Writing and Other Afflictions

"If it was easy, everyone would do it." –Jimmy Dugan, "A League of Their Own"

Category Archives: literature

Review: 2666

2666, by Roberto Bolaño
A sprawling, epic, literary journey through Europe and Mexico.

I have gotten into the habit of assigning grades out of ten to the books I read, and I find that most of the ones I enjoy end up getting grades around 8. I have no idea how to grade 2666. I never got tired of it, as I did Europe Central, but I can’t really say I would recommend it enthusiastically. I’m glad I read it, because and in spite of the fact that it doesn’t conform to the style of books I usually read, but I can’t think of anyone I know that I would highly recommend it to.

It begins with the story of four scholars of German literature, all devoted to a particular novelist by the name of Benno von Archimboldi. The man himself is a recluse, and so the search for him becomes as important to the scholars as the search for the meaning of his books. It leads them to a Mexican city, Santa Teresa, where Archimboldi may or may not have been found. There they meet a professor by the name of Amalfitano, and hear about a series of killings of women in the town that remains unsolved.

The second part tells the story of Amalfitano, and that is all we will hear of the scholars we have gotten to know in part I. Amalfitano, a professor whose strange obsessions with certain numbers and aspects of scientific theory drove him to Mexico from Spain, brings his daughter to Santa Teresa. In the third part, an American journalist named Oscar Fate travels to Santa Teresa to cover a boxing match, becomes intrigued by the murders of women, and meets Amalfitano’s daughter.

Part four is a recital of the various murders, 108 of them, almost as a police report. Interwoven with those reports are the stories of a young bodyguard-turned-cop, a seer, a detective who falls in love with the head of an insane asylum, and the owner of a computer repair store, a German-born naturalized American named Klaus Haas, who goes to prison under suspicion of having committed some of the crimes. Surprisingly, though I was most apprehensive about reading this part, it turned out to be the most engaging and offers at least a partial resolution.

And part five, finally, is about Archimboldi. It does not reveal much about him except to show us what has happened to him. It shows the writing of his books but not what they are about; why his publisher loves him, but only in the abstract (“he was restoring German literature to its rightful place”); the troubles he experienced but not, really, anything about him. He remains a remote and fairly mysterious figure in his own narrative. We do find out why he traveled to Santa Teresa, and the end of the book is, if not a resolution, at least a satisfying note, a very “Remains of the Day” sort of thing.

Bolaño writes in a variety of styles; he is just as likely to use a two-word sentence as he is a two-page one (you think I’m joking, but I’m not). He will wander off course to tell you the story of a minor character, he will embed narratives within narratives (the young Archimboldi at one point begins reading a journal he finds, in which the author begins to recount other stories), he will be poetically lyrical or brutally terse. I am certain that there is a point, a unifying theme, but I only know this because some of the reviews have told me so. This is the sort of book I would have to read over again in order to pick out these things; it is the kind of book one would have to study, and at 900 pages, I would rather register my admiration for the scope of the work and move on.

There are passages I loved, and very few passages I felt the urge to skip over. This is an unusual, unique book. If that sort of thing interests you, then I highly recommend it. If you are looking for something with a cohesive story arc, with characters who change according to what happens to them, to narratives that don’t stray for more than a paragraph or two from their central story, then this is probably not the book for you.

To Chase The Sublime

Via Maud Newton, whose blog I’ve only recently started to read: a hysterical satire of literary criticism.

Wow, Fiction Works!

I had to bite my hand to keep from laughing out loud in the office at the following excerpt:

We could all do worse than to write like Saul Bellow. And when I say write like Saul Bellow, I mean be Saul Bellow. And when I say be Saul Bellow, I mean unzip the skin from his body and wear it as a sort of Saul Bellow suit so that we can get cozy in it and truly inhabit it and understand the Old Macher.