die Winzigkeit des Mönchs, sondern auch die seltsamen Bahnhöfe unterwegs und die Fotoaufnahme des Fotografen unheimlich scheinen und ein zum Ende hin ‹gelöstes› Rätsel mit sich tragen, — hier, ohne dass die Freude an der plumpen und kurzen Lektüre weiterhin verdorben werden dürfte, ganz kurz erzählt werden darf.
Umschlag und Aufmachung des Buches versprechen Überraschungen, aber ausser der unendlichen Anzahl von Schreibfehlern und Grammatikschnitzern, die in dieser Matthes&Seitz-Ausgabe sogar völlig unironisch einen Hund «rapportieren» lassen, zeichnet sich der kurze Band nur noch durch jene Unerwartetheit aus, dass er sehr viel ruhiger und linearer ist, als erwartet, so sehr, dass die Geschichte — ein kleiner buddhistischer Mönch ist aus Verehrung für die westliche Gesellschaft eurozentristischer Intellektueller geworden, der in der Hoffnung, Aufmerksamkeit von Europäern zu finden, einem französischen Künstlerpärchen eine seltsame Pagode zeigt, wobei nicht nur die Winzigkeit des Mönchs, sondern auch die seltsamen Bahnhöfe unterwegs und die Fotoaufnahme des Fotografen unheimlich scheinen und ein zum Ende hin ‹gelöstes› Rätsel mit sich tragen, — hier, ohne dass die Freude an der plumpen und kurzen Lektüre weiterhin verdorben werden dürfte, ganz kurz erzählt werden darf.
January 3, 2016
El pequeño monje budista quería prolongar su existencia más allá de Corea, su país natal... El tenía su objetivo muy claro y con esa base centraba toda su vida para lograrlo. "La gente práctica dice que los sueños no sirven para nada; pero no podrán negar que al menos sirven para soñar." El -destino- lo junta con dos extranjeros a quienes usa de plataforma y los aprovecha... El libro te entretiene por un buen ratito, no es lo máximo, la prosa a veces desespera, pero creo que tiene una moraleja linda y por eso vale la pena leerlo, "un camino de mil leguas empieza con un paso."
October 10, 2015
Aborda lo intercultural y ciencia ficción (creo) por la narrativa de Aira que le presenta al lector un monje alegre, apasionado para lo occidental, y activo para mostrar su cultura y país a dos turistas. No sabemos si es robot pero sí sé que me encontré con una sonrisa durante mucho de este librito dado al monje pequeño budista. Especialmente cuando hacía gimnasia en el predio del templo mientras los extranjeros trataban de darse cuenta de su situación. El descuido de uno mismo en lo exterior de su entorno conocido es la aventura.
May 10, 2018
This novella was funny, beautifully written, and quick to read. I very much enjoyed it, although it could have done with a more thorough proof read and copy editing. Nick Caistor shows a lot of potential as a translator. There were a few sections that were slightly awkward (mainly near the beginning), which needed rewording to maintain the flow, but again, that goes back to the light editing and copy editing. Overall I thought he did an admirable job of bringing across the style and tone of the novel. I am highly recommending this book!
February 5, 2013
Un amigo me recomendó este pequeñísimo libro de búsqueda. Lo más interesante es el discurso de un monje budista que se encuentra inmerso en un viaje y conoce a una serie de personajes extraordinarios a quienes les cambiará la vida. Me fascinó la prosa deliciosa, fresca y excéntrica de Aira. Espero no haber sido demasiado impresionista con tantos adjetivos.
March 2, 2019
I really enjoyed this one and it's certainly put César Aira on my radar. I loved the absurdity and the lightheartedly handled social commentary, but the former especially is such a delicate balance and the end of this story (only the last two chapters) lost steam and unravelled quite a lot to me. Still, that doesn't detract from what a fun ride it was overall.
October 16, 2019
Argentinske César Airas korte roman om en lille, koreansk, buddhistisk munk er en lille pudsighed. En leg med en sjov idé, som rummer gode elementer, men i sidste ende toner for fjollet og usammenhængende ud.
Læs min anmeldelse på K’s bognoter: https://bognoter.dk/2019/10/16/cesar-...
Læs min anmeldelse på K’s bognoter: https://bognoter.dk/2019/10/16/cesar-...
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December 8, 2023First: The Little Buddhist monk
The cover of this book is kind of gross. It’s a closeup of dark brown oily fries with the name of the book charred onto a few of them. The book itself is really funny, and a little weird.
