The Spirit of Science Fiction

by Roberto Bolaño

From a master of contemporary fiction, a tale of bohemian youth on the make in Mexico City

Two young poets, Jan and Remo, find themselves adrift in Mexico City. Obsessed with poetry, and, above all, with science fiction, they are eager to forge a life in the literary world--or sacrifice themselves to it. Roberto Bolaño's The Spirit of Science Fiction is a story of youth hungry for revolution, notoriety, and sexual adventure, as they work to construct a reality out of the fragments of their dreams.

But as close as these friends are, the city tugs them in opposite directions. Jan withdraws from the world, shutting himself in their shared rooftop apartment where he feverishly composes fan letters to the stars of science fiction and dreams of cosmonauts and Nazis. Meanwhile, Remo runs headfirst into the future, spending his days and nights with a circle of wild young writers, seeking pleasure in the city's labyrinthine streets, rundown cafés, and murky bathhouses.

This kaleidoscopic work of strange and tender beauty is a fitting introduction for readers uninitiated into the thrills of Roberto Bolaño's fiction, and an indispensable addition to an ecstatic and transgressive body of work.

Genres: Fiction, Literature, Latin American, Science Fiction, Novels, Audiobook, Literary Fiction

204 pages, Kindle Edition

First published November 3, 2016

About the author

For 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.

Reviews

[Kenny · Rating 5 out of 5]

“She sighed wickedly. “I wasn’t even saying good-bye to him, but to his penis. Ten inches. I measured it myself with my mother’s measuring tape.”

“Shitshitshit. I’ll never let you come near me with a measuring tape.”
The Spirit of Science Fiction ~~~ Roberto Bolaño



Roberto Bolaño’s The Spirit of Science Fiction reads like an ode to Mexico City ~~ part epic poem, part Hymne à L'Amour, and part John Rechy novel amped up on Acid. Reading The Spirit of Science Fiction continued my summer long Baptism by Bolaño.

So many friends here on Goodreads told me The Spirit of Science Fiction was a minor work ~~ a series of sketches that lead to nothing. It’s anything but that. The Spirit of Science Fiction fits beautifully into the Bolañoesque Universe, style, themes and all. In fact, The Spirit of Science Fiction may be the book that opened the door to the Bolañoesque Universe leading us to The Savage Detectives.



It is obvious that The Spirit of Science Fiction is an attempt at what would later grow into The Savage Detectives. As with that novel, we’re in the company of young penniless writers in Mexico City: Jan Schrella, an aspiring science fiction writer who spends his time writing letters to the established names in that genre; the man Jan shares an apartment with is Remo Morán.

Jan (Bolaño?) has come to Mexico City from Chile (Bolaño!). Those who've read Bolaño's The Savage Detectives will recognize themes and characters that will be further developed in the years to come. There are the Torrente sisters, Angélica, a prizewinning poet, and her sister, Lola, who will be recognized as a version of the Font sisters in The Savage Detectives. There is the attempt to hunt down other writers, other publishers, which, in the later novel, will become the quest to find the poet Cesárea Tinajero. If you've read Bolaño’s collected poems, The Unknown University, will recognize the surrealistic bathhouse scene ~~ a brilliantly written scene ~~ that comes at the end of The Spirit of Science Fiction.



There’s a lot of great writing in the unfinished The Spirit of Science Fiction. But is it unfinished??? It seems to me it's an abandoned project ~~ a draft to be repurposed later ~~ which, of course, it was.

I loved The Spirit of Science Fiction. I knew I'd love this book before I even cracked the cover ~~ my only complaint was it left me hungry, wanting more Bolaño.



I would be hard pressed to explain why I love Bolaño’s work so much ~~ maybe it's because he never settles for the mundane ~~ like Murakami, Bolaño always takes risks. His work has a vividness that is so lacking in most contemporary fiction.

[Glenn Russell]

Roberto Bolaño with Mario Santiago Papasquiaro in Mexico City sometime in the 1970s

The Spirit of Science Fiction - Roberto Bolaño’s recently translated 1984 novel written when the author was age thirty-one. The setting is Mexico City in the early 1970s and the tale focuses on two young penniless writers, Mexican poet Remo Morán and aspiring science fiction novelist Jan Schrella from Chile, living in their ramshackle rooftop apartment and embarking on their odyssey within the world of literature. Of course, there's plenty of friends, sex, and cool motorcycles but their poetic souls are aflame at the mere mention of the state of poetry in Mexico and throughout all of Latin America.

If a reader is looking for straightforward narrative, they will have to look elsewhere. Similar to the author’s 1998 The Savage Detectives, although on a more contained canvas: one city (Mexico City) versus many cities, two narrators (Remo and Jan) versus many narrators, 200-pages of large print versus 600-pages of small print, with its swirl of external events flowing into and mingling with hallucinations, dreams and stories within stories, The Spirit of Science Fiction shares much of the literary aesthetic of the author's sprawling masterpiece. Indeed, one could trace the manner in which Roberto Bolaño takes characters, topics and themes from this shorter work and later incorporates them into The Savage Detectives.

Again, if anyone is reading this review looking for a neat and tidy summation, they must be joking (or smoking some good weed). In the spirit of The Spirit, here are several snapshots of this novel-as-swirling tornado in action:

Perky Powwow: Having won a literary prize, Remo is interviewed by a lady journalist who comes across as the prototypical wide-eyed North American from a city like Los Angeles. Deep into the interview, she tells Remo now that he’s won the prize, his life will definitely take a turn for the better. Remo replies: “You poor, naïve reporter. First you mistake this room in the middle of some random forest for a crystal palace on a hill. Then you actually predict a bright future for art. You don’t realize that this is a trap. Who the hell do you think I am, Sid Vicious?”

Zealous Dispatches: As if writing with his very own blood, Jan sends off a string of letters to famous American science fiction authors such as Ursula K. Le Guin and Philip José Farmer imploring that they support and champion science fiction written by authors in Latin America. As part of his letter to Robert Silverberg, Jan writes: “The scene my dear Robert, is this: dog-colored dawn, spaceships appear over the mountains on the horizon, Chile goes down along with the rest of Latin America, we become fugitives, you become killers.” You gotta love a seventeen-year-old who has dedicated his teenage years to voraciously reading hundreds of sf novels and clamors for recognition both for himself and his Latin American brothers and sisters who likewise have taken sf to their hearts and set out to write great science fiction.

Peppy Pal: Frequently the boys as jolted awake by the roar of a motorcycle at 3AM – ah! none other than their older poet friend, Jóse Arco. Based on Mario Santiago Papasquiaro, Jóse breaths the rhythms of poetry and turns the boys on in more ways than one. Remo recounts: “Sometimes I dreamed that Jóse Arco was gliding on his black motorcycle along a frozen avenue, without a glance at the icicles that hung from the windows, shivering with cold, until suddenly, from a sky that was also white and frozen, came a blazing red lightning bolt, and houses and streets split apart, and my friend disappeared in a kind of hurricane of mud.”

Fabulous Far-Out Fiction: Jan’s imagination overfloweths to the point he must relay to Remo the story behind Silhouette, a sf novel by Gene Wolfe. Aboard a rocket ship on a voyage from Earth about to land on a newly discovered planet, protagonist Johann discovers his very own shadow has grown darker, nay, it isn’t his shadow after all but a separate being, powerful and sinister. Meanwhile, the crew tries to convince Johann that he’s one of the chosen on board destined to create something new on this planet. Oh, wow! Chosen to create something new on this planet – no wonder Jan is so taken by Gene Wolfe's novel. Sounds as if Jan has completely identified with Johann. Does this sound like a unique way to approach The Spirit of Science Fiction? You bet it does.

