And Never Let Me Go

“It wasn’t that I thought I’d burst into tears or lose my temper or anything like that. But I decided just to turn and go. Even later that day, I realised this was a bad mistake. All I can say is that at the time what I feared more than anything was that one or the other of them would stalk off first, and I’d be left with the remaining one. I don’t know why, but it didn’t seem an option for more than one of us to storm off, and I wanted to make sure that one was me. So I turned and marched back the way I’d come, past the gravestones towards the low wooden gate, and for several minutes; I felt as though I’d triumphed; that now they’d been left in each other’s company, they were suffering a fate they thoroughly deserved.”

Before this, I’d never read an Ishiguro book before. I had always wanted to try Remains Of The Day, but that title always got to me. It always seemed a bit distant somehow.

Then one day I was at Borders, and I wanted to get the Borders panda plushie, called Beckett because it reminded me of someone, and they were having a promotion and I could get it for cheaper if I bought some books. On a whim, I decided to get my very first Ishiguro, and it just happened to be Never Let Me Go because (if memory serves) that’s all they had in stock. And I’m glad it turned out that way.

Never Let Me Go is a story set in a slightly fantastic 1990s England. I didn’t realise this at first. In fact, it took me a while to realise the premise of what I was reading. (Much to my embarrassment, it took me a bit of time to realise that I was not reading about ordinary nursing students.) Yet, beyond this strange setting, the novel works its way into being a story about love and friendship and the very nature of being. It’s a glorious book, written with a gentle elegance and a faint strangeness, and is clearly at its best when characters are forced to deal with living with respect to themselves and also each other.

At times it did feel as if the setting was a bit of a contrivance, which was a little jarring because I couldn’t help but feel a bit removed from it all whenever I thought about this. It just occasionally felt as if the story could achieve what it was intended to achieve without moving into such territory. But it was just a slight feeling, and it didn’t happen very often.

The pages leading up to the conclusion did seem to me a little deus ex machina-ish. I didn’t quite like one portion of it because it reminded me of the overly talkative part The Matrix just before the finale. It just seemed disconnected somehow. Maybe it was the whole gigantic thematic sequence that it tried to have. It seemed to overstretch, to extend itself into an area that it didn’t do so well. Or maybe it was how the section came across to me like the big reveal in some crime novel when it really wasn’t one. That said, that felt like more of a blip than anything else in an otherwise remarkable stretch of writing. The conclusion itself was very elegaic and proper, and I didn’t feel let down one bit.

It’s a gorgeous book. Its finest moments are in the delicate bits, when the frailty of the characters is undeniable and their confusion or futility is reflected in Ishiguro’s wonderful prose. These are the points at which the novel proves most revealing. These are the portions that elevate the novel into its own special realm of greatness.

And with that, I suppose I’m done gushing. What a great way to start the reading year.

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Pandora In The Congo

A couple of days ago, I finished Albert Sánchez Piñol’s fairly long novel, Pandora In The Congo. I am not normally a fan of long books, and this was almost a long one. However, I devoured it at about twice my usual reading speed, which is not a speed to write home about but still deserving something of a mention here.

I started on one of those sleepy mornings, uncertain if I would get very far, but as I read it on the train, I started to get quite intrigued. By the time I cleared the first fifty pages, I was going at twice the speed that I’d started with and I was hooked. I was quite surprised at the rate at which I was flipping the pages.

Without spoiling too much (though to be fair, there’s a lot to spoil anyway), the book tells the story of a certain Thomas Thomson, who starts out as a ghost writer for (a ghost writer for a ghost writer for) a certain Doctor Flag, who writes adventure novels, though the most trashy, racist and bigoted kind. Our protagonist soon gets hired to write the story of Marcus Garvey, manservant and apparently murderer of William and Richard Craver. Garvey is adamant about his innocence, and is prepared to share what is not just the story of his innocence, but the story of a lifetime.

Garvey’s tale takes us (and Thomson) right into the heart of the Congo, where his masters have discovered a gold mine on their expedition. Let’s just say that what ensues involves hearts of darkness, honour, cowardice, evil from the depths of hell, and a love beyond time.

