2666

About an hour ago I finished reading Bolano's final novel, 2666. At over 850 pages in length, and comprising five different tangential plot lines, it was no easy read. But I must say his prose is easier to digest than DFW's. Like DFW though, there is something utterly dark and mysterious about the writing. His characters are beautifully flawed, and while this may cause them grief, to the reader it only adds color and content. Without these idiosynchracies the novel would lack its quality. To a certain extent these fantastic characters and situations also give the novel some credibility; some semblance of reality that it would lack if they were perfectly "normal." In his mind, normality is essentially a vacant concept, bereft of meaning or desirability. It is the abnormal that finds a home in his writing, the abnormal that comes to exist as the normality it seeks to replace.

We are left in the midst of a world inhabited by maniacal geniuses, whose stories, conversations, and thoughts are left exposed for us to ponder with wonder. It is sort of like driving by a car accident, but Bolano doesn't illicit feelings of shame at being entranced with his stories. Instead we are offered a glimpse into the minds of those who have little thought to their own mortality but who are bound to heed to the will of some cruel God who has fashioned gifts and curses for them to suffer through and which determine their fate.

I won't go into too detailed an explanation of the plot of the novel. Frankly I am too callow to do such a work justice. Even after reading this book five times I would likely never fully appreciate the depth and complexity of the work, nor understand the connections and meaning that Bolano is trying to make. His work, unlike Orwell or Hemmingway, is not a clear window through which we better see the world and ourselves. It is a barred hole into a steaming, red hell, filled with howling creatures whose form we can only catch fleeting glimpses of. But it's still quite a view.