Week 3: Institutionalized

by Maria Bustillos

After getting a sense of the rhythms of Bolaño’s sly humor, you can tell that something is up right away when he describes the critics’ first impression of Amalfitano:

… a castaway, a carelessly dressed man, a nonexistent professor at a nonexistent university, the unknown soldier in a doomed battle against barbarism, or, less melodramatically, as what he ultimately was, a melancholy literature professor put out to pasture in his own field …

Since the critics are generally (but not always) depicted as a pretty oafish crew, we can begin by assuming that there will be more to this character than meets the eye. As indeed there proves to be. The first serious conversation between the four scholars concerns the possible whereabouts and motives of Archimboldi.  Has he come to Mexico to visit a friend? What if Almendro lied to them?

Almendro who?  Hector Enrique Almendro? said Amalfitano, who goes on to say that he wouldn’t bet much on a tip from that guy. Why not?

Well, because he’s a typical Mexican intellectual, his main concern is getting by.

Now Amalfitano launches into the most extraordinary flight of fancy: a series of volcanic, wild, beautiful, splendid lamentations on the subject of the intellectual milieu in Mexico.

“Literature in Mexico is like a kindergarten,” he begins. (Bolaño slips from “they” to “you” in this passage, indicating that Amalfitano to some extent reckons himself to have been a member of this fraternity.)

You sit in a park and read Valery (not by accident a big “establishment” figure, protege of Mallarme, member of the Academie francaise, correspondent of Gide and of Einstein,) and then you go hang out with friends.

(“Having devoted [some] hours to the life of the mind, I feel I have the right to be stupid for the rest of the day.”)

And yet your shadow isn’t following you anymore.

This surprising shadowlessness is getting at the loss of some essentially human component, something lost by contact with the conventions of intellectual life, with institutions. But it’s more than that. The whole passage is full of poetic conceits, none of them arbitrary. In the case of the lost shadow, we’re looking at the loss of an ability to matter. A loss of realness, yes, but recall that one writer may live in the shadow of another, that a writer may cast a long shadow; in short, the shadow represents the chance to leave one’s mark.  (And is there a suggestion of vampirism, as well?)

In any case, dude is just getting warmed up, here!! I could go line by line and show you some startling new insight or beauty in this passage, which consists, mind-blowingly, of a single paragraph. But let us get on to the main event: a complete recasting of the tale of Plato’s cave, adding a whole new level of deafness, blindness and powerlessness to the proceedings.

The intellectual (“you”) arrives on a kind of stage, without his shadow, and starts to “translate reality, or reinterpret it or sing it.”  The intellectual is facing outward, toward an audience, and behind him is a tube which leads to a mine. “Let’s call it a cave. (!!) That is to say, intellectuals could be looking into the cave, even bringing people out of there, maybe; at the very least they should be investigating the cave, mining the reality of the human condition and then showing the results to their audience. If you can get even partway out, that is what you are supposed to be doing! But no! These shadowless intellectuals can’t grasp anything from the cave but “unintelligible noises.”  They’re quite cut off from the reality of what it is to be human, even though the occupants of the cave are making a big racket, “syllables of rage or of seduction or of seductive rage or maybe just murmurs and whispers and moans.” The intellectuals don’t really understand a bit of it; they’re just enjoying the spotlight. “They employ rhetoric where they sense a hurricane.” They make animal noises because they can’t begin to conceive of the enormity of the beast within.

The stage on which the intellectuals ply their trade is comfortable and pretty, but it’s shrinking, which is to say, less and less people in Mexico care about literature because these guys are not saying anything of true interest; they’re not really interpreting correctly what is going on in the cave. The audience for TV, by contrast, is enormous. They don’t know what the hell is going on in there, either, but no matter, the audience grows and grows. Once in a while they let a shadowless intellectual on there.

Man, Mexico is not the only place where this is happening. I mean, WHOA.  Utterly, wiglet-blastingly brilliant.

There’s so much here, but the predominant message is that artists, writers, could be connecting people with reality, could be articulating for us what it means to be human, could be leading us out of the cave, and yet they do not. The intellectuals themselves know that there is something missing. At night one may “wander off course” and drink mezcal and he thinks:

 what would happen if one day he.  But no.

Naturally, our own European intellectuals can make neither head nor tail of this blazing fusillade.

“I don’t understand a word you’ve said,” says Norton.

“Really I’ve just been talking nonsense,” said Amalfitano.

