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theuncultured's review
5.0
I bought the book and, as is my norm, read it years after the date of purchase. The copy was sent half-eaten with the middle chunk so unintelligible that even the poetic eye would not have known what to do with it. The second copy I ordered was better, not perfect, but readable. I had to pry 50-something pages apart with my own hands at one point, but I didn’t mind doing so because the first quarter of the book was so delicious that I wanted to work for it; I wanted to earn Bolaño’s translated words. A readable mess anyway was better than an unreadable one.
What can I say that has not been violently and passionately declared by others about The Savage Detectives? This book is a valley of people and places that I fell in love with too fast, my obsession growing hard and furious from the start. I wouldn't go as far as to compare it to an unhealthy one-sided relationship but it came close. The first few pages lured me in like a charming stranger in the night and I found it hard to find life outside of the book for a while. I was completely transformed and dissociated from my reality. All I wanted to do was read and sleep so I could read some more in the morning. I had no idea that the entire premise of the book was about a quest (I am still skeptical on that supposed plot), a pursuit to locate a poetess, the poetess, responsible for creating this pathetic yet absolutely charming movement called “Visceral Realism”. But then what? Talking to her? Grilling her? Blaming her for the trail of madness she’s created and abandoned, thus leaving a group of disheveled and washed out poets to fend for themselves and their subjectively brilliant poetry? In any case the visceral poets follow her to the ends of Mexico - perhaps to find life and meaning in their journey and investigation, or perhaps to avoid getting murdered by a clearly delusional and violent pimp, or maybe to simply write a book about a bunch of poets raising hell in Mexico City (I would definitely read this).
The detectives, I mean poets, aren’t boring. As a matter of fact I’ve derived great joy from following them around and reading about their lives from people who’ve met them. Bolaño’s manner of narration using this perspective is brilliant and one of its kind. I hate to say it, because it’s been said so many times before, but I couldn’t separate it from On the Road (although clearly Bolaño’s classier than Kerouac) but the comparison doesn’t arrive from a lack of plot, or cars driven in the middle of sad and lonely deserts, but from an energy that surrounds meeting people, especially literary personalities, and delving into their lives and their mannerisms until they begin to correspond with your own. The stars felt the same, the lines on the faces a memory of ones all over the world who go through life tattered and broken and yet in continuance pursuit of something bigger than themselves. The leftover feeling of this wild Mexican ride is not really knowing who is who and who means what but who really cares about deeply understanding this chaos? It’s gorgeous without any clear explanation.
This is a beautifully written book and I was sad to end it, aside from the middle part that ached and aged my soul. The Savage Detectives is a piece of Latin literature that will forever behold me or anyone who ever comes into contact with it, I know it in my heart. It will drag them into a world full of real people and real pain and bring them closer to a humanity that they never knew they lacked.
What can I say that has not been violently and passionately declared by others about The Savage Detectives? This book is a valley of people and places that I fell in love with too fast, my obsession growing hard and furious from the start. I wouldn't go as far as to compare it to an unhealthy one-sided relationship but it came close. The first few pages lured me in like a charming stranger in the night and I found it hard to find life outside of the book for a while. I was completely transformed and dissociated from my reality. All I wanted to do was read and sleep so I could read some more in the morning. I had no idea that the entire premise of the book was about a quest (I am still skeptical on that supposed plot), a pursuit to locate a poetess, the poetess, responsible for creating this pathetic yet absolutely charming movement called “Visceral Realism”. But then what? Talking to her? Grilling her? Blaming her for the trail of madness she’s created and abandoned, thus leaving a group of disheveled and washed out poets to fend for themselves and their subjectively brilliant poetry? In any case the visceral poets follow her to the ends of Mexico - perhaps to find life and meaning in their journey and investigation, or perhaps to avoid getting murdered by a clearly delusional and violent pimp, or maybe to simply write a book about a bunch of poets raising hell in Mexico City (I would definitely read this).
