For the most part, I am a fan of Roberto Bolaño. I have read numerous novels of his. Of course, 2666 got me hooked, and from there I just ventured out. For the most part, I like his novels, but this one was just perhaps a little too experimental for my taste. I mean, it was short. It was highly fragmentary. It felt more like a diary of someone, writing their innermost thoughts, on a daily basis. And it definitely was not the novel that one would typically imagine. This was definitely something very different and strange, and if you're starting to venture into Roberto Bolaño's books, then this book probably wouldn't be a good book to start with. Because if you start with this one, then you would probably ask yourself why the heck did you pick this book up.
So why did I pick this book up? Because I wanted to read all of his novels as much as possible. And I suppose with every collection, there are outliers. This is definitely one such outlier. It is highly experimental, and I would think this would remain within the domain of those specialists who definitely crave Roberto Bolaño's writings. Did I enjoy it? Not really. I finished this short book, and in doing so, I am scratching my head, wondering what the heck did I just read? I suppose it would remain that way, with no resolution whatsoever.
I give this book 3 out of 5 stars. It is an art form, but I won't be able to claim that I have understood it.
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