Bolaño’s retelling of this story presents an underlying call to arms, not at all unlike what I remember of Plato’s original one.  In his own sad, funny, clever way he’s saying that aware, thinking people have a real responsibility to engage with the world, and to improve it if they can.

Updated Map

Brooks has kindly updated our 2666 map [current through page 102].

View 2666 Locations in a larger map

As a reminder, here is the remaining schedule:

Week 3: February 8 — pages 102-159
Week 4: February 15 — pages 163-228
Week 5: February 22 — pages 231-290
Week 6: March 1 — pages 291-349
Week 7: March 8 — pages 353-404
Week 8: March 15 — pages 404-465
Week 9: March 22— pages 466-513
Week 10: March 29 — pages 513-564
Week 11: April 5 — pages 565-633
week 12 : April 12 — pages 637-701
week 13 : April 19— pages 702-765
week 14 : April 26 — pages 766-830
week 15 : May 3, 2010 — pages 831-893

Week 2: Vocabulary

by Meaghan Doyle

acolytes
one who attends or assists

aide memoire
an aid to the memory

basalt
a dark gray to black dense to fine-grained igneous rock that consists of basic plagioclase, augite, and usually magnetite

captious
calculated to confuse, entrap, or entangle in argument

concatenation
to link together in a series or chain

doublet
a man’s close-fitting jacket worn in Europe especially during the Renaissance

fait accompli
a thing accomplished and presumably irreversible

grappa
a dry colorless brandy distilled from fermented grape pomace

imbroglio
an intricate or complicated situation

interregnum
a period during which the normal functions of government or control are suspended

languor
listless indolence or inertia

Lilliputian
small, miniature

lycee
a French public secondary school that prepares students for the university

misanthropic
marked by a hatred or contempt for humankind

misogynistic
a hatred of women

osseous
bony

salient
standing out conspicuously : prominent; especially : of notable significance

symbiosis
a cooperative relationship (as between two persons or groups)

trattoria
restaurant; specifically : a usually small Italian restaurant

xenophobic
one unduly fearful of what is foreign and especially of people of foreign origin

Week 2: Locations

by Sara Corona Goldstein

Week Two (pp. 51-102)

Palermo, Italy — a Serbian critic asserts in a published paper that Archimboldi traveled here and bought a plane ticket to Morocco. (p. 55)

London — at the beginning of 1997, Norton invites both Pelletier and Espinoza to visit her. (p. 57)

Berlin, Stuttgart, Hamburg, Mainz — respectively: an assembly, congress, symposium, and conference, each attended by a different combination of the four critics. (p. 62)

London — Pelletier and Espinoza visit Norton again; they meet Alex Pritchard. (p. 64)

Bologna, Italy — Pelletier, Espinoza, and Morini attend a conference on Archimboldi. They ask his advice about their romantic imbroglio. (p. 71)

Saint George’s Road, London— Pelletier and Espinoza beat a Pakistani cab driver while Norton looks on. (p. 74)

Berlin — while attending a conference here, Pelletier and Espinoza visit their first brothel. (p. 80)

Auguste Demarre Clinic near Montreux, Switzerland— Pelletier, Espinoza, and Morini visit the lunatic asylum and meet with Edwin Johns. (p. 87)

Toulouse, France — during a seminar here, the four critics meet Rodolfo Alatorre. (p. 99)

Mexico City, Mexico — Alatorre’s friend Almendro (aka El Cerdo) receives a call from (a man he claims is) Archimboldi and goes to meet him. (p. 100)

Week 2: Mucho Macho

by Maria Bustillos

Unfortunately, the reaction of Espinoza and Pelletier to the Pakistani cab driver’s insults came as no surprise to me. The admirable Anglo technique of dealing with insults from other men by means of contempt, ridicule or boredom (q.v. The Scarlet Pimpernel) requires a certain detachment uncommon among those of the hotter blood. And in this case, the offense was huge, manifold: the cab driver insulted the woman under their protection,* as well as each man’s own moral character, and then, that of his friend. My first thought as I read was, oh no no, yikes, I wonder if this cab driver would have said such stuff if he’d had the faintest clue about that difference. Did American readers know, as I did, that there was going to be a fight as soon as the word “whore” was spoken? It was inevitable, any of the men in my own family would have done exactly the same thing, though they’re not alike in much else. This is about the worst thing you could say to a Latin guy, crazy as that may sound, and it is no surprise whatsoever that the first blows administered (predictably, by Espinoza) are described as “Iberian.”

