Brooks Williams graciously volunteered to create this map of 2666 locations based on Sara’s list. We’ll keep updating it throughout the group read.
View 2666 Locations in a larger map
Brooks Williams graciously volunteered to create this map of 2666 locations based on Sara’s list. We’ll keep updating it throughout the group read.
View 2666 Locations in a larger map
by Sara Corona Goldstein
Week One (pp. 1-51)
Paris, France — Pelletier studied German literature at University here in 1980. (p. 3)
Munich, Germany — Pelletier travels here in 1981 and finds Archimboldi’s Mitzi’s Treasure and The Garden. (p. 4)
Turin, Italy — Morini teaches German literature here and is diagnosed with multiple sclerosis. (p. 6)
Madrid, Spain (El Escorial) — Espinoza is excluded from a trip here with the Jungerians. (p. 7)
Berlin, Germany — Norton lives here for three months in 1988, where she is introduced to Archimboldi. (p. 9)
Bologna, Italy — German literature colloquium held in 1993, attended by Morini, Espinoza, and Pelletier. They meet Liz Norton. (p.11)
Bremen, Germany — literature conference held shortly after Bologna conference. (p. 12)
Avignon, France — the four critics meet again at the postwar European literature colloquium at the end of 1994. (p. 15)
Amsterdam, The Netherlands— they meet again in 1995 at a panel discussion on contemporary German literature. They meet the Swabian. (p. 17)
Frisian town (unnamed), Germany — the Swabian met Archimboldi and the widow here while working as a cultural promoter. (p. 18)
Buenos Aires, Argentina — the widow traveled here in 1927 or 1928, where her husband won three horse races and the lady talked with the little gaucho. (p. 20)
Hamburg, Germany — Pelletier and Espinoza travel here to visit Archimboldi’s publisher. They meet with Mrs. Bubis. (p. 24)
Salonika, Greece— Morini, while attending a conference, suffers a mild attack of temporary blindness. (p. 35)
Salzburg, Germany — the four meet again in 1996 at the contemporary German literature symposium. They learn that Archimboldi may be a Nobel candidate and declare peace with the other faction of Archimboldi scholars. (p. 36)
Hyde Park, London — Morini, while on a visit to see Norton, sits here reading a book about Sor Juana Ines de la Cruz and her recipes. He talks with and reads to a bum. (p. 48)
By Daryl L. L. Houston
Our first encounter with dreams in 2666 isn’t so much an encounter as a brush-by. On page 14, we’re told that Morini may have dreamed some horrible unrecollected dream.
Bleakonomy pointed out an interesting passage early in the novel that I think deserves a closer look. From page 9:
Five months later, back in England again, Liz Norton received a gift in the mail from her German friend. As one might guess, it was another novel by Archimboldi. She read it, liked it, went to her college library to look for more books by the German with the Italian name, and found two: one was the book she had already read in Berlin, and the other was Bitzius. Reading the latter, really did make her go running out. 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 park, 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.
I would love to see someone with the Spanish version give us an idea of the nuance here, especially the (drops) and the crystallized vomitings. Anyone care to take a shot at what this means?
by Brooks Williams
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).
Schwartz, Borchmeyer and Pohl (11) and later Dieter Hellfeld (37).
Widow of Archimboldi’s publisher (Mr. Bubis). Visited by Pelletier and Espinzoa. Tells a story about how the work of George Grosz affects her (joy) versus how it affects a critic friend (sorrow) (26-27).
Archimboldi’s publisher. Knew (and was loved by) all of the famous German writers, according to his wife (26). Aside from the publicity director and the copy chief, he is the only person at the publishing house that had actually met Archimboldi in person (24).
Saint Thomas – Thomas the Apostle was known mostly for disbelieving in Jesus’s resurrection (John 20:28). The phrase “doubting Thomas” finds its origins in Saint Thomas. It is Morini that translates this work – I wonder if there’s any significance?