Deftly alternating between Garvey’s pulsating tale and the slightly less dramatic life of Thomson, Piñol carves a brilliant book of thrills and intrigue and reflections on the human condition. It all pans out into a genre-bending high-adventure novel somewhat resembling (as I’m sure quite a few people have pointed out before) a Rider Haggard book, only on drugs and with a wicked sense of humour. Piñol’s imagination apparently knows no bounds, and his finesse is quite startling.

In short, Pandora In The Congo is magnificent and maniacally clever. You ought to read it.

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Carroll And Cannabis

Recently, I began to take apart my list of in-waiting books. My intention was to clear up some of the photography and art books (since I don’t usually do too much actual reading outside of the school term). I’m now currently on Africa [via Amazon], which is a book that I’m quite enamoured with right now, but there were two other books before that, books that I really enjoyed too, so I thought it would be a good idea to write this bit about them. Since I’m not a prolific review writer by any stretch of the imagination, I’ll try to keep this short. And I put in the links to the books to vendors merely for convenience; you might find them at better prices elsewhere.

The first of them is a book called Lewis Carroll, with text by Anne Higonnet. [via Amazon] Carroll, as you know, wrote Alice, but he was also one of the most prominent photographers of the Victorian era. This pretty volume collects his photography work with some handy descriptive captions for each plate by Higonnet. For me, it was initially quite surprising to see the complexity that Carroll worked into these photographs (I would surely have missed some of the visual metaphors had it not been for the text), but Carroll was after all a brilliant, brilliant man. There are striking portraits, celebrity faces and dashes of humour scattered throughout this quite unique book, and to top it off, it’s nicely bound and competently edited. In other words, it’s a book I found very pleasant to read and I think it’s a quite a pretty and special book to have on your shelves if photography and/or Lewis Carroll are among your likes.

The other book is a collection of art by anime artist (err, animeteur?) Tatsuyaki Tanaka called Cannabis Works. [via Play-Asia] If the name doesn’t ring a bell, then he’s been involved in things such as Akira (where I believe he animated the mutating arm) and the Genius Party Beyond (in which he did Tojin Kit). A quick Google search will yield some samples of his work. The book itself offers an excellent selection of some starkly beautiful images, full of cyberpunk dystopias and strange beasts. There’s a nice balance of full-colour portraits, sketches, storyboards, poster designs and the like. Overall, it resembles a pretty complete portfolio that ably represents Tanaka’s best design work. I haven’t quite liked a book of this nature since I fell in love with the Okami art book [temporarily out of stock via Amazon], actually. (Speaking of which, the Okami book is just one of those that I absolutely adore.) I was left wishing for some larger reproductions, actually, because the book is kind of small, but darn, the pictures are pretty enough as it is.

So, there you have it, two really pretty books that you can might want to consider. I think they’re probably a bit niche in their appeal (say, if you don’t like Lewis Carroll and Victorian photography, or if you don’t have the slightest interest in anime design), but if any of those things appeal to you, and you’re looking for something a little different to add to your shelves, then I humbly submit these two suggestions, fine books that I’m very happy to own.

Now back to the Salgado…

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Death At Intervals and Boxwood

Death At Intervals is my third Saramago book. It’s a compact novel that starts with how death decides to stop taking lives in an unnamed country when the New Year arrives. I suppose it’s precisely the sort of plot that you would expect Saramago, that wily old man, to pull off with aplomb, and he does, with a mixture of deliberate ignorance and wit, underscored by tremendous wisdom and compassion.

Then it takes a turn, and death returns, writing letters to people who are going to die. And it all seems to go very well until one day a letter is returned, and death learns… a little something. Not quite the turn I was expecting of Saramago, actually, but he carefully steers it towards its end, and it becomes quite a thing of beauty.

It’s a sparkling read from start to finish, a magic trick that leaves you enthralled with a snap of the fingers. It’s in turns humorous and dark, wise and romantic, a compact novel that fascinates and entertains with the very best of them.