That complex of characteristics both admirable and deplorable, composed of pride, sensitivity, insecurity, potency and belligerence, that is called machismo in Spanish–this exists in every culture, of course, but the Spanish flavor is very pronounced. I think that Bolano is saying, here, that machismo is a literally uncontrollable source of violence; that no matter how “civilized” a man is, he will always be in some danger of a catastrophe like Espinoza’s (pencil “v. true” in the margin on that one, I reckon.)

The dry, sardonic humor in this passage really is a torment, in kind of a Solondzian way. Why the hell didn’t they stop kicking the guy?! Oh god, why bring Salman Rushdie into it?! The thing that made me really nuts was Espinoza’s subsequent rationalization of the whole thing. The Pakistani guy “had it coming.” If we had a nickel for every time we’ve heard that one!

What a wonderful passage though, 100% insane and 100% credible, funny, terrible, sad. It’s a very deft thing to show us these guys, clownish and absurd and even unhinged and dangerous as they are, and yet evoke sympathy. That to me is the mark of the most skilled novelist: Dostoevsky territory.

* You bet that is how these two think of it, no matter how “modern” they are.

Week 2: Characters

by Brooks Williams

Alex Pritchard

Friend (maybe boyfriend) of Liz Norton. Secondary school teacher (70). He is insulted by Espinoza when Espinoza and Pelletier first meet him in Norton’s apartment (Espinoza calls him “badulaque” (66)). Thinks that “German Literature [is] a scam” (66). Pritchard later tells Pelletier to “beware of the Medusa” (69) in reference to Norton.

Vanessa

A whore to which Pelletier becomes attached. She has a son and a husband, who is a Moroccan and a Muslim (81).

Edwin Johns

Painter who cuts off his own right hand and inserts it into his own painting (52-53). Credited with kicking off an artistic movement — the new decadence or English animalism (52).

Currently resides in a mental institution (the Auguste Demarre Clinic) in Switzerland (87). Has replaced his missing hand with one made of plastic (89).

Visited by Morini, Espinoza and Pelletier on the suggestion of Morini (87-92). Delivers a monologue about coincidence and fate (90). Whispers to Morini why he cut off his hand (91).

The character of Edwin Johns may be loosely based on performance artist Pierre Pinoncelli.

The Gallery Owner

Owner of an unsuccessful gallery/bar/used clothing shop (located on Hyde Park Gate, near the Dutch embassy) where Norton brings Espinoza and Pelletier (87). The gallery/bar/shop is located in his grandmother’s former house. He claims that his grandmother haunts the place (97-98). He formerly lived in the Caribbean, where he learned to make margaritas and worked as a spy.

Rodolfo Alatorre

Young Mexican student/writer who seeks out Norton, Pelletier, Espinoza and Morini at a seminar in Toulouse. During a conversation with Morini, he mentions that a friend (Almendro) had met recently Archimboldi in Mexico (99).

Hector Enrique Almendro (“El Cerdo”)

Essayist, novelist, “cultural official”, friend/mentor to Rodolfo Alatorre. Allegedly meets Archimboldi in a hotel in Mexico City near the airport. Archimboldi may have gotten El Cerdo’s contact information from Mrs. Bubis, who he met at a party in Berlin (103).


Historical Characters

Page 34 Mnemosyne – The personification of memory in Greek mythology

Ulysses – Main character in The Odyssey. Spent ten years getting home after the Trojan War.

Eurylochus – Second in command on Ulysses’s ship in The Odyssey. Portrayed as cowardly and undermining Ulysses.

Zeus – In Greek mythology, Zeus is the king of all the gods.

Prometheus – Stole fire from Zeus and gave it to mortals. Punished for all eternity, tied to a rock while an eagle eats his liver – every day.

Page 39 Adolf Hitler (1889 – 1945) – German politician and head of the Nazi party. Chancellor of Germany from 1934—1945.

Page 41 the Fury – The physical embodiment of ancient gods, portrayed as horrific female figures, sent to punish mortals.

Hecate – Greco-Roman goddess associated with childbirth and nurturing the young, but also with ghosts, witchcraft and ghosts.
Page 52 Emma Waterson – Fictional person.

Page 60 Berthe Morisot (1841 – 1895) – French impressionist painter. Undervalued for over a century because of her sex.

Page 64 Jacob Epstein (1880 – 1956) – American born British sculptor. Pioneered modern sculpture.

Page 69 Medusa – A female monster of Greek mythology. A Gorgon. Anyone that looks at Medusa is instantly turned to stone.

Phorcys – Primodrial sea god of Greek mythology. Father of the Gorgons, husband of Ceto.