Lethaea – Lethaea – From Wikipedia:
“a mythological character briefly mentioned in Ovid‘s Metamorphoses. Due to her vanity, she was turned to stone at Ida by the gods. Her lover Olenus wished to share in the blame, and so shared her fate. The story is used a metaphor for how stunned Orpheus was after a failed attempt to bring back his wife from the underworld. It was as if he too were turned to stone.”
Again, this work is linked to Morini through a paper he authored on “on the various guises of conscience and guilt in Lethaea, on the surface an erotic novel…” The paper also uses Bitzius as a primary reference.
Bifurcaria, Bifurcata – Some science-y stuff here – Bifurcaria is a source of unique diterpenoids which may prove pharmaceutically beneficial. In one preliminary study, an extract of Bifurcaria bifurcata halted the proliferation of cancer cells. This work of Archimboldi was also translated by Morini, who has multiple sclerosis. So maybe there’s a link between this stuff that might offer some kind of cancer relief and the one character that’s confined to a wheelchair? Also, Bifurcaria, Bifurcata makes me think of Faulkner’s Absalom, Absalom! mostly for the sound and the shape of the words.
Bitzius – Probably a reference to Albert Bitzius, who wrote under the pen name Jeremias Gotthelf. All we know of Bitzius is that it’s a short novel, less than 100 words. More of a novella, really. This one is tied to Morini again, but I don’t see a clear connection within the context of 2666.
by Maria Bustillos
The first thing that struck me about this narrative is the wonderful layering-up of fictional intellectuals over the historical ones. We are introduced to the tenebrous character of Archimboldi, the fictional German fictionalist; the scholars who study him, themselves fictions; the gentle, sardonic narrator, at least somewhat fictional, who points out all their little flaws and dodges. But when Morini sits down to read in a London park, he’s reading a real book: Il Libro di Cucina di Sor Juana Ines de la Cruz, by Angelo Morino (1999). The subject of this book, Sor Juana, is a classic 17th-c. Mexican poet whom Bolano claimed as an influence, and whom educated readers of Spanish would be expected to recognize at once. Sor Juana was an extremely undeceived writer, a sensualist, a feminist, a nun, a prodigy, an altogether intense character; Morino’s book is apparently an extremely cool transcription of recipes that the poet copied down in the convent where she lived for 27 years, together with her thoughts on the philosophy of cuisine, which are decidedly non-trivial. There’s a suggestion that she conceived of a correspondence between food and knowledge: between sabor and saber. She also said that if Aristotle had cooked, he would have written a great deal more (to which I could not help inwardly responding jeeps, how much more do you want? But I digress.)
I saw the mention of this book as another instance of the literary recursiveness that seems to be developing in 2666: copying and recopying, studying, going back over, the re-re-combination of ideas, words, names into this huge literary palimpsest that the book itself is re(re-re-re)-reproducing, and hilariously we are also most of us reading it in translation. In this way the realm of the imagination folds outward into the “real” world, which is also the literary world, itself imaginary (taking place in the mind,) one that’s already been so much written-over before we ever happened on it ourselves; in the real/imaginary world of the novel, the story also folds back into itself and the mysterious world of Archimboldi. (Where the hell is that guy?)
The warmth, friendliness and humor of the book have been a very pleasant surprise, so far. I suppose I had been expecting something a little more forbidding from an author so widely celebrated. Certainly one can’t help but respond to Bolano’s overwhelming love of and dedication to literature. He said: “In one way or another, we’re all anchored to the book. A library is a metaphor for human beings or what’s best about human beings, the same way a concentration camp can be a metaphor for what is worst about them. A library is total generosity.”
Welcome, everyone. This week we are discussing the first 51 pages of 2666. You can participate by leaving a comment on this post, posting in the forums or on your own blog, on Twitter, on Facebook, on Tumblr, on Goodreads, Shelfari, or LibraryThing. Or invent your own way and let me know (matt@bolanobolano.com).
I should say from the outset that this is my second read of the novel. The first read was completed less than a year ago in conjunction with a group read on bolano-l. That read fizzled out way too early online, but there are still some excellent posts in the archives. I wrote some material there for the Part About the Critics that I will revise and post (where relevant) here.
