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Me and Sylvia on the canal in Qibao (April 2011)

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A good book is the precious lifeblood of a master spirit, embalmed and treasured up on purpose to a life beyond life.

John Milton


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Tuesday, December 13th, 2011

🦋 Chanting Sonoran Desert

The incantatory force of García Madero's invocation here brings to mind Judith Weissman's take on the "Wanderings of Oisin"...

Una excursión: nuestro Impala enfiló por la pista que cuelga a un lado del golfo de California, hasta Punta Chueca, enfrente de la isla Tiburón. Después fuimos a El Dólar, enfrente de la isla Patos. Lima la llama la isla Pato Donald. Tirados en una playa desierta, estuvimos fumando mota durante horas. Punta Chueca-Tiburón, Dólar-Patos, naturalmente son sólo nombres, pero a mí me llenan el alma de oscuros presagios, como diría un colega de Amado Nervo. ¿Pero qué es lo que en esos nombres consigue alterarme, entristecerme, ponerme fatalista, hacer que mire a Lupe como si fuera la última mujer sobre la Tierra? Poco antes de que anocheciera seguimos subiendo hacia el norte. Allí se levanta Desemboque. El alma absolutamente negra. Creo que incluso temblaba. Y después volvimos a Bahía Kino por una carretera oscura en donde de tanto en tanto nos cruzábamos con camionetas llenas de pescadores que cantaban canciones seris.
Also thinking vaguely of Dorfman and of Rivera Letelier and of the Atacama Desert as I read about the poets' journey through their desert. And here again!
Lo seguimos por la avenida principal del cementerio, un paseo bordeado de cipreses y viejos robles. Cuando nos internamos por las calles laterales, en cambio, vi algunos cactus propios de la región: choyas y sahuesos y también algún nopal, como para que los muertos no olvidaran que estaban en Sonora y no en otro lugar.

posted evening of December 13th, 2011: Respond
➳ More posts about The Savage Detectives

Monday, December 12th, 2011

🦋 Belano in Africa

Todas las lenguas, todos los murmullos sólo una forma vicaria de preservar durante un tiempo azaroso nuestra identidad.

-- Jacobo Urenda
July, 1996

I had forgotten all about Urenda's narration, about this story of Angola and Rwanda and wartime Liberia. It started coming back to me when I was reading about Belano's duel with Iñaki and I've been feeling anxious about it ever since. (Anxious and a little mystified. "I remember that being a long story. How is there going to be space to fit it in to what little remains of part 2?") As it turns out, not really that long a story at 23 pages; but powerfully dense. This narrative could be a book almost by itself. Luigi's death is one of the most frightening, most moving moments in Savage Detectives.

The action here is more precisely pinpointed in time than anywhere else; Urenda says he got to Monrovia in April 1996 -- only a few months before he is speaking, and I wonder why he says "April 1996" instead of just "April"* -- I wonder if this has something to do with its being the end of Belano's story.

...And we get to the end, the final two interviews in part 2: after Urenda's story we hear from Ernesto García Grajales, the only scholar specializing in the Visceral Realists in Mexico and, so he believes, the whole world. The interviewer asks if he has heard of Juan García Madero, the first time García Madero's name has come up since part 1; he has not. (Is García Madero the interviewer? This would kind of work, except he could not have interviewed Amadeo Salvatierra in Mexico City in January 1976.) And finally we get to the end of Salvatierra's story, dawn of the following day, the two young poets promising him that they will find Cesárea Tinajero.

*This may just be an idiomatic thing. In Wimmer's translation, Urenda says "I got to Monrovia in April."

posted evening of December 12th, 2011: Respond
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Wednesday, December 7th, 2011

🦋 Nude Descending a Staircase

Iñaki me miró y lugo miró el mar y sólo entonces comprendí que la escena tenía algo de irremediablemente ridículo y que lo ridículo no era ajeno a mi presencia allí.

—Jaume Planells
June, 1994

A couple of episodes in part 2 of Savage Detectives are retold several times by successive narrators/interviewees, from their different vantage points. I think these are my favorite parts of the book -- here Bolaño uses the form he has chosen to its fullest extent. One of these is Belano's ludicrous duel with Iñaki Echavarne, fought off-season on a nude beach near Barcelona sometime in the early 90's (as close as I can tell) -- it is told first by unsuspecting Susana Puig, Belano's nurse and lover when he was hospitalized for pancreatitis, then by Guillem Piña, who hatches the scheme with Belano and serves as his second, then by Jaume Planells, who is drawn in against his better judgement as Echavarne's second.

I'd like to think about what it means that Duchamp's Nude Descending a Staircase #2 serves as a leitmotif for this episode. Piña repeatedly says he "felt like the Nude Descending a Staircase" in relation to Belano and that he "waited, which is what the Nude Descending a Staircase did" -- Planells picks up on this when he says he thinks Echavarne mentioned the painting when telling him about the duel, wonders "what did Picasso have to do with it?"

And, well, I'm not sure what Picasso or Duchamp has to do with this absurd duel. The whole thing works nicely as a way of keeping the image in your mind when you're reading the episode, as a backdrop to its events. Bolaño has not used visual art this way very much in Savage Detectives -- many of the poems in Romantic Dogs have a painting as their centerpiece.