Hot Honeys: Angélica and Lola Torrente and Laura are among the poetesses who make their appearances at poetry workshops and also at the boys' rooftop apartment. It isn't hard to guess who falls deeply in love. You got it - both Remo and Jan. Well, actually, cupid's arrow strikes Remo deeper. Reflecting back on the time of the events reported in this tale, Remo muses over an indelible memory from those days: "A series of images of Laura naked (sitting on the bench, in my arms, under the shower, lying on the divan, thinking) until she disappears completely in a growing cloud of steam." Fortunately, Remo's love of poetry never comes close to disappearing.

Bountiful Bolaño: Heaps more encounters and discoveries to be made by a reader of The Spirit of Science Fiction. Among their number: a potato farm caretaker who believes a book on the history of Latin America is really signals in code, the caretaker's dream of being a lieutenant watching a recruit shoot a colonel in the chest, reflections on the number of Mexican literary magazines swelling in one year from 32 to 661, the appearance of an Aztec Princess both in the flesh and as a motorcycle, A Mexican Manifesto, Jan's dream of a Russian cosmonaut, a mysterious Dr. Carvajal's poetry magazines that appear to Ramo "as skeletal as prisoners of a Nazi concentration camp", Jan's letter to Ursula K. Le Guin that ends: "Who should we wake with a kiss and break the spell? Madness or Beauty? Madness and Beauty? Much love, Jan Schrella", and surprise, surprise - Jan's final letter signed: Jan Schrella alias Roberto Bolaño.

Go for it! Read The Spirit of Science Fiction. ¡Magnífico!


Roberto Bolaño, 1953-2003

[Spencer Orey · Rating 4 out of 5]

I imagine you're more likely to read this if you're already a fan of Roberto Bolaño's work. My copy says this is his previously unpublished first novel, and it definitely reads like one. I liked it overall. There are flashes of brilliance, some supremely beautiful scenes, and a lot of unevenness. If you're already a fan (I'm a huge fan), I recommend you check this out with low to medium expectations.

I did really like the sci fi writer elements. In particular, one of the characters writes bizarre letters to classic sci fi writers, and the contents of the letters always made me laugh. And it's another depiction of the rough but vibrantly wonderful world of emergent poets in 1980s Mexico City, which from Bolaño's writing seems like it must have been so incredible. But mostly this book made me wish I could read The Savage Detectives again for the first time.

If you're new to Bolaño's work, check out the Savage Detectives or 2666 instead. Those books are incredible. If you're already a fan, there's something here for you, but it's not as easy to find.

[Ben Sharafski · Rating 4 out of 5]

This novel was Bolaño's first, discovered among his papers by his widow and published posthumously. The book has three separate storylines, all linked to the escapades of the principal characters, Jan and Remo, who are both budding poets, and the narrator jumps from one storyline to another in a breathless, at times confusing, frenzy. In the first storyline, Jan writes a series of letters to famous North American science fiction writers. In the second, Remo fantasizes about narrating the plot of his future prize-winning novel to an adoring female journalist. The third reads like a preliminary version of The Savage Detectives - the story of two young poets sharing a rooftop room in Mexico City during the early seventies, whiling away their days through a haze of tequila, marijuana and Delicados cigarettes, and awkwardly trying to lose their virginity. The first two storylines are outright silly - they offer no real experience or insight and are self-indulgent to the point of suggesting that the young author should be diagnosed with graphomania. Luckily, the third storyline is engaging and entertaining. It contains numerous real-life elements utilized by Bolaño later in The Savage Detectives, but it's different enough to stand out as a unique work of its own.

3.5 stars, rounded up to 4 because I like Bolaño.

[Michael · Rating 3 out of 5]

This is a new translation of a novella from the trove of unpublished works Bolano left behind when he died in 2003. Another GR reviewer pegs it from when he was about 30 around 1984 (I wish there was more provenance in this advanced reviewer’s copy). I have read his masterful and massive “2666”, but have not yet read his “The Savage Detectives”. Like the latter, much of the action here takes place among literary wannabes in Mexico City, but unlike his two major novels completed during his later years in Spain, there is little focus on political realities and diagnosis of pervasive human evil. Instead, we get her a nostalgic and fanciful look at the ambitions and pleasures of youth and yearning to make a mark in poetry or other literary accomplishment.

The 21-year old narrator, Remo, alternates his account between his friendship with his reclusive 17-year old roommate Jan, who spends a lot of time writing letters to iconic science fiction authors, and his own bohemian adventures and partying with the literary crowd and burgeoning love relationship with Lola, a 19-year old poet. The strange plot of Jan’s novel in progress, featuring a potato research institute and “Unknown University” hidden away in the woods somewhere in Chile, as well as the letters to sci fi authors, are interleaved in a way to cast the mundane, but exuberant life, in Mexico City in an otherworldly light. Another magical realism twist to an otherwise straightforward tale of youthful excess is the very abundance and prevalence of writing talent. Remo learns that there are over 600 poetry and literary journals in Mexico City, tons of writers’ workshops, and almost everyone he meets, no matter how uneducated, has substantial literary knowledge or ambitions.

Don’t expect much in the way of a coherent arc to this tale, which sort of drifts along and flows into various diversions. I often liked this flow. For example, both Jan and Remo become enthralled with a young poet Jose Arco, and Remo gets captivated with his style and mobility through his motorcycle. The freedom of their rides was intoxicating for me. Toward the end, there are a number a strange interludes of Remo and Lola’s strange experiences at public steam baths. Some of the innocence of their love relationship is challenged by events with others that take place there, yet much is retained. This odd way to close the tale feels like an analogy to the whole story being like a memory standing up despite the surprises life presents in the fog and mists that encompass us.

This book was provided by the published for review through the Netgalley program.

[Pedro · Rating 3 out of 5]

Otra obra salida del baúl de los inéditos de Bolaño, muerto en 2003, en su plenitud literaria.
Si "Los sinsabores del verdadero policía" era un borrador de "2666", esta novela podría ser un borrador de "Los detectives salvajes", con textos provenientes de "La Universidad Desconocida".
La novela es entretenida; la capacidad de redacción de Bolaño, sumado a sus referencias enciclopédicas (que, aclaro, no interfieren con la narrativa), alcanzan para darle sabor a una simple historia de la los dos vagabundos anarquistas debatiendo de literatura o deambulando por las calles del DF.
Pero creo que no se pueden esperar milagros: lo mejor de la obra de Bolaño ya ha sido publicado.

[Cosimo · Rating 5 out of 5]

Ti auguro di scrivere cose molto belle

“Erano reali (voglio dire, meravigliosamente reali) solo i sorrisi di Laura dall'altra parte della stanza, sorriso da meteorite, mezzo sorriso calante, sorriso insinuato, sorriso di collega e di fumo, sorriso di coltello a serramanico in un'armeria, sorriso pensieroso e sorriso che s'incontrava col mio, ora sì, senza pretesti: sorrisi cercati, sorrisi che cercavano”.