This section introduces all the major characters of this Part: the four Archimboldi critics (Espinoza, Pelletier, Morini, and Norton) and Benno von Archimboldi himself (the star of Part V: The Part About Archimboldi). Plotwise, we see the development of each critic as an Archimboldean scholar and the subsequent enmeshment of their personal lives—namely that Pelletier, and then Espinoza, sleep with Liz Norton. We learn that Archimboldi’s life is shrouded in mystery. He was born in Prussia (and writes in German) with a name that looks Italian, but which he claims is Huguenot French (but with a German “von”), and his novels are either “English-themed”, or “Polish-themed”, or “clearly French-themed.”
As you will see in the timeline or locations index, there is quite a bit of traveling around in this section. The critics all live in different countries (England, France, Spain, Italy) and they frequently attend conferences in other countries to speak about a writer from a yet a different country (Germany). I believe that part of what Bolaño is doing here is showing the porousness of certain borders, that European national borders are so easily crossed and recrossed that it barely rates mentioning the difference between countries at all. Without giving anything away, the concept of the border plays a different role in later sections of the novel. Bolaño relishes the opportunity to cross borders and mix nationalities—almost as much as he enjoys mixing in the names of fictional writers with real ones. He himself is considered a Chilean writer, but he traveled throughout Mexico, Europe, and Central America before settling down in Blanes, Spain, where he spent the last 20 years of his life.
The first time I wrote about this section, I spent considerable time trying to look at the names of the characters. Some members of bolano-l thought that was too simplistic, but I still think it’s interesting. Here are a few tidbits:
Ostensibly French, Pelletier is probably a more common Quebecois surname now. For example, there is a Canadian writer named Jean-Jacques Pelletier. I don’t think Bolaño based Jean-Claude on Jean-Jacques, but it helps me to visualize the character, to put a face to a name so to speak.
“Liz Norton” has got to be an homage to the Norton Anthology of English Literature (or any of the Norton anthologies).
“Espinoza” is closely identified with the Dutch/Portuguese/Jewish philosopher Baruch Spinoza (who wrote in Latin and whose name in Portuguese was written Bento de Espinosa). Here again we have an allusion to someone whose nationality is either ill-defined or not related to their work.
The Morini were a tribe in the Roman Empire that occupied a part of what is now French Flanders (the arrondissements near the border of Belgium). The descendents of Morini speak a difficult Dutch dialect called West-Vlaams (West Flemish). Morini is also the name of a large European target-pistol manufacturer that was originally founded in Italy but later moved to an Italian-speaking region of Switzerland. Both of these Morinis (the Roman tribe and the gunmaker) experience a shift, although they retain a language. In a way, Espinoza starts out studying Spanish and then shifts his focus to a German writer (Junger) before
discovering another German writer (Archimboldi) with an Italian name.
The name Archimboldi is very close to (Guiseppe) Arcimboldo, and Arcimboldo is sometimes written Arcimboldi. Arcimboldo is remembered for his portraits composed of fruit or other objects, but he was also multi-national: he worked in Italy and also served as official portraitist to the royal house of Habsburg in Vienna and Prague.
Michael and Nicole report no official deaths in the first 51 pages, but two brief mentions:
p. 30 – “A day later they found him in the yard, dead.” Referring to the boy from the Japanese horror film recounted by Pelletier. This one doesn’t count, but we are tracking death here.
Also on p. 43 we have the first mention of the femicides: “Around this time, Morini was the first to read an article about the killings in Sonora . . . the dead numbered well over one hundred.” Based on the timeline, this is late 1996 or early 1997.
Our other guide throughout this read (besides me and the trackers) will be Maria Bustillos. Here is her official bio:
Maria Bustillos is the author of Dorkismo: the Macho of the Dork and Act Like a Gentleman, Think Like a Woman. She lives in Los Angeles, can be contacted at dorkismo@gmail.com, and is on Twitter as @mariabustillos.