The style, I realise, might be somewhat challenging for some. At least, I often read complaints about that. I think it’s fine. I think it’s brilliant, actually, and is very natural to read. On the other hand, the second book I’m going to introduce, Camilo José Cela’s Boxwood, took a bit of adjustment. It had in part to do with how I had only four hours of sleep on the morning that I started it, and it was quite a Herculean feat that I managed the first paragraph after realising that I was reading with only commas.

But once you do get attuned to it, Cela’s last novel–a day-to-day account of different lives in Galicia, on the Spanish coast–is simply magnificent. Fragments and fragments, bits of thoughts, scores of memory, shreds of imagination, all stitched together with few periods and many commas, into a lush historical and cultural landscape. It is a book about fables and folktales and stories and the annals of history. It’s a story of the common man and the wonderful common man. It is sprawling in its own way, like the beautiful complexity of an orchestral work woven together by a true master.

In the end, it might be difficult to appreciate the depth of the achievement at first. It’s messy and disjointed and seems to be all over the place at first. (At least, it did for me.) And then you stick with it, you give it a chance, and it starts to show you how you’re missing it all. You’re missing the tonal inflections, the rhythms and cadences, the hidden music behind the cacophony. And when you open your eyes to that symphony, you can’t read it the same way again.

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Your Inner Fish

The best science books to me are like adventure stories. By that I mean they’re capable of enthralling and inspiring in the sort of way that you would normally associate with an adventure. Your Inner Fish is one such book.

In this book, Neil Shubin provides a remarkable look at the evolution of the human body, tracing our evolutionary history to fish, to worms and to pond scum. It is a tale that bounces from fossil-hunting to genetic experiments, guided by Shubin’s assured narrative. His is a voice that is simple and enthused (and sometimes wryly funny), and it turns out to be perfect to lead the reader (versed in natural history or not) through this magnificent story.

The biggest problem with trying to advertise science books is that some people tend to think that it’s not for them. I know plenty of people like this. They feel like they won’t get it, or they won’t be interested anyway. Which is probably true  significant fraction of the time. But then you think that a good one comes along and they’ll miss it because they’ve already decided that science books are all not for them, and it’s a little sad.

Is Your Inner Fish like that? I think it requires a little bit of interest in the body and in evolution. If you always wanted to know the use of fossils in modern science, this is a good place to look. If you wanted to understand the close relationship our biological lineage has with the animals around us, this is perfect for you. If you really have no interest in all of these things and asphyxiate at the sight of science, then, no, this isn’t for you.

Does it require a great amount of biological knowledge? I don’t think so, though I’m not the most objective judge of this since it is in some ways closely tied to my major. Clearly, you’ll have to know the basics, such as that DNA is our heriditary material, but I think it’ll be all right if that’s where the boundary of your biology knowledge ends. Shubin does a wonderful job of simplifying things to a level that I think most people will be able to appreciate easily. (It’s certainly helped by his use of metaphors and the lovely diagrams that punctuate the pages.)

What’s to be found is a rewarding and compelling story, the story of you and me and all the other little humans on this planet. It’s the story of how fish came to walk and how worms grew heads. It’s the story of why t hiccups and hernia. It’s the story of a naturalist and his marvellous exuberance.

So, at the risk of being laughed or groaned at by the people who insist it’s not going to be for them, I’m just going to say, give it a shot. Give it one chance. Keep an open mind. Let it just take you for a spin, a little adventure. Just this once. (Okay, until the next time.)

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2666

At the risk of sounding like I’m jumping on the bandwagon, I’m just going to very quickly say that 2666 is brilliant. At this point in time, I’m sure you have heard all you’ve needed to hear about it, so anything I say is probably not going to mean very much. I wasn’t ever very good at effective hyperbole anyway.

But I’ll say this: 2666 reads like the sprawling novel and towering achievement that you expect it to be. At times, it is wry and funny; at times, it is gruesome and grisly; at times, it is dramatic and crushing; and at times, there is only darkness. It is an enormous poem in disguise, and it cruises along under Bolaño’s assured mastery; and that’s what I think surprised me, that it all went down so easily. It is after all a massive tome, and that it went down like good wine in two weeks was a minor testament to its power.