Per scrivere versi i poeti imparano a guidare le motociclette e rubare i libri tascabili. Ascoltano le storie orali, sconnesse, trascurando quelle scritte; per poi invece mettersi a indagare su riviste letterarie immaginarie, vivendo una vita nomade nella turbinosa metropoli del Districto Federal, decifrando con le gambe e con lo sguardo e con le labbra l'incognita dell'eros giovanile, che è promiscuo e ridicolo, ironico e esibito o vergognoso: ma è necessario. Ci sono tre strutture che si incrociano in questo libro, che risulta meraviglioso perché presentato da una copertina dove si possono toccare le immagini in rilievo di curiose pietre fossili, particelle di polvere cosmica fotografate al microscopio, e prezioso in quanto corredato di una parte analogica di manoscritti e quaderni e disegni del poeta. Tre parti, tre forme testuali ibride compongono un romanzo di giovinezza, di poesia e motociclette, di amore e sesso e di sguardi e sorrisi, febbre e strada, uno espistolare e d'anticipazione, fantastico, pieno di disperato e borgesiano romanticismo, un terzo a intervista, metaletterario e dialogico, profezia di povero idealismo: la scrittura proviene da un io che narra allontanandosi e facendosi esterno, in una sorta di rifrazione antimimetica, con uno stile nato dalla noncuranza e dal coraggio di non pensare al lettore, di dichiararsi incompreso e disinteressato alla trama e al desiderio di piacere. Una scrittura, come ricorda Ilide Carmignani appassionata traduttrice delle parole di Bolaño, che è ”una tempesta elettrica nel cielo notturno”. Le brutture del mondo potenziano la capacità immaginativa; la fantasia è antagonista all'illusione utopica: interrogando il mondo prima o poi questo risponderà. Sono gli anni Settanta underground, Remo Moràn e Jan Schrella vivono molto, leggono molto e scopano molto, con i loro amici radicali e irrazionali, con le tre sorelle Torrente, tutte misteriose e sensuali e José Arco e Laura, Cèsar e Mofles, tra alcol, erba e tabacco, tra loro i rapporti carnali e il futuro mentre si curano a vicenda, rifugiati su terrazze dismesse, scolari di quella Accademia della Patata in un'Università Sconosciuta che trasmette alla radio la storia paradossale e illogica dell'America Latina. Per il tempo di una letttura, futuri detective selvaggi.

“Cara Ursula K. Le Guin, […] È la nostra capacità di tradurre la parola morte la nostra arma? […] Sono i nostri archi e le frecce che salgono verso gli elicotteri come un sogno o come i frammenti dispersi di un sogno la nostra arma? Che cosa ci verrà dato e che cosa dobbiamo prendere per resistere e vincere? Smettere di guardare per sempre la luna?”. “Cara Ursula K. Le Guin, le avevo scritto una lettera ma per fortuna non gliel'ho spedita: era una lettera pretenziosa e piena di domande a cui lei in qualche modo ha già risposto nei suoi libri. Ho diciassette anni e sono nato in Cile, ma adesso vivo a Città del Messico, su un tetto a terrazza da cui si vedono albe straordinarie”.

[Luís · Rating 3 out of 5]

Though more of a collection of scenes and impressions and thinner than his other novels, this work is an intriguing and dreamy portrait of two writers who take different paths in pursuit of their love of literature, hoping to discover their voices.

[Meike · Rating 3 out of 5]

Originally written around 1984, this novel was first published 2016, 13 years after Bolaño's death - and now there's also an English translation. The book tells the story of two young writers trying to make it in Mexico City: Remo is an extrovert, mingling with the literary crowd and hunting for opportunities, while Jan is more introverted and spends his time in their small room on a roof top reading and writing letters to famous science fiction authors like Ursula K. Le Guin, James Tiptree Jr. et al. (Jan is an alter ego of Bolaño himself). The story is told in numerous, uneven vignettes that read like explorations that play with the creation of different, settings, atmospheres and encounters, and while the whole thing does not quite come together (and maybe wasn't intended to), it becomes apparent where the author can go from here.

What unsettles me a little is that my research tells me that it's unclear whether Bolaño ever wanted this text to be published in the first place. It think it is important to honor the wishes of an author when it comes to his legacy, so I hope the publication of this book didn't happen against his will. For Bolaño aficionados, especially fans of The Savage Detectives, "The Spirit of Science Fiction" seems to offer many interesting passages, and also for those new to the author (like me), it gives a glimpse into his unique style.

[Rodrigo Pérez · Rating 1 out of 5]

La mentirosa tirilla del libro reza: "ojalá el arcón de Bolaño no se cierre nunca". Después de leer "El espíritu de la ciencia ficción", nada deseo más que ese arcón nunca se haya abierto. El libro es un esbozo de lo que serían las novelas posteriores del autor chileno, se pueden encontrar las líneas narrativas de "Los detectives salvajes" o de "Amuleto", pero además de ser un esquema, de un esquema, de un esquema que Bolaño no publicó (porque tenía sus razones), y tener un interés para la crítica genética; no es una novela, no es un libro, no es... bueno, nada. Quizá las únicas partes en la cuales hay un interés que está como semilla a explotar, son las cartas que Jan le escribe a ciertos autores de ciencia ficción estadounidenses, y crea preguntas por cómo hacer una ciencia ficción en América Latina. Por lo demás, es un libro descoyuntado, inacabado, un esquema.
Para terminar, la selección de quien hace el prólogo de libro no puede ser peor: intenta justificar el porqué el libro es bueno y debió publicarse y, en el intento, deja ver que el libro no debió publicarse, que es una jugada editorial y que, no aporta nada al lector de Bolaño (no soy uno de ellos, al menos no uno tan apasionado). Las fotos finales de las libretas de Bolaño también son divertidas, pero es claro que funcionan para dos cosas: llenar páginas y servir como un souvenir de consolación para quienes llegamos a la parte final (que ya había sido publicada en "La Universidad desconocida". En otras palabras: un collage mal realizado de borradores, malas introducciones, textos que ya se habían publicado, fotos de agendas y una carga editorial y económica fuerte.
Sí, me dejé convencer por el título y caí... por favor, no lo haga ustedes.

[Giuseppe Sirugo · Rating 3 out of 5]

El espíritu de la ciencia ficción fue escrito en 1984, casi simultáneamente con el libro: Monsieur Pain. Es una obra que se publicó póstumamente. Trata de dos jóvenes poetas de la Ciudad de México que han profundizado sus intereses con revistas que encontraron en la ciudad: algo que de alguna manera llevó a los protagonistas a abandonar las amistades con otros jóvenes escritores para seguir su pasión.

La historia podría haber sido un cuento simple descrito con un alter ego. Largo la narración por parte del protagonista, o de los protagonistas, la exclusión social que el personaje lleva para profundizar y seguir sus propias ideas no es irrelevante: se debe decir que de aquella época todos buscaban el romanticismo. Pero en este caso la circunstancia no hizo más que atraer a los protagonistas en componer cartas con héroes de la ciencia ficción. [...] Entre estos personajes imaginativos y heroicos reaparecen figuras como: el escritor de ciencia ficción Ursula Le Guin, Alice Bradley Sheldon, el novelista Leiber, el autor de la ciencia ficción Philip José Farmer, etc.

Al ser una obra publicada después de la muerte del escritor hace la idea que el libro actual era un boceto que formaba parte del libro I detective selvaggi: otro trabajo del escritor que publicó tardíamente por qué no estaba convencido con cuántas páginas quería terminar libro. Hasta que, después de varios años desde el inicio de la escritura, con un contexto de tres historias “I detective selvaggi” pasó las seiscientas páginas.

