February 3rd, 2010 / 7:28 pm
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Nick Antosca
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2 STORIES
Wow, I just read the Bolaño story in the most recent New Yorker—it’s here, and it’s called “William Burns”–and I loved it. First anything by Bolaño that I’ve loved. I had very mixed feelings about 2666. But this was great. It kind of reminded me of a Ligotti story, with the degrees of distance from the narrator, the surreal dread, the shifting perceptions of the source of danger, and the dreamlike progression. It feels like transcribed dream, which is of particular interest to me at the moment.
Similarly, I’m loving I. Fontana’s “UB” at Spork, just as I loved the Jean Harlow story from a while back. I’m interested in anything Fontana writes these days; he knows what he’s doing.
Tags: i. fontana, Roberto Bolaño
There’s an interesting John Lahr article about Sam Shepard in the current New Yorker as well.
There’s an interesting John Lahr article about Sam Shepard in the current New Yorker as well.
If you want one that’s really dream-y, check out the second most recent:
http://www.newyorker.com/fiction/features/2008/12/22/081222fi_fiction_bolano
(Assuming you haven’t already, of course.)
I think the 2010 crop of Bolano translations could definitely change some minds about the man, esp. among the many (most?) HTMLgiant folks who have hated on him thus far. Monsieur Pain read heavily Lynchian to me, and Antwerp seems very much the type of novel/la (fragmented, elliptical, language-y) that gets praised as ‘face-eating’ or whatever round these here parts.
If you want one that’s really dream-y, check out the second most recent:
http://www.newyorker.com/fiction/features/2008/12/22/081222fi_fiction_bolano
(Assuming you haven’t already, of course.)
I think the 2010 crop of Bolano translations could definitely change some minds about the man, esp. among the many (most?) HTMLgiant folks who have hated on him thus far. Monsieur Pain read heavily Lynchian to me, and Antwerp seems very much the type of novel/la (fragmented, elliptical, language-y) that gets praised as ‘face-eating’ or whatever round these here parts.
Have you read Last Evenings on Earth, Nick? Its a collection of his short fiction from New Directions, which is very, very good–and not in the way that so many people said 2666 was very, very good. I’m a huge fan of his writing, but I think that 2666 is far from being his best. Am looking forward to the New Yorker story, which I should be getting in the mail today, I think.
Have you read Last Evenings on Earth, Nick? Its a collection of his short fiction from New Directions, which is very, very good–and not in the way that so many people said 2666 was very, very good. I’m a huge fan of his writing, but I think that 2666 is far from being his best. Am looking forward to the New Yorker story, which I should be getting in the mail today, I think.
you know, i have to say i was kind of disappointed by the piece. i’m saying this as a fan of his work in general, but also as a fan of his short stories. his collection Last Evenings on Earth is one of my favorite books and i also loved his most recent pieces in TNY, “clara” and “meeting with enrique lihm.” but i wasn’t as into this one, primarily, and perhaps laughably, because the main character didn’t seem to have any poetry in his soul, that he was so unromantic. in most of bolano’s other works, even if they’re told journalistically, you get the sense of a greater lyrical and expansive perspective and philosophy being suppressed. which leads to a lot of tension and quietly beautiful moments when he breaks and talks about the sky or the city or whatever. but in this one, though, the narrator’s somebody else, somebody who isn’t fighting that urge toward poetry, because he has none. and so the result is a much less textured portrait of a man, of man in general.
ultimately, i guess it’s just one of bolano’s many modes and registers but one i feel that isn’t as strong or resonant.
you know, i have to say i was kind of disappointed by the piece. i’m saying this as a fan of his work in general, but also as a fan of his short stories. his collection Last Evenings on Earth is one of my favorite books and i also loved his most recent pieces in TNY, “clara” and “meeting with enrique lihm.” but i wasn’t as into this one, primarily, and perhaps laughably, because the main character didn’t seem to have any poetry in his soul, that he was so unromantic. in most of bolano’s other works, even if they’re told journalistically, you get the sense of a greater lyrical and expansive perspective and philosophy being suppressed. which leads to a lot of tension and quietly beautiful moments when he breaks and talks about the sky or the city or whatever. but in this one, though, the narrator’s somebody else, somebody who isn’t fighting that urge toward poetry, because he has none. and so the result is a much less textured portrait of a man, of man in general.
ultimately, i guess it’s just one of bolano’s many modes and registers but one i feel that isn’t as strong or resonant.