I ran into a woman on the subway this morning who was reading The Skating Rink, and we chatted for a few minutes about how Bolaño is the greatest thing ever. That was fun.

posted evening of December 7th, 2011: 2 responses

Tuesday, December 6th, 2011

🦋 Muchachos

Y Cesárea me miró, una mirada cortita, así como de lado, y dijo que ése era el porvenir común de todos los mortales, buscar un lugar donde vivir y un lugar donde trabajar.

—Amadeo Salvatierra
January, 1976

While I was reading Amadeo Salvatierra's narrative this afternoon, it occurred to me to wonder whether he has ever referred to either of his two guests individually -- he is always saying things to "the boys" or recounting what they say to him, never (if memory serves) either one of the two by himself. A little funny because everywhere else in the book there seems to be a pretty strong distinction drawn between the two of them.

posted evening of December 6th, 2011: Respond

Monday, December 5th, 2011

🦋 Two translators of Bolaño

In Savage Detectives Group Read news, Rise links to two videos: Laura Healy reading from Romantic Dogs, and Natasha Wimmer talking with Daniel Alarcón about how she discovered Bolaño's work. (Wimmer's biographical essay "Bolaño and the Savage Detectives" is online at Anagrama.)

posted evening of December 5th, 2011: Respond
➳ More posts about The Romantic Dogs

Sunday, December 4th, 2011

🦋 When You Care, When You Love

Un poquito sublime y un poquito siniestro. Como en todo amor loco, ¿no? Si al infinito uno añade más infinito, el resultado es infinito. Si uno junta lo sublime con lo siniestro, el resultado es siniestro. ¿No?

—Felipe Müller
October, 1991

The narratives in the latter half of part 2 of Savage Detectives are spinning farther and farther away from the core of the book (which I stubbornly continue to insist is Belano and Lima's search for Cesárea Tinajero in 1975-6) -- long narratives by minor characters which involve Belano and Lima only glancingly or only in parts. Look at Felipe Müller's narrative from October, 1991 -- Müller summarizes a short story by Theodore Sturgeon, one which he is pretty sure Belano told him, "since he was the only one of our crowd who read science fiction."

The story is "When You Care, When You Love" -- it strikes me as curious and interesting that a full three pages are spent on relating this story, more adjacent space than has been devoted to any other work referenced in this book so far. Add another entry to the long list of influences for Bolaño, I guess...

posted morning of December 4th, 2011: 2 responses

Saturday, December third, 2011

photo by Sylvia

Daniel Grossman, sentado en un banco de la Alameda, México df, febrero 1993.

posted afternoon of December third, 2011: Respond
➳ More posts about Pretty Pictures

Tuesday, November 29th, 2011

🦋 Two Old Men

...el Impala aún seguía aquí, por lo que deduzco quie actué con una velocidad sólo concedida a ciertos locos, y vi el Impala con mis gafas, esas gafas que hasta ese momento no sabía que poseía...

—Quim Font
August, 1987

The more I read from Quim Font's monologues, the more I like him. He is beginning to remind me of Amadeo Salvatierra, who I think is the only other narrator in the same age bracket... The two are not at all the same person, but they share a few endearing mannerisms.

I'm knocked a bit for a loop by Andrés Ramírez' monologue from December 1988. The first sentence is "I was destined to be a failure, Belano, take my word for it." (Wimmer's rendering -- had to look this up to make sure I was understanding correctly what he was saying.) This is the first time any of the narrators has addressed an interviewer by name -- so the interviewer here is Belano. But for a lot of reasons Belano cannot be the interviewer elsewhere...

posted evening of November 29th, 2011: Respond

Sunday, November 27th, 2011

🦋 Luscious Skin lives!

¿Qué ocurre?, dije yo. No ocurre nada, todo se ha acabado, dijo Albertito.

— Luis Sebastián Rosado
February, 1984

It is good to know that Pieldivina's death in Savage Detectives is not part of the historical infrastructure of the book -- that he is alive and "in fact did not die a singularly depressing death of a brain tumor." He is (to my ear) a fantastic sculptor of syllables -- check out his poem "Tell them who you are", in both English (Brandon Holmquest's able rendering) and Spanish at that link.

posted evening of November 27th, 2011: 1 response

🦋 Luscious Skin: a savage detective

Todo había empezado, según Piel Divina, con una viaje que Lima y su amigo Belano hicieron al norte, a principios de 1976.

— Luis Sebastián Rosado
March, 1983

Piel Divina, homeless poet in Mexico City, puts together a paranoid narrative in which Lima has been pursued by some nameless, evil organization since the trip to Sonora; that his disappearance in Managua is part of his flight from the organization. Interesting... This is the approximate halfway point of the book, and we see Piel Divina putting himself forward as a detective. I had been thinking of the "savage detectives" as being Belano and Lima searching for Cesárea Tinajero; but this works too, and it makes the reader also into a savage detective, one on the trail of the visceral realists.

When Piel Divina leaves Rosado's house, he takes with him some clothing and "a novel by Fernando del Paso", which given the date of Rosado's narration has to be either José Trigo or Palinuro de México.

In Savage Detectives group read news, Rise links to a podcast of a reading at Symphony Space: Roberto Bolaño and the authors he admired, from last November.

posted morning of November 27th, 2011: Respond

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