Savages
After a few hours of reading I’m nearly 100 pages into Roberto Bolano’s Savage Detectives. A mammoth of a book thats tearing into me rather quickly. I missed my train stop today (I actually woke up as if from a daze to realize I’d road two stops past) I was so engrossed. The first part of the book reminds me of what On the Road would be if written from a perspective of twenty years and with more coherency. Based largely on the writers life, or rather people and experiences of the writer, it follows the journey of a group of young latin american poets living in Mexico Ciy called the visceral realist.
I’m not completed, I’ve only stopped because it felt like I was completely immersed in water and I wanted to lift my head up to do the things I need to prepare for the night: charge my phone, write a bit, post a bit, send a few short messages. I’m not sure why I’m always so compelled to write about what I’m reading while I’m in the middle of it rather than after, though I suspect it has something to do with my desire to communicate excitement as close to the experience as possible. Needless to say I’m endless pleased.
Whenever I read a book written by a foreign writer, I always wish I could read it in the language in which it was originally published.
No Comments Yet