Sometimes a science fiction book, sometimes a news report, sometimes an exercise in vaudeville, it is a thing of remarkable deftness and ambition. From page to page, Bolaño weaves magic with momentum and lyricism, always defiant and unflinching, and in doing so, crafts a true masterpiece for our time.

And to end off, a quote:

“It was raining in the quadrangle, and the quadrangular sky looked like the grimace of a robot or a god made in our own likeness. The oblique drops of rain slid down the blades of grass in the part, but it would have made no difference if they had slid up. Then the oblique (drops) turned round (drops), swallowed up by the earth underpinning the grass, and the grass and the earth seemed to talk, no, not talk, argue, their incomprehensible words like crystallized spiderwebs or the briefest crystallized vomitings, a barely audible rustling, as if instead of drinking tea that afternoon, Norton had drunk a steaming cup of peyote.

“But the truth is that she had only had tea to drink and she felt overwhelmed, as if a voice were repeating a terrible prayer in her ear, the words of which blurred as she walked away from the college, and the rain wetted her gray skirt and bony knees and pretty ankles and little else, because before Liz Norton went running through the park, she hadn’t forgotten to pick up her umbrella.”

That’s extremely early in the book, and I still remember it vividly now.

I know the sort of feeling where you think you shouldn’t join in the chorus, that you should avoid the mob mentality, that you should stay away from everyone’s current favourite writer. But sometimes, the bandwagon is worth jumping on.

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Blindness

Blindness is my second José Saramago book (the first being The Gospel According To Jesus Christ). I want to recommend it to you, which would normally involve a pseudo-review of some sort full of fancy superlatives and some forms of analyses, but no, I’m not a lit critic or a book reviewer, and so I’ve decided that I’ll just stick with telling you these things directly. In fact, I won’t even do a plot summary, because that really seems a bit silly in the context of what I’m going to tell you.

What I have to tell you will really sound like a bunch of empty words if you didn’t try the book, and I suppose I’m cheating by saying that because this is supposed to get you to read the book. Here goes anyway.

Blindness is a powerful book, the sort that crushes you completely like you would expect the greatest pieces of art to. It is bold and unforgiving, and perhaps to look deepest, that is what we will have to be. It is at one time an unflinching look at the lowest points of human behaviour and a celebration of the human spirit.

The most prominent feature of Saramago’s work (of course, I’ve only ever read two of his books), is his unwavering grasp of the novel. It is this that so assuredly steers the story from start to finish. You always get the feeling that you are in the hands of a true master of the form.

Speaking of Saramago, Blindness wears his defining characteristics proudly. One of these is his style, which I’ve heard complaints about. I think it’s difficult to read for some people, but mostly I find it a breeze to read.

Another trait is its fabulous nature, and that’s where the most important thing I have to tell you come in. Like the greatest of our fables, Blindness casts a tall shadow and it is in this shadow that we consider what it is to be us, or simply to be.

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For Your Consideration: Christmas Gift Suggestions 2008

Still trying to figure out what presents to get a friend or a family member? Here’s a convenient list that I dreamt up made entirely out of books old and new that have at some time caught my attention during the course of the year. I don’t own them all, and it should be obvious which I do and which I don’t, but if I don’t, it’s simply because they’ve been generating a good buzz and are proving to be hot books for the holidays.

Prices and links are taken directly from Amazon (obviously). They’re merely for convenience. Prices are in US Dollars, and are there to give you a rough idea of how much each book costs. I’m sure you can find better prices if you poke around. Also note that prices will change. Offers and exchange rates and stuff.

Where available, I’ve included local prices from Kinokuniya. Local prices. In Singapore Dollars. Before any sort of promotional discount they might be having. Some of those where I don’t list the prices are just not in stock and will probably be in if you check at a different time. And I’m sure if you’re a local shopper there are a few other bookstores you can be looking around at too.