The detectives, I mean poets, aren’t boring. As a matter of fact I’ve derived great joy from following them around and reading about their lives from people who’ve met them. Bolaño’s manner of narration using this perspective is brilliant and one of its kind. I hate to say it, because it’s been said so many times before, but I couldn’t separate it from On the Road (although clearly Bolaño’s classier than Kerouac) but the comparison doesn’t arrive from a lack of plot, or cars driven in the middle of sad and lonely deserts, but from an energy that surrounds meeting people, especially literary personalities, and delving into their lives and their mannerisms until they begin to correspond with your own. The stars felt the same, the lines on the faces a memory of ones all over the world who go through life tattered and broken and yet in continuance pursuit of something bigger than themselves. The leftover feeling of this wild Mexican ride is not really knowing who is who and who means what but who really cares about deeply understanding this chaos? It’s gorgeous without any clear explanation.
This is a beautifully written book and I was sad to end it, aside from the middle part that ached and aged my soul. The Savage Detectives is a piece of Latin literature that will forever behold me or anyone who ever comes into contact with it, I know it in my heart. It will drag them into a world full of real people and real pain and bring them closer to a humanity that they never knew they lacked.
amiboughter's review
3.0
File under: Latin American Jack Kerouac, where everyone is broke, drinking tequila, and basking in their genius.
thaurisil's review against another edition
4.0
This book is written in three sections. The first comprises diary entries by Juan García Madero, a law student in Mexico in 1975 who joins a group of visceral realists. The visceral realists are young poets led by Arturo Belano and Ulises Lima, and while the leaders on what good poetry entails and want to change the face of modern Mexican poetry, the rest of the group mainly just want to get published. Under their influence, Madero functionally drops out of school, loses his virginity, writes poetry all the time, stops going home, has sex multiple times with María Font, and, right at the end, jumps into a car with Arturo, Ulises and a prostitute called Lupe, to escape from Lupe's violent pimp Alberto. The second and longest section spans 20 years from 1976 to 1996, and contains accounts of people who have met Arturo and/or Ulises in one way or another. Some know them intimately, others have only met them in passing. In general, the visceral realists die out (literally or figuratively), Arturo has multiple relationships but Ulises is rejected by the only woman he likes, both travel a lot, and both get worn out by the realities of life. The chronological series of accounts is broken only by a 1976 account by Amadeo Salvatierra which is divided and told in multiple pieces throughout the section. Salvatierra shows the boys the only surviving poem by Cesárea Tinajero, the founder of a different movement also known as visceral realism int he 1920s. The final section goes back to Madero's diary entries in 1976. Arturo, Ulises, Madero and Lupe travel around the Soneran desert in search of Cesárea Tinajero while on the run from Alberto. When they find her, she has grown fat and works as a washerwoman. In a dramatic showdown with Alberto and his corrupt policeman friend, Arturo and Ulises kill Aberto and his friend, both Cesárea also dies while trying to protect Ulises.
The book gave me a feeling of tragedy. Arturo and Ulises start off young and eager. They are passionate about poetry, seem to think they can change the world, and their followers to varying degrees share the same zest for life. But in the second section, as they grow older, they also grow jaded. Several of the accounts are narrated by people who view the visceral realists with contempt and disgust, but even the visceral realists themselves slowly lose faith in the pair. For all their youthful idealism, Arturo is published only once and Ulises never at all. They fall sick, get rejected by lovers, are chronically poor, sell drugs for a living, and Arturo even goes through a semi-suicidal phase. Arturo's wife is never named, and his marriage is only mentioned when he has divorced.
Arturo represents Bolaño, so perhaps Bolaño is reflecting on his own experiences of the hardships he faced in becoming a known writer, and the struggles that all young poets face. Bolaño himself succeeded, but only in prose and not in his preferred medium of poetry, and the conspicuous lack of poetry in a novel about poetry emphasises the anonymity of young poets. The only poem in the book, by Cesárea is scarcely a poem. It comprises three drawings, one a straight line, one a wavy line, and one a zigzag line, each with a small rectangle on it. Arturo and Ulises interpret it as a boat on a sea that is first calm, then choppy, then stormy. This poem, monumental in the book, seems to be a metaphor for life, which is initially full of hope, but gets increasingly broken up by struggles.