El escritor está lejos de las escenas de terror adoptadas en algunas novelas. Sin embargo al componer El espíritu de la ciencia ficción ha sido exuberante. En relación a su vida de escritor y todo el trabajo que ha realizado hay un Roberto Bolaño que muestra presagios y sombras de libros que más tarde en el tiempo escribió, como por ejemplo: Il terzo Reich, Monsieur Pain, o como ya se mencionó Los detectives salvajes, etc. Probablemente es una novela precoz, desordenada y incompleta. Donde prevalecen una serie de alusiones, referencias autoritarias, ganas de hacer, ambición de escribir y fama itinerante.
Tal vez es por esta razón que “El espíritu de la ciencia ficción” parece ser un precursor de otras obras. Como mejor definido: una novela gratificante para los seguidores de Roberto Bolaño que han tenido manera de asimilar el mismo escritor con otras obras.
El libro no es el mejor. Hay que decir que el mismo volumen en su brevedad puede interpretar por lo menos dos cuentos entrelazados. Dos cuentos que ni siquiera están claros. No obstante, se puede entender como otra colección de poemas e historias que salieron a la luz póstumamente.

El escritor ha mostrado mucha organización, acentuada por el hecho que no dejó indicios en haber tenido prisa al ver sus obras inéditas publicadas. Situación utilizada para componer y publicar libros que el escritor chileno ha caracterizado varias veces. El autor fue dispuesto a escribir libros y tal vez dejarlos de publicar cuando él no estaba más en vida; hace años, según notas biográficas que publiqué sobre la enciclopedia Wikipedia, la circunstancia de estar inclinado a dejar cosas que escribió estaba motivada por qué el autor quería devolver un informe económico a los hijos cuando fallecería en la vejez.
La historia del libro es patética, pero es también verdad que el escritor chileno no podría vivir sin ficciones. Este libro confirma la regla que caracterizó su estilo, por ejemplo: la incógnita de las épocas juveniles descifradas por medio de las piernas, con los ojos o con los labios; jóvenes que prefieren escuchar historias verbales sin sentido para descuidar las historias escritas; jóvenes escritores que investigan acontecimientos en revistas literarias imaginarias; personas que aprenden a conducir una motocicletas y a robar libros de bolsillo para convertirse en poetas y escribir versos. Todo puede parecer sin una lógica, pero hay un sentido. Y se debe a la vida poco cómoda y nómada que llevan en la metrópolis del Distrito Federal de México. Dicho esto, ni siquiera es posible excluir anécdotas relacionadas con el estilo poético y narrativo de: Le Guin, Silverberg, Jr. Tiptri. Además, hay una reinterpretación completa de una de las historias más interesantes de Gean Wolfe.

Sin embargo, a juicio propio y cuanto al lector ocasional de Roberto Bolaño, la anécdota que más me involucró no es lo que escribió el poeta mexicano ni las alusiones a otros libros suyos. Por qué es el espíritu de aventura con el cual comenzó a escribir esta novela: chicos que de alguna manera están obsesionados y fascinados por la vida que se manifiesta durante la noche. Hecha de lecturas, escritos y diálogos: esto porque durante la noche es como si todo estuviera cristalizado en una sola dimensión que no encuentra escapatoria. La cosa más inminente que se puede presentar para distraerlos de ese túnel mental que toman todas las noches es la muerte. Es una condición que los lleva a estar aterrorizados del nuevo día. Esto es porque viven en el corazón de la noche. Al amanecer es como si todo cayera en una oscuridad total o en un vacío: desde el cristal de la ventana, con la primera luz de la mañana se dan cuenta que sus sombras comienza a presionar contra la pared. Algo que angustia a estos jóvenes poetas.
Todo el trastorno que largo las horas nocturnas acompañó a estos jóvenes y amigos poetas con la primera luz del alba desvanece. Como si fuera un sueño nocturno que los condujo cerca la muerte. Es precisamente con el amanecer que estos jóvenes mexicanos comienzan a percibir el miedo. El amanecer, con su propio sentimiento de infundir terror susurra los jóvenes poetas: "Hola, pequeños cobardes, ¿saben quién soy? Soy el amanecer mexicano que siempre gana a la muerte". Solo en ese momento estos jóvenes yuppie pueden ir bajo las mantas quedándose dormidos. Tal vez, es solo en este momento que los jóvenes poetas mexicanos logran despertarse después de una noche que según ellos podría durar tres días. A veces es solo en ese momento que pueden levantarse para ir a la cocina a tomar una taza de té caliente y preguntarse: "¿Qué estorbo este amanecer?"

Nada. Lo comentado anteriormente es el espíritu de aventura, la conexión o el punto de comienzo de estos jóvenes poetas.
El libro “El espíritu de la ciencia ficción” no es el trabajo más logrado del escritor chileno. Probablemente la popularidad alcanzada se debe al hecho que el libro fue encontrado y publicado después de su muerte. Algo que en la esfera literaria hizo que el autor chileno superó a todos los escritores contemporáneos.

[Makis Dionis · Rating 5 out of 5]

Μια υπόκλιση, αλλόκοτη, μπροστά στα εγκλήματα και στα κοσμήματα.

Μια υπόκλιση στα υπέροχα ξημερώματα στις ταράτσες της Πόλης του Μεξικό

Ο Γιαν Σκρέγια (Μπολανιο) γράφει για αυτά που αξίζει να ερωτευτούμε και να μας ταξιδέψουν

Η υπέροχη αίσθηση του ψιθυρισματος του Μπολανιο στο αυτί


Ποιον πρέπει να φιλήσουμε για να ξυπνήσει και να λύσει τα μαγια; Την Τρέλα ή την Ομορφιά;

[George-Icaros Babassakis · Rating 5 out of 5]

Ο Χεγκελιανός Χαλυβουργός Roberto Bolaño σε ένα καλειδοσκοπικό μυθιστόρημα, γεμάτο χιούμορ, αγάπη για τη λογοτεχνία, και στραφταλιστές φράσεις.

[foteini_dl · Rating 4 out of 5]

Το να μην έχεις βρει τον δρόμο σου (αν υποθέσουμε ότι τον βρίσκουμε κάποτε) και να είσαι ανασφαλής δεν είναι απαραίτητα κακό. Ενίοτε, έχει και μια γοητεία που χάνεται με την ωριμότητα.

Έτσι και εδώ, ο Μπολάνιο γοητεύει. Μας ψιθυρίζει στο αυτί αργά το βράδυ ιστορίες για την Πόλη του Μεξικό, για τους παράξενους, λες και είναι βγαλμένοι από όνειρο, ανθρώπους της και για τον έρωτα τον νεανικό, αυτό που δε θα ξαναζήσουμε μεγαλώνοντας (όποια μορφή κι αν έχει αυτός).

Άντε τώρα να κρίνεις αντικειμενικά τον Μπολάνιο. Μπορείς;

[Zaphirenia · Rating 3 out of 5]

Ωραίο βιβλίο, όχι από τα καλύτερά του υποθέτω, αλλά ωραίο. Στον πρόλογο λέει ότι είναι από τα πρώτα που έγραψε, τολμώ να πω ότι φαίνεται. Προφανώς δεν είναι από τα πιο γνωστά του, αλλιώς δε θα χρειαζόταν να μας τραβήξει την προσοχή ο εκδότης με αυτά τα τεράστια γράμματα στο όνομα του συγγραφέα.