They are not in any particular order because I thought it would be more exciting this way. Included are coffeetable books, comic books, fiction and non-fiction.

Here we go:

The Savage Detectives
Roberto Bolaño

The best contemporary book I’ve read all year. A visceral, semi-autobiographical epic of two modern-day Quixotes and their upstart literary movement, this is quite simply a gem of a book.

[USD10.20 from Amazon]
SGD27.70 from Kinokuniya

2666
Roberto Bolaño

And while we’re on the subject of Bolaño, I hear that his latest (and last) may be the best book since the turn of the century. Based on the evidence of The Savage Detectives, I think that might not be an exaggeration. Bolaño’s magnum opus is described as “a landmark in what’s possible for the novel as a form in our increasingly, and terrifyingly, post-national world” by Jonathan Lethem.

It comes in two editions, a hardcover and a three-volume paperback set. (Personally, I should be getting the three-volume boxed set.)

[Hardcover, USD18.00 from Amazon]
[3-volume paperback set, USD18.00 from Amazon]
Both SGD53.95 from Kinokuniya

The Road
Cormac McCarthy

The movie is coming out during the winter, so I guess it’s a great time for folks to pick up on McCarthy’s post-apocalyptic tale. This slender novel features a father and son in their sturggles to survive in the wasteland, and with remarkable poeticism and precision, serves as a testament to the goodness of Man. While the condition of my copy (yellowed, slightly battered) might not reflect it, this is a book I love a lot.

If you’re the sort who looks out for prizes (and I know a few), this won the Pulitzer and was on Oprah.

Edit to say that I just learnt the film got pushed back a second time. Still a great time to get the book.

[USD10.17 from Amazon]
Film tie-in edition, SGD17.07 from Kinokuniya

The Rest Is Noise
Alex Ross

The New Yorker‘s music critic Alex Ross’s acclaimed twentieth-century music history book sees a paperback edition, just in time for the season. I’ve not read it (it’s one of the many books that put my Roth Winter plan to sleep) but I’ve only heard good things.

[Paperback, USD12.24 from Amazon]
SGD30.43 from Kinokuniya

A Mercy
Toni Morrison

Morrison’s latest has been garnering praise in every imaginable way. Described as a powerful, tragic fable that explores the early slave trade and the nature of mercy, I’m sure this is one of the biggest books of the season.

[USD14.37 from Amazon]
SGD34.94 from Kinokuniya

The Dead Fish Museum
Charles D’Ambrosio

The best contemporary short fiction anthology I’ve read, and definitely one of my favourite books of all. Remarkably, D’Ambrosio works purely with characters and somehow manages to pull off what one would call a consummate performance.

[USD11.16 from Amazon]
SGD24.61 from Kinokuniya

All-Star Superman
Grant Morrison, Frank Quitely, Jamie Grant

I always think of Grant Morrison’s work as hit-or-miss. When he misses, it tends to be because his ambition overtakes him. But when he scores a hit, it’s usually something quite extraordinary, and I think this take on Supes is probably deserving of that superlative. It’s helped in no small part by Frank Quitely’s magnificent art. A remarkable mythic reimagining that stands as one of the very best representatives of the comic book form.

The first half has been released as a trade paperback, with the second volume to turn up later.

[Volume 1, paperback, USD10.39 from Amazon]
SGD17.41 from Kinokuniya

Acme Novelty Library
Chris Ware

Chris Ware’s excellent series continues with Rusty Brown. The latest volume is the hardcover volume 19. If you’re not sure of what it is, I think the wiki is clearer than I’ll ever be:

Acme Novelty Library is a singular and artistically adventurous comic book created by Chicago cartoonist Chris Ware and published first by Fantagraphics Books, then Drawn & Quarterly. It is considered a significant work in alternative comics.

Issues are printed in different sizes and formats, sometimes a small paperback, sometimes a standard comic book, and sometimes a large “poster book” measuring 17 inches on a side. Each issue is typically composed of multiple stories with their own style and recurring characters, suggesting a compilation of strips, although all the work is done by Ware. A meticulous attention to detail is evident in every issue, making each volume a unique artistic work, with virtually nothing in common with traditional comic books.