Ceto – Primordial sea goddess of Greek mythology. Mother of the Gorgons, wife of Phorcys.

The Gorgons – The children of Phorcys and Ceto. “the term commonly refers to any of three sisters who had hair of living, venomous snakes, and a horrifying gaze that turned those who beheld it to stone. Traditionally, while two of the Gorgons were immortal, Stheno and Euryale, their sister Medusa was not, and was slain by the mythical hero Perseus.”

Hesiod (~8th Century B.C.) – Ancient Greek poet. His work is a major source of Greek mythology.

Stheno – A female monster of Greek mythology. A Gorgon. Sister of Medusa and Euryale.

Euryale – A female monster of Greek mythology. A Gorgon. Sister of Medusa and Stheno.

Perseus – The first mythic hero of Greek mythology. Kills Medusa.

Chrysaor – The brother of Pegasus, son of Poseidon and Medusa. Born from the neck of Medusa when Perseus cut off her head. Often depicted as a winged boar.

Geryon – A giant with one head, three bodies and two arms. The grandson of Medusa, son of Chrysaor.

Pegasus – A winged horse, born from the blood of Medusa.

Page 73 Jorge Luis Borges (1899-1986) – Argentine writer, known mostly for short stories focusing on fantasy and dream worlds.

Charles Dickens (1812 – 1870) – Victorian English novelist. Among the most popular writers of all-time.

Robert Louis Stevenson (1850 – 1894) – Scottish writer. Author of Treasure Island, The Strange Case of Dr Jekyll and Mr Hyde and Kidnapped (among others).

Page 74 Salman Rushdie (1947 – ) – British Indian novelist. Notable works include Midnight’s Children and The Satanic Verses.

Valerie Solanas (1936 – 1988) – American radical feminist writer. Attempted to kill Andy Warhol in 1968. Her writings encouraged male gendercide and an all-female society.

Page 76 Anthony Perkins (1932 – 1992) – American actor, famous for playing Normal Bates in Alfred Hitchcock’s Psycho.

Page 87 Auguste Demarre – Fictional “late nineteenth-century Swiss politician or financier.”

Page 89 Hans Wette – Fictional painter

Page 95 G. K. Chesterton (1874 – 1936) – Influential English writer.

Father Brown – Literary character who appeared in 52 G. K. Chesterton short stories.

Page 96 Filippo Brunelleschi (1377 – 1446) – Italian architect and engineer during the Italian Renaissance

Page 99 Alfonso Reyes (1889 – 1959) – Mexican writer and philosopher.

Sor Juana (1648/51 – 1695) – Mexican writer. Early figure of Mexican literature.

Page 101 Voltaire (1694 – 1778) – French Enlightenment writer, famous for his advocacy of civil liberties.

Page 102 Giovanni Battista Piranesi (1720 – 1778) – Italian Artist. Produced a set of prints called the Prisons, which influenced Romanticism and Surrealism.


Updates to Existing Entries

Jean-Claude Pelletier

Born 1961. Discovered Archimboldi (D’Arsonval) while studying German literature in Paris, Christmas 1980 at the age of 19 (3). Read Mitzi’s Treasure and then The Garden. Translated D’Arsonval into French in 1983. A professor of German in Paris (by 1986). Translated two other (unnamed) Archimboldi works. “…regarded almost universally as the preeminent authority on Benno von Archimboldi across the length and breadth of France” (4). Experiences a sort of rebirth while translating D’Arsonval. Not unlike the biblical story of Jacob wrestling with the angel (Genesis 32:22-32). “…first, that his life as he had lived it so far was over; second, that a brilliant career was opening up before him, and that to maintain its glow he had to persist in his determination, in sole testament to that garret.” (5) First met Morini in 1989 at a German literature conference. First met Espinoza in 1990 at a conference. First meets Norton in 1993 or 1994 (12). Realizes he loves Liz Norton (16) and is first to sleep with her after the meetings with Schnell and Mrs. Bubis in 1995 (30). Along with Espinoza, beats down a Pakistani cab driver in London and then steals the cab (73-74). Accompanies Morini and Espinoza to Switzerland to meet Ethan Johns (87-91).