[MJ Nicholls · Rating 2 out of 5]

I pledged never to read these posthumous bottom-drawer shavings from the writer’s table, although the lipsmacking title, my nine-year absence from things Bolaño-shaped, and warm recollections of Nazi Lit & 2666 pulled me towards the latest legacy milking. Moral: NEVER BETRAY NINE-YEAR-OLD PLEDGES.

[N · Rating 4 out of 5]

Ah, eternal Bolano. This is an enjoyable romp across Mexico City between poets Jan and Reno. Jan is introverted, writing letters to his favorite Science Fiction writers, and his letters to Ursula K. Le Guin is a delightful tribute to her work.

Reno is young, horny, and wants to experiment on a life of debauchery and constant sex. And there's Laura- a pretty girl who enters the picture. It's a beautiful ode to being young and reckless- and has some of the most tender sentences written by one literature’s most playful masters.

"The color of the stones around the pool, surely the saddest color I saw in the course of our expeditions, comparable only to the color of some gazes, workers in the hallways, whom I no longer remember, but who were surely there".

"For an instant, instead of flesh and blood people, we were two cartoon characters. I said: "I feel like we're two cartoon characters pasted onto the real world. Or maybe the world isn't so real after all".

[ΠανωςΚ · Rating 5 out of 5]

Πέντε αστεράκια, μια καθόλου ψύχραιμη, καθόλου αντικειμενική αποτίμηση αυτού που μόλις διάβασα. Ο Μπολάνιο, δεν βαριέμαι να το επαναλαμβάνω, με εκνευρίζει, έχει ένα σκασμό ελαττώματα, και ως επί το πλείστον γράφει για πράγματα που δεν με ενδιαφέρουν, που δεν τα γνωρίζω και που μάλλον δεν με ενδιαφέρει να τα γνωρίσω (εν προκειμένω, δεν πολυκατέχω, ούτε με πολυενδιαφέρει η επιστημονική φαντασία), ενίοτε δε γράφει ακατανόητα. Στο συγκεκριμένο, συχνά είναι ακατανόητος και είναι ολοφάνερο ότι βρίσκεται ακόμη στα πρώτα του βήματα. Ομως: Ευχαριστιέμαι απίστευτα να τον διαβάζω, ειδικά σε αυτά τα ελαττωματικά, μη κοινώς αποδεκτά ως αριστουργήματα έργα του. Και για να το πω ευθαρσώς, τον προτιμώ έτσι ατελή παρά τελειομανή ποζερά στο 2666.

[Matthew Ted · Rating 4 out of 5]

71st book of 2023.

3.5. Finally read a Bolaño, which is crazy as I've read about him so often, even got a bit obsessed with the idea of Bolaño: the part-time jobs, being third in the transplant queue when he died, calling his wife his only 'motherland', remarking that 'posthumous' sounds like a Roman gladiator... And despite owning The Savage Detectives and 2666, I haven't got round to either of them. The other day at work I saw this on the shelf and thought, OK, a small entry. It was as fragmented and strange as I hoped, I guess. There's two young writer/poets in Mexico city, there are letters to sci-fi writers like le Guin, there is a motorbike, lots of Nazi references, the strange bathhouse at the end... The final part is utterly bizarre, titled 'Mexican Manifesto', but also strangely affecting. As I was reading it I began to feel as hot and feverish as the protagonist. Art, sex, drugs, rambling stories. Guess I'll be reading more Bolaño this year.

[Jonfaith · Rating 5 out of 5]

Another notch, further nostalgia and a stirring survey of what it means to be young and thirst for both Art and absolution. I refuse to capitalize the latter.

Two aspiring writers live in a rooftop garret in Mexico City. Science fiction and poetry fill their heads while their stomachs suffer from deprivation. Wanting to be heard and acknowledged amidst the pincer movements of the soul. There are apparently six hundred literary magazines (a decade before the Zines of the Clinton years) at some level of activity throughout the city and one of the pair pens letters to established sci-fi authors hoping for recognition. The PRI and Reagan are barely acknowledged, taking a safe stance on the political vision of poets who’s Cold War concerns the liver and the libido.

This work appears shamelessly inchoate and undoubtedly wasn’t ready for publication. I still loved it.

[Fabian · Rating 5 out of 5]

To me, her smile is still the terminal smile of that other Mexico, a place sometimes revealed between the folds of a random dawn: part rabid will to live, part sacrifice stone." (79)

Like these apocryphal texts (one of his most common themes) he speaks of, after the death of the promising writer, his stories/novels/books were published... scattered to the wind. Some of his novels are like unfinished pieces of a larger novel--and they are. It all belongs to the same world of the Mexico DF writers, poets, bohemians. Here we again meet the main character of "Amulet" and the two young poets from "The Savage Detectives." Smack in the middle, the beautiful writer manages to put these beloved faux poets and writers in a little room in a comical way. Because! He! Can! (2666 is a novel claimed to be incomplete, and yet it is a whole other world from "Detectives," "Nazi Literature in the Americas," "Secret of Evil", "Monsieur Pain" and "Amulet." (The first and last title in this list, of the books I've read personally, are his masterworks, along with 2666... and this one.)

It was jarring: the novel ends with a "Mexican Manifesto" and boy o boy can I relate to everything the writer says about Mexico, his adoptive country. No one before has gone to the streets of DF, Buenos Aires, Paris in this manner, or in this contemporary (albeit from the 50s) way. His voice is unique, his prose is exquisite. He writes of the artist in absolute perfection, giving us the madman and hero that a writer really is. Bolano died young and he dedicates his writing to greats who died young (fiction or real, it DOES NOT MATTER), or who were completely forgotten. All his novels are petitions from the writer (Q.E.P.D.) to continue to exist after death and avoid being forgotten. I will read the all!

[Will · Rating 3 out of 5]

It's Bolaño. Not his best, but it is still Bolaño, always worth reading.

[Abolfazl Nasri · Rating 3 out of 5]

ساده بگم من این کتاب رو نفهمیدم.

[Gilda Bonelli · Rating 3 out of 5]

Lo spirito della fantascienza fu scritto nel 1984, quasi contemporaneamente al libro: Monsieur Pain, ed è un altro lavoro che venne pubblicato postumo. La storia sarebbe potuta essere un racconto sobrio, descritto con relativo alter ego: la narrazione è quella di due giovani poeti della Città del Messico che hanno approfondito i loro interessi con le riviste che si trovano in giro per la città. Cosa che in un qual modo ha portato i protagonisti ad abbandonare le amicizie nei confronti di altri giovani scrittori.
Lungo la narrazione per parte del protagonista, o dei protagonisti, l’esclusione sociale che porta ad approfondire e seguire le proprie idee da scrivere non è irrilevante: c’è da dire che del loro periodo ognuno si cercava il romanticismo come meglio poteva. Ma in questo caso la circostanza non ha fatto altro che trarre i protagonisti a comporre lettere con eroi della fantascienza. Fra questi personaggi fantasiosi ed eroici ci sono o si ripresentano figure come: la scrittrice di fantascienza Ursula Le Guin, Alice Bradley Sheldon, il novellista Leiber, l’autore di fantascienza Philip José Farmer, etc. Essendo un lavoro pubblicato dopo la morte dello scrittore rende l’idea che l’attuale libro era un abbozzo che faceva parte del libro I detective selvaggi: altro lavoro dello scrittore per il quale lo stesso tardò molti anni nel pubblicarlo poiché non era convinto con quante pagine l’avrebbe voluto terminare, sino a quando, dopo differenti anni da l’inizio della scrittura con un contesto di tre racconti oltrepassò le seicento pagine.