[via wikipedia]

[Volume 19, USD10.85 from Amazon]
Not listed in Kinokuniya’s database, but other volumes might still be available there

How Fiction Works
James Wood

When I tried James Wood’s recent book earlier this year, I found it engaging, accessible and erudite, and it’ll definitely make a good gift for anyone interested in the nature of the form.

[Hardcover, USD16.32 from Amazon]
Hardcover, SGD42.02 from Kinokuniya, and I think the paperback goes for about SGD35

Diary Of A Bad Year
J.M. Coetzee

Now available in paperback!

Coetzee’s latest is described as such in wikipedia:

The protagonist, called Señor C. by the other characters, is an aging South African writer living in Australia. The novel is composed of essays and musings by the writer, in addition to diary entries by both Señor C. and Anya, a neighbor whom he has asked to type his essays. The essays, which take up the larger part of each page, deal mostly with contemporary issues like George W. Bush, Tony Blair, Guantanamo Bay, and terrorism. The diary entries appear beneath them and reflect the relationship that develops between the two characters.

[via wikipedia]

[Paperback, USD11.20 from Amazon]
SGD17.12 from Kinokuniya

Death With Interruptions
José Saramago

Saramago’s latest is about a time where everyone just stops dying. Ron Charles of the Washington Post says:

If this sounds campy, it is, but Saramago is always ten steps ahead of us, subverting cliches, interjecting ancient philosophical concerns into his gags and scattering grenades of bitterness among the laughs…This is a story that can’t possibly work or affect us, but it does, deeply, sweetly. It’s a novel to die for.

Sounds good to me.

[Hardcover, USD15.57 from Amazon]
At the time of writing, not available at Kinokuniya, but I saw it at Borders once

The Absolute Sandman
Neil Gaiman

Pamper the Sandman fan in your life with these luxurious remastered editions. I have them. All thirty kilograms (or something). The recoloured pages are quite glorious (particularly the early issues). And your Sandman fan friend will adore you for this.

[Volume 1, USD77.62 from Amazon]
SGD132.58 from Kinokuniya
[Volume 2, USD62.37 from Amazon]
SGD128.50 from Kinokuniya
[Volume 3, USD62.37 from Amazon]
SGD132.58 from Kinokuniya
[Volume 4, USD62.37 from Amazon]
SGD132.58 from Kinokuniya

Richard Avedon: Photographs 1946-2004
Richard Avedon (Editor: Michael Juul Holm)

As far as coffeetable books go, I’m going to recommend a few, and this, coming from one of my favourite photographers, looks like a sure-bet.

[USD44.10 from Amazon]
SGD126.48 from Kinokuniya

The Americans
Robert Frank

Robert Frank’s masterpiece has been re-released by Steidl for its 50th anniversary. A cultural touchstone and a photography classic, I’ve no doubt this makes a good gift.

[USD26.37 from Amazon]
It sold out at Kinokuniya, it seems.

Leaves Of Grass
Walt Whitman

Recently, I bought myself a copy of Leaves Of Grass to add to my library. It had been quite a while since I first read it, and I took the chance to explore it once more. I think the one thing that didn’t change between my first reading and the recent one is the recognition that I was a really tiny man standing in the tall shadow of a genius.

In his introduction to the 150th anniversary edition, Harold Bloom describes Whitman’s most famous work as a thing of beauty comparable to Michelangelo’s Sistine Chapel work; and I suppose it would be fair to say that that a work of art of such magnitude would always make a great gift.

[150th anniversary edition, 1855 version, Harold Bloom introduction, USD10.20 from Amazon]
SGD23.49 from Kinokuniya

What I Talk About When I Talk About Running
Haruki Murakami

For the Murakami fan(s) in your life, this volume is a collection of essays by the Japanese author. Currently available in hardcover.