The set up is that there is a Korean Buddhist monk who meets a French couple traveling the far east and he befriends them and wants them to help him with a project he’s been working on.
But’s never quite that simple. In a lot of ways, the monk is having a hard time specializing, and so he’s becoming a bit of a dilettante, trying out a little of everything, but never really getting too much into any of them. And unlike, say a Trappist monk where the labor is the goal, getting lost in an occupation, the monk is supposed to be looking for a kind of loss of self or selflessness in his life. So this is a real problem. It’s a funny and potential commentary on Aira himself as a writer. How can someone who’s written 80 very different little books be trusted to be an expert on anything, and here he is showing this through the life of a Buddhist monk.
The cover of this book is kind of gross. It’s a closeup of dark brown oily fries with the name of the book charred onto a few of them. The book itself is really funny, and a little weird.
The set up is that there is a Korean Buddhist monk who meets a French couple traveling the far east and he befriends them and wants them to help him with a project he’s been working on.
But’s never quite that simple. In a lot of ways, the monk is having a hard time specializing, and so he’s becoming a bit of a dilettante, trying out a little of everything, but never really getting too much into any of them. And unlike, say a Trappist monk where the labor is the goal, getting lost in an occupation, the monk is supposed to be looking for a kind of loss of self or selflessness in his life. So this is a real problem. It’s a funny and potential commentary on Aira himself as a writer. How can someone who’s written 80 very different little books be trusted to be an expert on anything, and here he is showing this through the life of a Buddhist monk.
June 3, 2015
I discovered Cesar Aira some two or three years ago, and I've enjoyed reading all of his books so far. Unfortunately, only a few of his 80 novels or so (the man is incredibly productive) have been published in German or English so far. That fact makes this new edition of Aira's novels published by a small Berlin publishing company even greater. So far, there have been three novels, and I hope they will continue releasing more of Cesar Aira's fascinating work.
January 30, 2012
Una maravilla de novela en la que Aira nos deleita con su virtuosismo. A ratos pareciera estar viendo dibujos animados.
January 27, 2014
una historia muy extraña, al final el.pequeño monje es un.juego, consciente de sí mismo..tiene muchas buenas frases
February 10, 2014
"Las nuevas generaciones, alimentadas por la televisión, no estaban acumulando tiempo, y sin una reserva de tiempo el arte no existía." César Aira
February 12, 2018
Well, that was bizarre.
October 23, 2020
No idea what to think of this
December 22, 2025
Una trama rica y complicada, saturada de surrealismo y absurdos. Intelectualmente muy atractiva.
Un pequeño monje budista coreano, muy culto desea fervientemente viajar a Occidente. Encuentra a dos turistas franceses y se ofrece a servir de guía. Él se llama Napoleón Chirac, fotógrafo independiente. Está interesado en los espacios.
El narrador se interrumpe para cuestionarse cómo elegía los espacios.
El nuevo tema eran los espacios de los templos budistas. Contentos, brindaron y al chocar sus copas, vieron que las burbujas iban hacia bajo y no hacia arriba. El monje lo explicó diciendo que era lógico pues estaban en el hemisferio sur y los polos se invertían. Como Corea es el mundo al revés, el monje explica que dos ramas del budismo se enfrentaron por la forma en cómo se cuentan los chistes, en una, el final se dice primero y en otra, al final. Esos chistes no son tales, son parábolas espirituales. pone como ejemplo a Bob Esponja. La versión Coreana habría sido que viviera en el baño, no en el mar.
Van a ir a un templo budista asimétrico. Un alero más alto que otro, representaba sendas espirituales diferentes. Un caballo quería suicidarse y subió al más alto para hacerlo.
Jaqueline Bloodmary era la esposa del francés. Se dedicaba a tener ideas para tapices. Le pagaban solo las ideas. Ella platica al monje cuál es su método de trabajo, mientras dibuja el templo y entre sus líneas se puede distinguir el caballo cayendo.
Viajan hacia el templo en un tren raro. Brujas bromistas provocan que un pasajero exija bajar de inmediato creyendo que ha llegado a su destino, en realidad, lo bajan en la nada.
El francés piensa que todo va muy bien, gracias a que su monje es muy pequeño. Sufre cuando encuentran otros monjes, tienen miedo que sean más pequeños. Pero, no.
Llegan al templo y el francés empieza su trabajo. Sus sensores ópticos se comportan raro.
La pareja francesa descubre que son capaces de leer fluido los ideogramas coreanos, a pesar de no entender el idioma. Se debe a que el Coreano es muy fácil de entender, es muy sencillo, nació como contraparte de la complejidad china.