Piero Morini

Born 1956, near Naples. Discovered Archimboldi in 1976. Translated Bifurcaria, Bifurcata to Italian in 1988. Shortly afterwards, published two studies – “one on the role of fate in Railroad Perfection, and the other on the various guises of conscience and guilt in Lethaea, on the surface an erotic novel, and in Bitzius, a novel less than one hundred pages long, similar in some ways to Mitzi’s Treasure…” (6). Also translated Saint Thomas in 1991. Has multiple sclerosis, “suffered [a] strange and spectacular accident that left him permanently wheelchair-bound.” (6) Teaches German literature at the University of Turin. First met Pelletier 1989 at a German literature conference. First met Espinoza in 1990 at a conference. First meets Norton in 1993 or 1994 (12). Goes with Espinoza and Pelletier to Switzerland to find Ethan Johns and ask why he (Johns) cut off his own hand (87-91). He disappears directly after the meeting and goes to London to visit Norton (92-97).

Manuel Espinoza

Younger than Pelletier and Morini (no date of birth given). Originally wanted to be a writer and studied Spanish literature. Had a brief period of interest in Ernst Jünger before becoming interested in German Literature. Completed his doctorate in German literature in 1990. Never translated any German author “since the glory he coveted was of the writer, not the translator.” (6) First met Morini and Pelletier in 1990 at a conference. First meets Norton in 1993 or 1994 (12). Realizes he loves Liz Norton (16) and sleeps with her after the meetings with Schnell and Mrs. Bubis (33-34). Along with Pelletier, beats down a Pakistani cab driver in London and then steals the cab (73-74). Accompanies Morini and Pelletier to Switzerland to meet Ethan Johns (87-91).

Some additional thoughts:

• Bolano infers that in The Sorrows of Young Werther Espinoza would find a “kindrid spirit” (6). As a plot device it infers that Espinoza is chasing a career in writing that he will never have and he ought to just murder that desire and get on with it. At the same time Espinoza’s character is illuminated – he is emotional and likely to perform mellow dramatic acts of passion that have grave consequences. Or maybe not.
• Espinoza seems fundamentally immature. Example – “He also discovered that he was bitter and full of resentment, that he oozed resentment, and that he might easily kill someone, anyone, if it would provide a respite from the loneliness and rain and cold of Madrid.” (7-8) I guess it’s supposed to reflect some kind of Spanish passion, but to me it just feels immature. Rather emo, really.

Liz Norton

Born 1968 in England (9). She is divorced (33). Discovered Archimboldi in 1998 when visiting Berlin – was loaned The Blind Woman by a friend. Later discovered Bitzius in a college library (9). Teaches German literature at a university in London. Not a full professor. Discovered by Pelletier, Morini, and Espinoza via an article in Literary Studies (#46) in 1993 or 1994. Met them around the same time at a conference (12). Has no close friends (44). Sleeps with Pelletier in 1995 (30). Some time afterwards sleeps with Espinoza (33-34). Introduces Ethan Johns to Morini through a story (51-54). In early 1997 she summons Espinoza and Pelletier to London in order to end her romantic involvement with them (57, 59).

Week 2: Bolaño and the Academy

by Maria Bustillos

The academy in 2666 is very meticulously observed, and yet I cannot find much detail out there about Bolano’s own formal education. Nobody online seems to mention any specific institutions where he worked, taught, or wrote. It seems almost inevitable that if there were any such institutions, their representatives would have been very keen to claim such an association. So it appears that we are looking at an autodidact? A very, very learned autodidact, who lived all over the world, and who was superconnected in Spanish and Latin American literary and political circles. (Please comment, if you know more on this point!)

I’d like to know more about the apparent difference between the American literary world and the European/Latin American one that Bolano was part of. “Serious” writers in the US seem in general to be more closely tied to the academy, though “establishment” figures like the Nobel-winning Octavio Paz taught at a whole lot of fancy schools. But Bolano was a socialist, in some sense a revolutionary, and I think we can extrapolate beyond that to conjecture that he saw his contribution to literature (as to the world at large) as subversive, anti-authoritarian—as, generally, the work of an outsider.

So, as I was saying, despite the fact that Bolano was not of the academy, he seems to have understood its workings very well indeed. The critics of 2666 are very like real academics in all their ambition and their weird intellectual competitiveness, shot through with a real and passionate desire to read, and understand, and to write, and be understood.

With all this in mind, let’s have a look at the following mind-blowing, virtuoso passage from the novel, quite possibly my favorite so far. It speaks clearly to Bolano’s rejection of the academic life, and of institutions generally. This rejection comes on all fronts: societal, cultural, political and intellectual.