Lo scrittore è distante dalle scene di terrore adottate in alcuni dei suoi romanzi. Però, al contempo, nel comporre Lo spirito della fantascienza è stato esuberante: nei confronti della propria vita di scrittore e di tutti i lavori che ha realizzato si ha un Roberto Bolaño che mostra presagi e ombre dei libri che avrebbe scritto o che nell’attuale periodo stava scrivendo, come per esempio: Il terzo Reich, Monsieur Pain, o come si è già menzionato I detective selvaggi, etc. Probabilmente è un romanzo precoce, disordinato e incompleto. Dove sono prevalsi una serie di allusioni, riferimenti autoritari, il desiderio, l’ambizione di scrivere e una fama itinerante. Ed è per questo motivo che 'Lo spirito della fantascienza' pare essere un precursore di altre opere. Come meglio definirlo: un romanzo gratificante per i seguaci di Roberto Bolaño che hanno avuto modo di assimilarlo con altri lavori.
Il libro non è dei migliori, però è sempre un romanzo: da dire che lo stesso volume nella sua brevità si può interpretare come due romanzi intrecciati che sono poco chiari. Comunque lo si possa intendere fa parte di un’altra raccolta di poesie e racconti venuti alla luce postumi: sotto un altro punto di vista lo scrittore ha mostrato molta organizzazione, accentuata dal fatto che non ha lasciato indicazioni nell’aver avuto premura e nel veder le proprie opere inedite venute alla luce. Situazione usata per comporre e pubblicare libri che ha caratterizzato più volte lo scrittore cileno poiché è stato propenso sempre a voler scrivere libri e magari lasciarli da pubblicare quando lui non ci sarebbe stato più; anni addietro, secondo voci biografiche che in un secondo momento ho pubblicato anche sulla enciclopedia Wikipedia, a volte la circostanza di essere propenso a voler tralasciare cose che scriveva trovava movente nel voler fare tornare un resoconto economico ai figli quando lui ormai in età avanzata non ci sarebbe stato più.
La storia del libro è patetica, ma è anche vero che lo scrittore cileno non poteva vivere senza finzioni. E questo libro conferma la regola che caratterizzò il suo stile, ad esempio: l'incognita dell'eros giovanile decifrato mediante le gambe, con lo sguardo oppure con le labbra; giovani che preferiscono ascoltare le storie verbali e prive di senso per poi trascurare i racconti scritti; giovani scrittori che indagano avvenimenti su riviste letterarie immaginarie; persone che imparano a guidare le motociclette e rubare i libri tascabili per diventare poeti e scrivere i versi. Il tutto potrebbe apparire privo di logica, però un senso c’è. Ed è dovuto dalla vita nomade che conducono nella incalzante metropoli del Distretto Federale Messicano. Detto ciò, non sono nemmeno da escludere aneddoti riferibili allo stile poetico e narrativo di: Le Guin, Silverberg, Jr. Tiptri. Inoltre c'è una rivisitazione completa di una delle storie più interessanti di Gean Wolfe.
Tuttavia, a giudizio proprio, e quanto a discepolo di Roberto Bolaño, l’aneddoto che più mi ha coinvolto non è stato ciò che il poeta messicano ha scritto o le allusioni nei confronti di altri libri suoi. Ma è lo spirito d’avventura col quale aveva iniziato a scrivere questo romanzo: ragazzi che in un qual modo sono ossessionati e affascinati dalla vita che si manifesta durante la notte. Fatta di lettura, scritti e dialoghi: questo perché durante la notte è come se tutto si cristallizzasse in un’unica dimensione che non trova via di fuga, e la cosa più imminente che si può presentare magari per distoglierli da quel tunnel mentale che imboccano tutte le santi notti è la morte! Circostanza che li porta a essere terrorizzati del nuovo giorno. Perché quando spunta l‘alba è come se tutto precipitasse in un buio o un in vuoto totale, che in opposizione alla realtà viene accentuato dalla condizione che dal vetro della finestra quella luce mattutina inizia a premere le ombre loro contro il muro. [...] Tutto il frastorno che a questi giovani e amici poeti ha fatto compagnia durante le ore notturne con la prima luce dell’alba svanisce. Come fosse stato un sogno notturno che li portava verso la morte. Ed è proprio con l’alba che questi giovani messicani iniziano a percepire il timore, che col proprio sentimento d’incutere paura gli sussurra: "Ciao piccoli codardi. Sai chi sono? Sono l'alba messicana che batte sempre la morte." … Solo a quel punto questi giovani yuppie riescono a mettersi sotto le coperte e ad addormentarsi. Diversamente, è solo a quel punto che questi giovani poeti messicani riescono a svegliarsi dopo una notte che secondo loro sarà potuta durare tre giorni. Tal volta è solo a quel punto che riescono ad alzarsi per andare in cucina a farsi una tazza di tè caldo e per domandarsi: "Che rompiscatole questa alba?"

Concludendo, Lo spirito della fantascienza, non è l’opera più compiuta dello scrittore cileno. E probabilmente la popolarità che riuscì ad acquisire è dovuta al fatto che il libro venne ritrovato e pubblicato dopo la sua morte, cosa che in ambito letterale fece sì che l'autore cileno superasse tutti gli scrittori contemporanei!

[Archibald Tatum · Rating 4 out of 5]

Elkezdtem olvasni a könyvet – az előszót, vagy mit átugorva – és megállapítottam, ha nem tudtam volna, hogy Bolaño a szerző, ezt a szöveget akkor is folytatom: annyira jó volt már az első párbeszéd is.


Ezek jutottak eszembe olvasás közben:

Azok a könyvek okoznak örömet, amelyek elgondolkoztatnak. Olvasok és gondolataim támadnak, olykor egészen messze sodornak a könyvtől. Van-e Bolaño regényeiben valami rejtett tétel? Mert mintha azt sugallná minden, a szerző is, hogy van. De én soha nem találom, és ahogy látom, soha senki nem találja. A titok érzete lebegi be a szöveget, miközben nincs is titok, legalábbis olyan nincs, ami megfejthető lenne. Néha azért vannak konkrétabb titkok: igaz-e, hogy Mexikóvárosban adott évben 600-nál is több irodalmi lap jelent meg? Aztán meg, ehhez a bizarr kis nyomozáshoz kapcsolódóan: hogyan lássam ezeket a latin-amerikai kamaszokat, akik ilyen komolyan veszik az irodalmat? Egyáltalán, mi is ez, irodalom vagy irodalmi élet? Bolaño nem ítélkezik, leír, ez volt – én nem tudom egy kissé (sajnos) lenéző derültség nélkül olvasni. Azt is kérdeztem itt magamtól: van-e jelentősége az irodalomnak? A bélyeggyűjtők véresen komolyan veszik a bélyeggyűjtést, az irodalmárok az irodalmat. Mégis nevetségesnek láttam a lányokat és a srácokat – ugyanakkor a regényhez csapott darab, talán egy külön elbeszélés inkább, olyan káprázatos (és kafkai), hogy mégsem mondanám, hogy az irodalom nevetséges vagy értelmetlen (és eszembe jutott Gogol is, amint őrületében égeti az írásait) – arra jutottam, az ún. irodalmi élet a nevetséges, az irodalom, az alkotás – vigyázni a pátosszal! – éppen nem az – de hát az irodalom egyéni és személyes jelenség. Jó lenne, ha létezne irodalom irodalmi élet nélkül. És – még mindig olvasás közben gondolkodtam – így is áll a dolog: az irodalom nem az irodalmi életből keletkezik, attól teljesen független, a kép ugyan közkedvelt, a trágyadombon virágok nyílnak, de itt nem igaz. Ha Bolaño nem jár ebbe a társaságba, akkor másikba jár, és arról ír.