Los monjes del templo, curioso de los fotógrafos, los invitan a comer. Se comportan muy desordenadamente no parecen monjes.
El narrador reflexiona sobre la incomprensión entre las civilizaciones, que no es sino el entendimiento desfasado de un chiste. (¡Interesante analogía!).
El fotógrafo reflexiona sobre el proceso artístico. Sobre la fugacidad de la luz. Sus reflexiones son solo para él. Su esposa no entendería. Realmente está solo. De repente se da cuenta que todo el tiempo que ha estado en Corea no ha visto el sol.
Los monjes se movían frente a la cámara, el fotógrafo no se preocupaba pues era de larga exposición por lo que ellos no saldrían, pero en realidad los monjes se movían coordinadamente, de tal forma que si saldrían en las fotografías.
La esposa del fotógrafo era como el centro desde donde se colocaba la cámara para girar y tomar panópticas. El centro no se ve. Solo se ve el perímetro. (¡Otra gran analogía!). El matrimonio ya solo era una cáscara vacía. Una máquina de inercias.
El fotógrafo terminó. Vio que el monje hacía ejercicio a lo lejos. De pronto, llegó gente de la embajada de Francia a recoger a sus conciudadanos y librarlos del monje. Les dicen que el monje es una creación digital en 3D.
Desconcertado, viéndolos marchar, el monje se dirige a su casa teniendo que atravesar un bosque denso y oscuro. Quería llegar temprano para ver un programa de TV en el que explicarán sin censura, dónde está el clítoris de las mujeres. El viaje se hace eterno...
Un pequeño monje budista coreano, muy culto desea fervientemente viajar a Occidente. Encuentra a dos turistas franceses y se ofrece a servir de guía. Él se llama Napoleón Chirac, fotógrafo independiente. Está interesado en los espacios.
El narrador se interrumpe para cuestionarse cómo elegía los espacios.
El nuevo tema eran los espacios de los templos budistas. Contentos, brindaron y al chocar sus copas, vieron que las burbujas iban hacia bajo y no hacia arriba. El monje lo explicó diciendo que era lógico pues estaban en el hemisferio sur y los polos se invertían. Como Corea es el mundo al revés, el monje explica que dos ramas del budismo se enfrentaron por la forma en cómo se cuentan los chistes, en una, el final se dice primero y en otra, al final. Esos chistes no son tales, son parábolas espirituales. pone como ejemplo a Bob Esponja. La versión Coreana habría sido que viviera en el baño, no en el mar.
Van a ir a un templo budista asimétrico. Un alero más alto que otro, representaba sendas espirituales diferentes. Un caballo quería suicidarse y subió al más alto para hacerlo.
Jaqueline Bloodmary era la esposa del francés. Se dedicaba a tener ideas para tapices. Le pagaban solo las ideas. Ella platica al monje cuál es su método de trabajo, mientras dibuja el templo y entre sus líneas se puede distinguir el caballo cayendo.
Viajan hacia el templo en un tren raro. Brujas bromistas provocan que un pasajero exija bajar de inmediato creyendo que ha llegado a su destino, en realidad, lo bajan en la nada.
El francés piensa que todo va muy bien, gracias a que su monje es muy pequeño. Sufre cuando encuentran otros monjes, tienen miedo que sean más pequeños. Pero, no.
Llegan al templo y el francés empieza su trabajo. Sus sensores ópticos se comportan raro.
La pareja francesa descubre que son capaces de leer fluido los ideogramas coreanos, a pesar de no entender el idioma. Se debe a que el Coreano es muy fácil de entender, es muy sencillo, nació como contraparte de la complejidad china.
Los monjes del templo, curioso de los fotógrafos, los invitan a comer. Se comportan muy desordenadamente no parecen monjes.
El narrador reflexiona sobre la incomprensión entre las civilizaciones, que no es sino el entendimiento desfasado de un chiste. (¡Interesante analogía!).
El fotógrafo reflexiona sobre el proceso artístico. Sobre la fugacidad de la luz. Sus reflexiones son solo para él. Su esposa no entendería. Realmente está solo. De repente se da cuenta que todo el tiempo que ha estado en Corea no ha visto el sol.
Los monjes se movían frente a la cámara, el fotógrafo no se preocupaba pues era de larga exposición por lo que ellos no saldrían, pero en realidad los monjes se movían coordinadamente, de tal forma que si saldrían en las fotografías.