(And at this point it must be said that there’s truth to the saying make your name, then sleep and reap fame, because Espinoza’s and Pelletier’s participation in the conference “Reflecting the Twentieth Century: The Work of Benno von Archimboldi,” not to mention their contribution to it, was at best null, at worst catatonic, as if they were suddenly spent or absent, prematurely aged or in a state of shock, a fact that didn’t pass unnoticed by the attendees used to Espinoza’s and Pelletier’s displays of energy [sometimes brazen] at this sort of event, nor did it go unnoticed by the latest litter of Archimboldians, recent graduates, boys and girls, their doctorates tucked still warm under their arms, who planned, by any means necessary, to impose their particular readings of Archimboldi, like missionaries ready to instill faith in God, even if to do so meant signing a pact with the devil, for most were what you might call rationalists, not in the philosophical sense but in the pejorative literal sense, denoting people less interested in literature than in literary criticism, the one field, according to them—some of them, anyway—where revolution was still possible, and in some way they behaved not like youths but like nouveaux youths, in the sense that there are the rich and the nouveaux riches, all of them generally rational thinkers, let us repeat, although often incapable of telling their asses from their elbows, and although they noticed a there and a not-there, an absence-presence in the fleeting passage of Pelletier and Espinoza through Bologna, they were incapable of seeing what was really important: Pelletier’s and Espinoza’s absolute boredom regarding everything said there about Archimboldi or their negligent disregard for the gaze of others, as if the two were so much cannibal fodder, a disregard lost on the young conferencegoers, those eager and insatiable cannibals, their thirtysomething faces bloated with success, their expressions shifting from boredom to madness, their coded stutterings speaking only two words: love me, or maybe two words and a phrase: love me, let me love you, though obviously no one understood.)

Despite his fire-breathing (and hilarious) condemnation of these conventional representatives of the Life of the Mind, I don’t mistake Bolano for any kind of “art for art’s sake” idealist, or for a sniffy or superior “radical,” either. He distinguishes between those who love criticism more than literature in a manner that suggests very clearly that there is a right side of that question to be on, but he doesn’t really tear these guys down in order to put himself above, in the manner, say, of Henry Miller, or Harold Bloom, or James Wood, even. There’s compassion in it, as well as a smackdown, and the ego quotient is not high. Indeed I have formed the impression that there was not one self-regarding bone in this guy’s bod. Just as an aside, because I know that there are so many admirers of David Foster Wallace here: it’s no surprise to me that so many Wallace fans are drawn to Bolano, because of this pre-eminent quality of intellectual humility, plus low bullshit-tolerance.

(So I had written the above, and then I happened across the most beautiful illustration of this!)

Rodrigo Fresan’s eulogy of Bolano (http://www.letraslibres.com/index.php?art=8981) is a lovely, gentle, rather elaborately worded remembrance of his friend. He paints Bolano as a passionate and lively companion, but most of all, as a writer through and through; a man completely dedicated to and steeped in the literary life.

Toward the end, Fresan’ quotes a remarkable email that he received from Bolano:

Yo no sé cómo hay escritores que aún creen en la inmortalidad literaria. Entiendo que haya quienes creen en la inmortalidad del alma, incluso puedo entender a los que creen en el Paraíso y el Infierno y en esa estación intermedia y sobrecogedora que es el Purgatorio, pero cuando escucho a un escritor hablar de la inmortalidad de determinadas obras literarias me dan ganas de abofetearlo. No estoy hablando de pegarle sino de darle una sola bofetada y después, probablemente, abrazarlo y confortarlo. En esto yo sé que no estarás de acuerdo conmigo, Rodrigo, porque tú eres una persona básicamente no violenta. Yo también lo soy. Cuando digo darle una bofetada estoy más bien pensando en el carácter lenitivo de ciertas bofetadas, como aquellas que en el cine se les da a los histéricos o a las histéricas para que reaccionen y dejen de gritar y salven su vida.

(This is my own translation … please let me know if I’ve botched anything.)

I don’t know how there can be writers who still believe in literary immortality. I understand that there might be those who believe in the immortality of the soul, and I can even believe there are those who believe in Paradise and Hell and in that freaky intermediate station that is Purgatory, but when I hear a writer speak of the immortality of definite works of literature I feel like slapping him. I’m not talking about really belting, so much as just one slap, and afterwards, probably, hugging and comforting him. In this I know that you won’t be in agreement with me, Rodrigo, because you are basically a non-violent person. As am I. When I say, deliver a slap, I’m more thinking of the palliative character of certain slappings, like those in the movies that are administered to hysterics so that they will react, stop screaming, and save their own lives.