The fate of the young writers is not helped by Mexico's decline, and indeed South American politics features heavily in the book, a by-product of Bolaño's own experiences which involved being jailed for his participation in the Pinochet coup. My ignorance about Mexican and South American politics prevents me from commenting more, but the hardships that the poets face transcend generations. Arturo and Ulises live eerily similar lives to Cesárea – all start with a zest for life and poetry and are highly respected by those in their sphere of influence, but all have waning fortunes and end up lost in the realities of life. Cesárea sacrificing her life to protect Ulises has the heartwarming aspect of the mother of visceral realism protecting her young, but also the tragic quality of one forgotten poet passing on the baton to her successors, thereby condemning them to trudge the same weary path that she took. And has the baton passed on once more, considering that the unknown interviewer in the second section seems to be seeking information on Arturo and Ulises the same way that the pair sought information on Cesárea?
But it is not all sorrow and tragedy. Arturo and Ulises do some funny things, and even outright crazy things. Arturo, for one, challenges a reviewer to a duel with real swords on a deserted beach to defend himself against a review that has not even been written. And while the lives of the pair are pretty sad, the organisation of the second section into accounts by different narrators means that the tone varies from narrator to narrator. And since I'm here, I'd like to say that Bolaño does a fantastic job with his narrative voices. There must have been at least fifty different narrators, but most were characterised well, and their voices were believable, regardless of their gender, race or sexuality. There were funny narrators, reflective narrators, mad narrators, boastful narrators, and many, many unreliable narrators.
This format serves several purposes. Firstly, the variety precludes boredom. Secondly, while we never get close to Arturo and Ulises, we see them from several angles. Everyone has different opinions on them, but one thing is common – everyone thinks that they are a little (or more than a little) queer. Was Bolaño showing cognizance of the attitudes that people in real life had of him? He certainly doesn't hide the flaws of the two characters, and it may be that those were his own flaws. Thirdly, Arturo and Ulises made some impact, sometimes miniscule, sometimes large, on all the narrators. And this gives us hope. For although they remained obscure writers, never receiving the recognition they desired, their lives, if not their works, influenced the lives of so many others.
The book ends with a two pictures of rectangles representing windows, and a final picture of a rectangle formed from dotted lines accompanied by the cryptic question "What's outside the window?" Everyone has their own interpretation, but I offer two. Firstly, it may be a bright light, so blinding that it shines through and blocks the edges of the window. The light represents hope, for in the drudgery of life there is always hope, even if we do not recognise it. Secondly, it may be a call to shatter the window and to go beyond its confines to find out what is outside. It is a call to challenge boundaries the way Bolaño and Arturo both did, and not to give up on our passions when we meet opposition, but to pursue them to the end, whatever the end entails.
The book gave me a feeling of tragedy. Arturo and Ulises start off young and eager. They are passionate about poetry, seem to think they can change the world, and their followers to varying degrees share the same zest for life. But in the second section, as they grow older, they also grow jaded. Several of the accounts are narrated by people who view the visceral realists with contempt and disgust, but even the visceral realists themselves slowly lose faith in the pair. For all their youthful idealism, Arturo is published only once and Ulises never at all. They fall sick, get rejected by lovers, are chronically poor, sell drugs for a living, and Arturo even goes through a semi-suicidal phase. Arturo's wife is never named, and his marriage is only mentioned when he has divorced.
Arturo represents Bolaño, so perhaps Bolaño is reflecting on his own experiences of the hardships he faced in becoming a known writer, and the struggles that all young poets face. Bolaño himself succeeded, but only in prose and not in his preferred medium of poetry, and the conspicuous lack of poetry in a novel about poetry emphasises the anonymity of young poets. The only poem in the book, by Cesárea is scarcely a poem. It comprises three drawings, one a straight line, one a wavy line, and one a zigzag line, each with a small rectangle on it. Arturo and Ulises interpret it as a boat on a sea that is first calm, then choppy, then stormy. This poem, monumental in the book, seems to be a metaphor for life, which is initially full of hope, but gets increasingly broken up by struggles.