[USD14.28 from Amazon]
One of the editions is SGD 32.95 from Kinokuniya

Netherland
Joseph O’Neill

Joseph O’Neill’s third novel is about a Dutchman in post-9/11 America. It’s been generating a tremendous amount of buzz and has been likened to a more fiery The Great Gatsby. Siri Hustvedt of The Washington Post says:

Always sensitive and intelligent, Netherland tells the fragmented story of a man in exile — from home, family and, most poignantly, from himself.

[USD16.29 from Amazon]
SGD42.95 from Kinokuniya

Maus
Art Spiegelman

It probably isn’t the brightest idea to celebrate Christmas with a book on the Holocaust, but Art Spiegelman’s classic is at its heart a profoundly moving tale about a son and father and the difficult relationship that they share.

There’s a cheaper paperback edition available in two volumes too, but I’m listing the one-volume hardback.

[Complete collected edition, hardcover, USD23.10 from Amazon]
SGD58.22 from Kinokuniya

It’s A Bird!
Steven T. Seagle and Teddy Kristiansen

This is a Superman comic that isn’t about Superman. It’s about the writer’s struggle with mortality, framed against the invincibility of Clark Kent. It’s about life, death, and the forces that good literature tries to wrestle with. One of my very favourite Superman books.

[Paperback, USD14.39 from Amazon]
SGD23.36 from Kinokuniya

American Music
Annie Leibovitz

The last book I’m going to recommend marries my love of photography with my love of music. No matter your opinion of Leibovitz’s work, I think this is a lovely book that will delight anyone with an interest in either field, and certainly those who have a passion for both.

[USD29.67 from Amazon]
Not in stock at time of writing in Kinokuniya

And that’s it. I hope it proves helpful.

Give the gift of art. It’s a good gift.

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Book Recommendation: The Savage Detectives

In Roberto Bolaño’s The Savage Detectives, we read about Ulises Lima and Arturo Belano, two members of the visceral realist literary movement. Never once do we step into their minds. Instead, we can only watch from the eyes of others as the two youths, the two savage detectives hurl caution to the wind in the pursuit of their dreams. They are poets, that much must be taken seriously. Yet, the measure of their talents is never clear. It is not supposed to be. We are never meant to step into their shoes, know their thoughts, hear their internal voices.

The semi-autobiographical novel (in the sense that Arturo Belano’s life does in fact parallel Bolaño’s own) proceeds to cover the years from the Seventies to the Nineties, switching between a diary style and an interview or testimonial style that involves a cast of a dozen or two. The technical mastery here is evident. Not only is it an exercise in precision (given such a large cast of characters), the general tone is also a thing of beauty. It is often colloquial and undecorated, never at any moment perched at some lofty literary level and yet a marvellous thing to read.

It is through the masterful employment of tonal devices that Bolaño manages to conjure an epic tale that is at once humorous and sad. It is a tale of the brashness and stubbornness of youth, but also of its fragility and beauty. Is it about poetry? Is it about art? Perhaps, but more importantly, it is through art that we see these human aspects. It is youth that drives Lima and Belano, destroys them, and makes them again.

That it so closely mirrors Bolaño’s life delivers perhaps the novel’s most powerful image. Bolaño (and thus Belano)  presumably looked at the prose form with some measure of disdain. In the end, the writer and his character, poets to the death, end up writing stories. Yet it is an extraordinary story, this, vast and proud and poignant.

In the end, The Savage Detectives is at the same time a novel that is a very human and affecting affair, and yet also a sprawling and tragic heroic epic.

I enjoyed myself tremendously reading the book over the week, and thought that you might want to give it a shot too, if you haven’t already. You might want to note that the work is pretty long, but it certainly goes down easily with the fantastic translation by Natasha Wimmer. I don’t think there’s a reason to be intimidated by its size.

As I closed the book on the bus yesterday, having watched the strange quest of Ulises Lima and Arturo Belano unfold with such interest over days, it occurred to me that, in spite of the great number of perspectives, we never actually see the world through the eyes of the titular detectives. Yet, detectives are watchers, observers, witnesses of the grand and awful truths oblivious to the rest of us; and as the world watches Lima and Belano, they too watch the world. One can only wonder, then, where that grand and awful truth lies.

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