Week 2: Dreams

by Daryl L.L. Houston

76: In the aftermath of beating the Pakistani cab driver, Pelletier and Espinoza discover that there was a sort of almost sexual feeling for them during the beating, not as if they wanted to have sex with the cab driver but rather more masturbatory. The experience is described has having taken place during a dreamlike state.

78: Pelletier is married to Norton and living near a cliff overlooking a beach. People are always on the beach, usually doing frivolous, meaningless things and apparently waiting for something. Sometimes he can soar over the beach like a seagull. Norton is something of a background presence in the house, sometimes making noise or speaking, but declining to enter a room he’s in. Pelletier loses any sense of time and tries to sleep sitting in his chair but keeps his eyes on the beach, looking for a glimmer of light. He discovers that the Archimboldi papers before him are in fact written in French rather than German. One day, the beach folk leave the beach, so that all that’s left is a “dark form projecting from a yellow pit.” He wonders if he should go bury it but thinks about how far he’d have to walk to get to the beach (compare to Morini’s observations of distance in his own recent dream). He sees a tremor in the sea and hears a hum of bees, and then silence. He calls Norton’s name but she doesn’t answer. He weeps and watches the remains of a simultaneously horrific and beautiful statue (formless stone, remnants of a hand, wrist, and forearm) emerge from the bottom of a metallic sea. This statue recalls Morini’s dream of a female figure making her way to a rock jutting from the edge of the pool.

85: Having slept with a Mexican prostitute (among many others of late), Espinoza dreams one night that he remembers some indecipherable words she had said to him. Within the dream, he knows he’s dreaming and fears he’ll lose the words and resolves to remember them before he wakes up. The sky is spinning and he tries to shout to wake himself up but all he hears is a distant moan as of an animal or child. The bulbs in the house seem to have burned out. All he remembers of the dream after waking up is watching the woman standing in a dim hallway. She’s reading something written on the wall and spelling it out as if she doesn’t know how to read.
94: After meeting with Edwin Johns, Morini disappears, and Espinoza and Pelletier spend a lot of time worrying about him and trying to find him. One day, he suddenly appears as if he had never been gone. Bolaño describes Pelletier’s first talk with Morini afterward as having been like waking from a bad, baffling dream.

Week 2: pages 51-102

When we left off at the end of week 1, Morini was sitting in Hyde Park reading Sor Juana’s recipes aloud to a stranger. The next day, Liz Norton tells Morini the story of the tortured artist Edwin Johns, who cut off his own hand and then went mad. Clearly Johns’ story is a metaphor for an idea about the role of the artist, but what do we make of the role of the critic in relation to the artist? Why are these literary critics suddenly talking about painters?

We also learn about the article a Serbian critic published in Pelletier’s academic journal. The Serb’s article details the life of Archimboldi, mainly to confirm Archimboldi’s human, worldly existence. The four critics search for tiny clues in this article and offer their own interpretations of what those clues might mean in terms of where Archimboldi might be located at this very moment and even what Archimboldi might look like.

Liz Norton feels a need to change her life and effectively breaks up with both Pelletier and Espinoza. Despite some awkwardness at subsequent conferences, the two cannot be enemies and remain good friends. Three months later, they decide to pay a visit to Norton in London and then they meet Alex Pritchard. There is some name-calling and tension, but Pritchard leaves them alone. On a later visit, Pritchard tells Pelletier that Norton is The Medusa.

Pelletier and Espinoza continue to worry about the role of love and sex in their lives and what future the pursuit of either brings. In the midst of this, things take a turn toward the dark side. Pelletier and Espinoza get into an argument with a Pakistani cab driver in London and beat the man within an inch of his life. The two critics never felt more alive. Pelletier and Espinoza turn to prostitutes. Pelletier becomes involved with a prostitute named Vanessa. When Pelletier tells Espinoza about this involvement, Espinoza responds: “Whores are there to be fucked—not psychoanalyzed.”

The critics (minus Morini) unite in London and Espinoza tells Norton about the time that the three of them, oh yeah, went to Switzerland to see Edwin Johns. Morini asked Johns why he (Johns) cut off his own hand. Johns leans over and whispers in Morini’s ear and walks away. The next day, Morini has disappeared, fled back home to Italy without saying goodbye. Pelletier and Espinoza cannot reach him by phone for days. Norton tells them that during that time Morini has been in London. Morini tells Norton that Johns cut off his hand “for money.”