Valahogy így olvasgattam (de végig!, csak nem kívánok az olvasó türelmével visszaélni), el-elgondolkodva, élvezve a stílust, vagy mit, nagyon szeretem, ahogy ez az ember ír (Vonnegut tanácsolja az íróknak, hogy ne pazarolják vadidegen emberek idejét, Bolaño ennek szellemében jár el), több vonatkozásban is hasonlatosnak találom Austerhez – csak míg utóbbi mintha (nekem úgy tűnik) megkopott volna, papírízű lett, Bolaño „posztmodernizmusa” eleven (nekem, nekem).


(A csillagok száma a későbbi munkáihoz viszonyítva értendő, ezt 31 évesen írta.)

[Lee Foust · Rating 5 out of 5]

While I see that this posthumous Bolaño novel (someone here says that is was found, even perhaps unfinished, on his hard drive after his death) has taken a bit of a beating here on Goodreads, I'm going to go way out on a limb and say not only that it is a good novel well worth reading, but also that it may be my favorite Bolaño novel. No, it doesn't have the epic grandeur of either The Savage Detectives or 2666 (which I've yet to read--saving it up as a finale of sorts while I read the earlier novels), or the holistic perfection of some of the more controlled shorter tales (A Little Lumpen Novelito or Amulet), this one acts as a kind of key to the Bolaño I love the most, the mode in which he tries, it seems to me, to evoke the heady days of his own youth and his generation's jumping into the historical stream of poetry, the eternal Bohemian brotherhood of art and literature, and to capture the moment in Mexico City in which he himself joined this lovable if eternally doomed cultural enterprise that is the endless striving toward the creation of new art/verse/literature somehow also in line with the avant-garde tradition where writers find solace in the tradition while the world at large either ignores or admonishes us for our exquisitely useless works in a world that often seems only to value capital gain through the buying and selling of useless junk over the sublime creation of images, words, and thoughts that might bring some solace to others in such a dreary materialistic world.

Obviously The Savage Detectives is the centerpiece of these works, the shaggy masterpiece that came of Bolaño's gesture, but I find this, Amulet, and even Nazi Literature in the Americas and Distant Star, although the latter two are also a bit unique and of a slightly different mindset, all to come together into an even greater, if perhaps also even shaggier, cumulative masterpiece when read together as a kind of restless series of attempts to evoke the same scenes, feelings, and, ultimately, to say the same thing: I was here at this particular historical moment, I was both a part of a longstanding literary heritage as well as a particular literary scene in a single moment in time and place, and me and my friends were lovable crazy poets both on the page and in life. I suppose Henri Murgere's Scene from Bohemian Life, Hemingway's "Lost generation" chronicle A Movable Feast, my own attempt to catalogue the San Francisco underground of the 1980s, Poison and Antidote, and, most notably, the Kerouac of On the Road, Lonesome Traveler, The Subterraneans and others, are all spiritually similar projects. I'm sure there are plenty of others I'm not thinking of right now as well.

But what made The Spirit of Science Fiction so key for me were two things. Firstly, as I said above, it acts as a kind of key to unlocking the similarities of several of Bolaño's novels written in this mode and therefore I find it indispensable for isolating and considering these disparate works as a kind of single artistic gesture--will someone not combine them into a single, enormous volume? And, secondly, the motif of science fiction--as opposed to Dada and the international avant-garde of The Savage Detectives was far more unexpected and charming and almost worked better to bring these 1970s central and South American characters into a single brotherhood with North American and European literature than did the Dada motif. So I loved reading it as a single volume for these things, and particularly loved it (or also loved it) for how it illuminated this thread running through several of Bolaño's novels--maybe the short stories and verse as well, but I just haven't gotten there yet. (But I will get there!)

But, yes, there's also some shagginess here as well. Of the three or four threads of the novel, the interview--which kicks off the book--kind of fizzles half-way through so perhaps could have been omitted or expanded--although there is an attempt, within the narrative that eventually comes to dominate the latter half, to do a coda to it. That coda was enough for me, but I also see how it could not work for other readers. This might well be why Bolaño himself either saw the work as unfinished or a failed experiment. Also the last section, "Mexican Manifesto," although attached to what comes before in its characters, goes off on a wholly new road and might as well be a stand-alone text as it tackles a completely new theme and therefore fails to close the previous narrative with anything other than a kind of "And then there was this," segue that was perhaps more true to life than art. So while readers who admire the holistic "traditional" novel form (Steven Moore has pretty much blasted this concept, I have to say) will be frustrated, even if this really isn't so different than the oddly crammed together middle section of The Savage Detectives or the disparate entries in the phony catalogue of American writers profiled in Nazi Literature in the Americas.

Also the digression of sorts on war gaming in the middle here helped to explain the otherwise, within Bolaño's oeuvres, odd and stand-alone also posthumous The Third Reich.

Next up for me is By Night in Chile--apparently another stand-alone like Monsieur Pain, The Little Lumpen Novelito, and The Skating Rink, and then on to 2666.

[Guillermo Jiménez · Rating 5 out of 5]

Desde lo primero que leí de este autor, Estrella Distante, continuando con Los detectives salvajes y con todo lo demás, sentí que ingresaba a un espacio literario anómalo, un espacio literario con muchísimas referencias y lugares comunes y que es capaz de hacerle honor a lo mejor de la tradición literaria, a las rupturas e -ismos, y aún así, darle un nuevo giro a lo que buscamos algunos lectores en la lectura de libros.

Extrañamente, no he comentado a mi autor preferido de todos los tiempos en Goodreads. Cuando abrí esta cuenta, lo apunté como un utópico proyecto de relectura de las obras del chileno, con miras a escribir mis comentarios: cartas escritas y puestas dentro de una botella sin tapa y lanzadas al mar.

El puro prólogo que escribe Domínguez Michael, y que incluye ahora la nueva casa editorial de la obra de Bolaño, pone, a mí parecer, al lector sobre aviso, y sobre el peso, de lo que a continuación se puede leer: estamos leyendo a un grande, antes de serlo. Estamos leyendo al hijo extraviado de la literatura latinoamericana, desde el más allá.

EEDLC-F podríamos leerlo con una especie de lado-b de Los detectives salvajes, hay puntos de encuentro con el Tercer Reich, con algunos relatos, y sobre todo, lo que a mí me gustó más, esta novela echa luz a casi toda la obra del escritor, y a esa compilación de su obra poética que es La Universidad Desconocida, que me parece todo un homenaje satírico monumental al nombre de la serie La Dimensión Desconocida.

La ciencia ficción siempre ha estado conmigo, y siempre me ha extrañado su poder, su magnetismo; más de una vez le pregunté a mi papá por qué la leía; y yo mismo, el primer libro completo que leí cuando era niño --fuera de cuentos infantiles-- fue una antología de relatos de ciencia ficción que incluía a Bradbury, Asimov, Pohl, Silverberg, entre otros.