La esposa del fotógrafo era como el centro desde donde se colocaba la cámara para girar y tomar panópticas. El centro no se ve. Solo se ve el perímetro. (¡Otra gran analogía!). El matrimonio ya solo era una cáscara vacía. Una máquina de inercias.
El fotógrafo terminó. Vio que el monje hacía ejercicio a lo lejos. De pronto, llegó gente de la embajada de Francia a recoger a sus conciudadanos y librarlos del monje. Les dicen que el monje es una creación digital en 3D.
Desconcertado, viéndolos marchar, el monje se dirige a su casa teniendo que atravesar un bosque denso y oscuro. Quería llegar temprano para ver un programa de TV en el que explicarán sin censura, dónde está el clítoris de las mujeres. El viaje se hace eterno...
March 26, 2025
The Little Buddhist Monk or LBM for short, another offering in miniature from Cesar Aira, who I believe is of normal stature. But big on playful, thematically driven writing. Theme in LBM relates, guess, I mean it relates to perspective, and perhaps even narrow point of view, or myopia of the mind.
After all, the action takes place firstly in the expansive imagination of the LBM who dreams of places beyond his narrow world and thinks of going overseas when he encounters a couple of tall French tourists. They could be his ticket out of his humdrum world. (now why would a Buddhist monk think that?) But one point of view is limited to the mind of one. It only tells a small part of what is going on.
The French couple are artists, significantly, the man – Napoleon Chirac – even has a grandiose name to add to his height. Napoleon is a photographer. He wants to take pictures of Buddhist temples, as you might expect, what else do tourist artist’s do in Asia, right! A photograph is a kind of cropped version of the whole. The aperture even smaller, the viewfinder tiny, the negative smaller than the film paper. I could go on extending this metaphor into some vast landscape of words.
The playfulness of language and ideas is nicely staged by Aira when we realise we don’t actually know how big the LBM is. His size seems nebulous. When he bumps into the couple, not only do they not see him, they keep looking around to see what they could possibly have bumped into.
This moment lasted longer than it should have. Because when they peered around, they could not see a soul. Had the voice come from inside themselves, from the mystery of their marriage? When they finally spotted the little Buddhist monk, they smiled and greeted him, still rather shocked.
Clearly LBM is small, but by what measure? Is it a human scale, or some other? The French couple seem to be able to focus on him over a lunch where they all hatch a plan to go to a temple off the tourist trail. The LBM will be their guide to Korean temples.
Perhaps Aira is telling us that tourists don’t really see much of anything local when they travel, except the highlights package, the big claims, the vast dimensions of the possibility instilled in the imagination (another place of vastness that can operate unconstrained by a fixed focal point). But aren't tourist highlights a kind of in brief, or precis of the place?
But this sounds political. And that’s not really Aira’s deal. So something is amiss in the world of art.
What a contradiction: he was abandoning a desperate attempt to prove to himself that he had come across someone who could manipulate dimensions as if by magic, almost to simultaneously reject the assurance about enchanted , suspended time that this same being has made. But this wasn’t really a contradiction, or it should be said that realism itself is a contradiction. The flowers from a lemon tree are not lemony, and yet its leaves are! The less realist a work of art, the more the artist has been obliged to get his hands dirty in the mud of reality.
Who or what exactly was this little monk?
English has an abundance of words to describe some kind of diminution. Synopsis. In miniature. Summary. Abstract. Thumbnail. Résumé. Briefing. Nutshell. Abbreviation. Truncation. I wonder if Spanish has as many words for shortening something?
After all, the action takes place firstly in the expansive imagination of the LBM who dreams of places beyond his narrow world and thinks of going overseas when he encounters a couple of tall French tourists. They could be his ticket out of his humdrum world. (now why would a Buddhist monk think that?) But one point of view is limited to the mind of one. It only tells a small part of what is going on.
The French couple are artists, significantly, the man – Napoleon Chirac – even has a grandiose name to add to his height. Napoleon is a photographer. He wants to take pictures of Buddhist temples, as you might expect, what else do tourist artist’s do in Asia, right! A photograph is a kind of cropped version of the whole. The aperture even smaller, the viewfinder tiny, the negative smaller than the film paper. I could go on extending this metaphor into some vast landscape of words.
The playfulness of language and ideas is nicely staged by Aira when we realise we don’t actually know how big the LBM is. His size seems nebulous. When he bumps into the couple, not only do they not see him, they keep looking around to see what they could possibly have bumped into.