During a seminar in Toulouse, the critics meet a Mexican scholar named Rodolfo Alatorre. Alatorre tells Morini that one of his friends in Mexico City saw Archimboldi just the other day. Alatorre tells the story of El Cerdo (the poet Almendro) being called to Archimboldi’s hotel room, to rescue the old German. In the brief glimpse we have of El Cerdo and Archimboldi together, El Cerdo seems like the more charismatic and interesting person because the narration is from his point of view only. Bolaño does not give us access to any of Archimboldi’s thoughts or motivations. Go figure.

Nicole reports that there are no deaths to count this week. However, the gallery owner on page 97 mentions the death of his grandmother, who left him the gallery and may now be haunting it.

Week 1: Vocabulary

by Meaghan Doyle

abstruse

difficult to comprehend

 

anodyne

not likely to offend or arouse tensions

 

ascetic

practicing strict self-denial as a measure of personal and especially spiritual discipline

 

au pair

a usually young foreign person who cares for children and does domestic work for a family in return for room and board and the opportunity to learn the family’s language

 

charcuterie

dressed meats and meat dishes

 

cirrhosis

widespread disruption of normal liver structure by fibrosis and the formation of regenerative nodules

 

colophon

an identifying mark, emblem, or device used by a printer or a publisher

 

conflagration

fire; especially : a large disastrous fire

 

coprophagy

feeding on dung

creole

of or relating to Creoles or their language: a person of mixed French or Spanish and black descent speaking a dialect of French or Spanish

 

Dionysian

characteristic of Dionysus or the cult of worship of Dionysus; especially : being of a frenzied or orgiastic character

 

Eurylochus

second-in-command of Odysseus’ ship

 

flamenco

a vigorous rhythmic dance style of the Andalusian Gypsies; also : a dance in flamenco style

 

Fury

any of the avenging deities in Greek mythology who torment criminals and inflict plagues

 

garde du corps

bodyguard

 

gastronomic

the art or science of good eating

 

gaucho

a cowboy of the South American pampas

 

goulash

a stew made with meat (as beef), assorted vegetables, and paprika

 

Hecate

a Greek goddess associated especially with the underworld, night, and witchcraft

 

Huguenot

a member of the French Reformed communion especially of the 16th and 17th centuries

 

insularity

characteristic of an isolated people; especially : being, having, or reflecting a narrow provincial viewpoint

 

lacuna

a blank space or a missing part

 

licentious

lacking legal or moral restraints

 

macerated

to cause to become soft or separated into constituent elements by or as if by steeping in fluid

 

maestro

a master usually in an art

 

Mnemosyne

the Greek goddess of memory and mother of the Muses by Zeus

 

Nerval

was the nom-de-plume of the French poet, essayist and translator Gérard Labrunie

 

oblique

neither perpendicular nor parallel : inclined

 

oeuvre

a substantial body of work constituting the lifework of a writer, an artist, or a composer

 

omertà

conspiracy of silence

 

osmosis

a usually effortless often unconscious assimilation

 

 

 

 

pastoral

portraying or expressive of the life of shepherds or country people especially in an idealized and conventionalized manner

 

penultimate

next to the last

 

pergola

a structure usually consisting of parallel colonnades supporting an open roof of girders and cross rafters

 

petit comite

small group

 

peyote

a hallucinogenic drug containing mescaline that is derived from peyote buttons and used especially in the religious ceremonies of some American Indian peoples

 

phosphorescent

exhibiting phosphorescence : luminescence that is caused by the absorption of radiations

 

Promethean

daringly original or creative

 

prosody

the rhythmic and intonational aspect of language

 

purloined

to appropriate wrongfully and often by a breach of trust

 

quadrangle

a 4-sided enclosure especially when surrounded by buildings

 

redoubtable

causing fear or alarm : formidable

 

sardonic

disdainfully or skeptically humorous

 

scatology

interest in or treatment of obscene matters especially in literature

 

simulacrum

image, representation

 

solipsism

a theory holding that the self can know nothing but its own modifications and that the self is the only existent thing

 

soporific

causing or tending to cause sleep

 

spleen

feelings of anger or ill will often suppressed

 

 

structuralism

psychology concerned especially with resolution of the mind into structural elements

 

thrall

a state of servitude or submission

 

transmuted

to change or alter in form, appearance, or nature and especially to a higher form

 

Ulysses

Odysseus : a king of Ithaca and Greek leader in the Trojan War who after the war wanders 10 years before reaching home

 

Zapatista

The Liberation Army of the South was an armed group formed and led by Emiliano Zapata which took part in the Mexican Revolution.




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