Más de un recuerdo que sin preguntarme me viene a la mente, estoy seguro que es auspiciado por esas lecturas, más de un brillo de lucidez en mi mente cuando comprende algo de mi alrededor, sé que es gracias a esas obras, por ello, confirmar que ese mundo fue importante en la formación de Bolaño, y que además, fue detonante de algunos de sus temas y de sus observaciones me parece más que agradable.

Bolaño, como Borges, como Macedonio o Piglia o Cortázar --y no sé por qué después de esta lectura solo logro anclarlo a autores argentinos-- también se valió de los géneros literarios para construir una obra sin par en la literatura de habla hispana, Bolaño fue lo suficientemente transgresor para valerse de las herramientas que necesitara para conformar su obra, meter una conferencia o un artículo entre un par de relatos y con eso dar otro cosmos a la lectura, fue lo suficientemente disruptivo, pero también lo suficientemente cuerdo como para escribir una obra que pudiéramos leer, que medianamente pudiéramos entender, porque, algo más en la fila de David Foster Wallace que de Pynchon (por fin salí del cono sur), es decir, algo más que apunta a una nueva distancia, al “relato largo”, como en un juego de estrategia; ahí donde los posmodernos apuntan al quiebre total, a la fragmentación absoluta, pareciera que Bolaño apuntó en una dirección que ni siquiera alcanzamos a ver, que es imposible ver, su objetivo, su blanco, está en el futuro, en lo más incierto del tiempo, en lo más absurdo de la imaginación.

Y quizá por eso, sea posible que de en el centro.

Que vengan más armatostes de Bolaño, que sigan armando frankensteines con sus cuadernos y apuntes y textos. Aquí los esperamos con gusto.

[jeremy · Rating 3 out of 5]

written in 1984 (around the time of monsieur pain), roberto bolaño's the spirit of science fiction (el espíritu de la ciencia-ficción) is another of the late chilean's posthumously published earlier works. presaging themes that would be more fully (and successfully) explored in later writings, the spirit of science fiction is the story of two young mexico city poets (jan and remo, the former a literary alias for the author himself) intrigued by the recent unprecedented (and perhaps record-setting) proliferation of literary journals and magazines around the city. whereas jan spends most of his days flat-bound composing letters to his science fiction heroes (ursula k. le guin, james tiptree jr., fritz leiber, philip josé farmer, etc.), remo indulges the friendships of his fellow young writers – each seeking romance as best they can.

while the spirit of science fiction seems like a thinly-sketched precursor to the savage detectives, it also offers, perhaps, a more ebullient bolaño seldom seen elsewhere. nearly wholly absent are the dread, foreboding, and shadowy scenes that seem to so effortlessly abound in later books. nazis, war/board games, the "unknown university" (its origin revealed herein), youthful unrest and ambition, itinerant yearning for literary fame, and a host of allusions and authorial references can all be found in the spirit of science fiction. this novel, however, will likely be most rewarding to devotees who have already enjoyed and assimilated his other works (this certainly isn't the place to start for any readers embarking upon constellation bolaño for the first time).

apparently, another novel (or two), another poetry collection, and another short story collection have been discovered since his death 15 years ago. from many accounts, bolaño was a very organized writer and there seem to be indications that he wished to have his unpublished works see the light of day (for more on this, see shaj mathew's 2013 guernica piece).

the joys of bolaño's fiction are legion, though the ways his books, characters, and stories entangle one another are tantalizingly intriguing. the spirit of science fiction, to be sure, isn't bolaño's most accomplished outing, yet, as with every piece of his writing later published (and eventually translated), we're treated to a more complete picture of the creative stellar cluster which, as a totality, outshined nearly every one of his contemporaries.

but sunrise came, and the fear went away. it was a sunrise that said hello, hello, little cowards, hello, hello. do you know who i am? as it pushed on the windowpane and pressed our shadows against the wall. of course, i said. five minutes later, half asleep and pulling the sheet over his head, jan said: of course, you're the incredible sunrise that promised to show up every three days. exactly, exactly, said the sunrise, and we yawned, made tea—kind of a pain in the ass, this sunrise, don't you think?—we smoked, we told each other our dreams. hello, hello, yippee! i'm the mexican sunrise that always beats death.

*translated from the spanish by natasha wimmer (the savage detectives, 2666, vargas llosa, enrigue, giralt torrente, restrepo, fresán, zaid, et al.)

[Gabriela Ventura · Rating 3 out of 5]

Aquela velha polêmica: é válido publicar todo guardanapinho no qual algum autor já morto um dia ensaiou umas linhas? Mesmo que ele fosse então muito jovem e o guardanapinho estivesse muito ensebado?

Eu não tenho respostas para isso, porque essas questões suscitam dilemas que não são exatamente dilemas para mim. Nesse sentido sou bastante pragmática. A vontade do autor está definitivamente anulada com a morte do mesmo: se você não quer pensar nos seus guardanapinhos post-mortem, trate de queimá-los enquanto é tempo - o mesmo vale para redes sociais, e-mails e seu histórico de busca em navegadores. Tampouco acredito nessa história de manchar a honra de alguém publicando escritos menores, porque esse é um conceito muito tolo: ninguém nasce um Bolaño; torna-se um Bolaño. E quem acreditou naquela carta do Pessoa na qual ele diz que escreveu em pé, numa noite febril, todos os poemas de O Guardador de Rebanhos (pra depois remexerem na arca do autor e encontrarem mil rascunhos) 1) é um inocente e 2) ainda acha que o Caeiro de fato guardava rebanhos quando o diabo da primeiro verso do poema diz EU NUNCA GUARDEI REBANHOS. A palavra chave é atenção.

O que eu tenho é um resposta para uma pergunta que no geral não é formulada: "Nós deveríamos comprar e ler esses guardanapinhos caça níqueis?" A resposta é: depende. Não é exatamente satisfatória, mas juro que não tô tirando o meu da reta. Para quem gosta da satisfação dos grandes livros, não acho que os manuscritos perdidos façam sequer cosquinha nas sensibilidades. Mas sempre tem a galera da engenharia reversa, que quer entender o processo e o amadurecimento de determinado autor.

Essa pataquada toda (minhas "resenhas" estão cada vez menos parecidas com resenhas) é só para dizer: o livro no geral é fraco, mas há momentos brilhantes. As cartas de Jan para os autores de Ficção Científica, as entrevistas com o autor premiado e, sobretudo, a cena final, que é toda Bolaño. (O que já é, não o que virá a ser).

Sou do time da engenharia reversa, é claro.

[Noel]

A book about young poets in 70s Mexico City. Well, not that one.

This is to the Savage Detectives what Woes of the True Policeman is to 2666. A first stab at something that will later be a masterpiece. An interesting artifact.
That being said, this is for Bolaño completists. If you want to read his fiction but is daunted by the big books, read Distant Star or By Night in Chile instead. Or the stories in Last Evenings on Earth.
--
A couple of years ago, I saw a Bolaño exhibit at the Centre de Cultura Contemporània de Barcelona. They say that there’s still a dozen or so unedited, unpublished ‘novels’ found in his desk (plus stories, scraps of papers with things written on them, etc). This is one of them. I’m okay with them being published. I’ll read anything by Bolaño. But I think the publisher should point that out. This is not a novel. (Well what is a novel? True. But this is clearly some sort of a draft, a first try).
They should include this in a ‘Bolaño Basement Tape Series’ or something like that.