This moment lasted longer than it should have. Because when they peered around, they could not see a soul. Had the voice come from inside themselves, from the mystery of their marriage? When they finally spotted the little Buddhist monk, they smiled and greeted him, still rather shocked.
Clearly LBM is small, but by what measure? Is it a human scale, or some other? The French couple seem to be able to focus on him over a lunch where they all hatch a plan to go to a temple off the tourist trail. The LBM will be their guide to Korean temples.
Perhaps Aira is telling us that tourists don’t really see much of anything local when they travel, except the highlights package, the big claims, the vast dimensions of the possibility instilled in the imagination (another place of vastness that can operate unconstrained by a fixed focal point). But aren't tourist highlights a kind of in brief, or precis of the place?
But this sounds political. And that’s not really Aira’s deal. So something is amiss in the world of art.
What a contradiction: he was abandoning a desperate attempt to prove to himself that he had come across someone who could manipulate dimensions as if by magic, almost to simultaneously reject the assurance about enchanted , suspended time that this same being has made. But this wasn’t really a contradiction, or it should be said that realism itself is a contradiction. The flowers from a lemon tree are not lemony, and yet its leaves are! The less realist a work of art, the more the artist has been obliged to get his hands dirty in the mud of reality.
Who or what exactly was this little monk?
English has an abundance of words to describe some kind of diminution. Synopsis. In miniature. Summary. Abstract. Thumbnail. Résumé. Briefing. Nutshell. Abbreviation. Truncation. I wonder if Spanish has as many words for shortening something?
February 15, 2025
This started well. A blind buy based on strong endorsements; Patti Smith enamoured with the author, the Guardian declaring him 'Dizzying', and an instantly well written and readable style. The problem was this felt like an entirely pointless story in which the author amused himself by sending you on a wild goose chase. The ending in particular was the worst and most annoying end to a book I think I can ever recall. It reminded me of Grandpa Simpson: "We can't bust heads like we used to, but we have our ways. One trick is to tell stories that don't go anywhere. Like the time I caught the ferry to Shelbyville. I needed a new heel for my shoe. So, I decided to go to Morganville..."
The only positive I can currently think of, besides that it was well written, is that it stopped me from doom scrolling.
The only positive I can currently think of, besides that it was well written, is that it stopped me from doom scrolling.
March 13, 2024
El mecanismo del chiste aireano se funda en dos principios: la solapación de términos opuestos y la confusión (elementos que, entre más avanza la narración, aumentan en intensidad o sutileza). Esto genera una sensación de desconcierto y desorientación con una clara intención de risa, pero no cualquier risa, una risa que demanda una pausa y un recuento de los hechos, de lo narrado hace apenas segundos.
Es por esto que Aira frustra a tantos lectores, porque el pringlense te engatuza y te escupe, Aira sólo se deja leer, si el lector pacta con él en secreto antes de empezar la lectura, si acepta el mundo aireano y su falta de lógica aparente, fácil e inmediata.
Dicho esto
¿Qué carajo acabo de leer?
Es por esto que Aira frustra a tantos lectores, porque el pringlense te engatuza y te escupe, Aira sólo se deja leer, si el lector pacta con él en secreto antes de empezar la lectura, si acepta el mundo aireano y su falta de lógica aparente, fácil e inmediata.
Dicho esto
¿Qué carajo acabo de leer?
January 31, 2020
A tiny Korean Buddhist monk takes on two tourists to guide them around and show them the sites. Napoleon Chriac, a French photographer of spaces, and Jacqueline Bloodymary, a cartoonist, are practically giants to him, so big and wide are they. All the little monk ever wanted was to see the wider world and he believed if he attached himself to people like the photographer and his wife, he would be able to do so, but when he wonders far from home, he finds it very difficult to return. Kind of like the Wizard of Oz in miniature. Well written and memorable, though on first reading it tends to drift.
January 18, 2023
This is right up my street it seemed to me like a series of jokes and cartoons, it made me grin and laugh, this has so much that's intricate and elusive and very intelligent most of which I'm sure goes over my head and its also fucking dumb, it's a bit like Ur uncle talking to you and stealing your nose.
I went back and deducted a star after reading that he improvises these in one go, well okay, it is definitely interesting reading a first draft of something but on reflection I don't know how worthwhile of a play with the form it is to just botch the end on your first go and leave it that way. The end is important! 🌺
I went back and deducted a star after reading that he improvises these in one go, well okay, it is definitely interesting reading a first draft of something but on reflection I don't know how worthwhile of a play with the form it is to just botch the end on your first go and leave it that way. The end is important! 🌺
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