But beyond that I can tell you that she is an incredibly talented thinker and writer. For example, she loved The Brief Wondrous Life of Oscar Wao and hated Avatar with the fire of a thousand suns.
Welcome aboard, Maria!
Well, it looks like the planned read of 2666 is not going to materialize on Infinite Summer. If at some point it does materialize, I will probably refrain from posting too much here in favor of taking advantage of the infrastructure they already have in place over there. BUT until then, I plan to coordinate the group read here on this blog and on bolano-l (a google group/mailing list).
The format here will be similar to Infinite Summer’s group read of Infinite Jest. There will be a schedule, a weekly recap, and some analysis from guides. There will also be a Twitter hashtag. Since this read is not limited to or sponsored by Infinite Summer, I propose #2666 instead of #infsum partly because it’s one character shorter and partly because people are already using it. (My personal twitter account is @mattbucher)
The group read is scheduled to kick off January 25, 2010, so there is still time to order the book if you have not already done so. It’s available (in the US) in three editions: a three-volume paperback, a single paperback, and hardcover. There is also an audiobook. I believe all three editions have the same pagination (I don’t have the single-volume paperback to verify this).
We will work in different sized-chunks per week. The average-sized chunk will be about 50 pages. Some of the sections read faster than others and some demand more explication than others, so there will be some weeks (toward the end) that cover 60 or even 70 pages per week. I believe this is better than dragging out the read for four or five months, when participation drops off significantly.
The tentative schedule is as follows (the part in parentheses refers to the subject line for bolano-l messages, where x=week #):
The Part About the Critics (GR-Critics-x)
Week 1: January 25 – pages 1-51
Week 2: February 1 – pages 51-102
Week 3: February 8 – pages 102-159
The Part About Amalfitano (GR-Amalfitano-x)
Week 4: February 15 – pages 163-228
The Part About Fate (GR-Fate-x)
Week 5: February 22 – pages 231-290
Week 6: March 1 – pages 291-349
The Part About the Crimes (GR-Crimes-x)
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
The Part About Archimboldi (GR-Archimboldi-x)
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 – pages 831-893
Like Infinite Summer, we will attempt to read this novel without spoiling any plot points for you. However, that doesn’t mean we can’t talk about background or events surrounding the book.
Roberto Bolaño died shortly after presenting the first draft of 2666 to his publisher, Anagrama. It was reported that he was not completely finished writing or editing the novel at the time of his death. Realizing he was terribly sick, he instructed Anagrama to publish one part of the novel per year, hoping to stretch out the amount of money that his heirs could receive. His heirs were convinced that if he were not sick, he’d want the book published as a complete novel. After his death, the novel was published as a single volume with five parts.
The Part About the Crimes received the most attention when the book was published. It presents a fictionalized version of the Juarez feminicidios, or the murder of women in Ciudad Juarez. Since 1993, almost 400 women (usually young, often poor, factory workers) have been murdered in and around the city of Juarez, Mexico. Often their bodies are dumped outside of town and discovered well after the time of death. Most of the crimes are unsolved. 2666 contains a multitude of other stories, though. There are stories about academics and writers (one of Bolano’s favorite subjects), stories that slightly cross paths with The Savage Detectives, and stories of love, infatuation, and dreams of death. If this is your introduction to Roberto Bolano, you are in for a remarkable ride.
As of today I’m officially back from the holidays and so posting should pick back up, especially with the 2666 group read kicking off next week.
2666 was mentioned on tons of Best-of lists at the end of the year and they aren’t really that interesting to read outside of the mentions. There are even some places where 2666 is mentioned in meta-discussing what did/didn’t make year end lists. It’s weird: I love lists, but these year-end things just seem like ads to me.
The New Yorker’s Book Bench blog has declared January “National Reading 2666 Month” (seems like “Reading” and “2666” should be transposed there, but whatevs). Somehow I doubt most people will be able to finish it in a month. BUT they should definitely send people over to bolano-l for the group read!
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