The fate of the young writers is not helped by Mexico's decline, and indeed South American politics features heavily in the book, a by-product of Bolaño's own experiences which involved being jailed for his participation in the Pinochet coup. My ignorance about Mexican and South American politics prevents me from commenting more, but the hardships that the poets face transcend generations. Arturo and Ulises live eerily similar lives to Cesárea – all start with a zest for life and poetry and are highly respected by those in their sphere of influence, but all have waning fortunes and end up lost in the realities of life. Cesárea sacrificing her life to protect Ulises has the heartwarming aspect of the mother of visceral realism protecting her young, but also the tragic quality of one forgotten poet passing on the baton to her successors, thereby condemning them to trudge the same weary path that she took. And has the baton passed on once more, considering that the unknown interviewer in the second section seems to be seeking information on Arturo and Ulises the same way that the pair sought information on Cesárea?
But it is not all sorrow and tragedy. Arturo and Ulises do some funny things, and even outright crazy things. Arturo, for one, challenges a reviewer to a duel with real swords on a deserted beach to defend himself against a review that has not even been written. And while the lives of the pair are pretty sad, the organisation of the second section into accounts by different narrators means that the tone varies from narrator to narrator. And since I'm here, I'd like to say that Bolaño does a fantastic job with his narrative voices. There must have been at least fifty different narrators, but most were characterised well, and their voices were believable, regardless of their gender, race or sexuality. There were funny narrators, reflective narrators, mad narrators, boastful narrators, and many, many unreliable narrators.
This format serves several purposes. Firstly, the variety precludes boredom. Secondly, while we never get close to Arturo and Ulises, we see them from several angles. Everyone has different opinions on them, but one thing is common – everyone thinks that they are a little (or more than a little) queer. Was Bolaño showing cognizance of the attitudes that people in real life had of him? He certainly doesn't hide the flaws of the two characters, and it may be that those were his own flaws. Thirdly, Arturo and Ulises made some impact, sometimes miniscule, sometimes large, on all the narrators. And this gives us hope. For although they remained obscure writers, never receiving the recognition they desired, their lives, if not their works, influenced the lives of so many others.
The book ends with a two pictures of rectangles representing windows, and a final picture of a rectangle formed from dotted lines accompanied by the cryptic question "What's outside the window?" Everyone has their own interpretation, but I offer two. Firstly, it may be a bright light, so blinding that it shines through and blocks the edges of the window. The light represents hope, for in the drudgery of life there is always hope, even if we do not recognise it. Secondly, it may be a call to shatter the window and to go beyond its confines to find out what is outside. It is a call to challenge boundaries the way Bolaño and Arturo both did, and not to give up on our passions when we meet opposition, but to pursue them to the end, whatever the end entails.
awkwardsnitch's review against another edition
Not looking forward to 27 hours of narration where the first 20 minutes talk incessantly about how horny the narrator is.
spenkevich's review
5.0
A book so good I had to get it tattooed onto me.
‘Youth is a scam’
Roberto Bolaño (1953-2003) created a very special novel with The Savage Detectives. The novel is constantly moving, grinding slowly across the years steady and sure as a freight train, carrying the baggage of our existence towards the inevitable finality of life. During the course of my reading, people would misinterpret the title and tell me they enjoyed a good crime thriller and inquire into the plot of the book I clutched lovingly in my hands. While this is no ‘whodunnit’ novel, it is still an investigation of sorts formed primarily through a series of interviews that leave the truth up to the reader to deduce. These various perspectives provide anything from glowing reports to unflattering dismissals of the major characters as their lives intertwine. These perspectives form an ever-expanding collage of lost souls floating across Europe and the Americas. They occasionally collide and leave their mark upon one another and redirecting the course of their lives for better or for worse.
The novel begins with the youth and youthful aspirations of young Hispanic poets. As is the common folly of youth, they believe firmly in their still-forming convictions and have yet to embrace the truths of their own mortality, thus believing in an impenetrable immortality that they will construct of themselves by etching their mark upon the literary scene and politics of Mexico. As the timeline expands, we see often these lofty ideals falter, the bonds of friendship fizzle and their efforts fail, and the reader is reminded of their own mortality and the uncertainties that lie ahead of them. That sharp flint which we would plunge into the beating heart of the world is chipped through our battles for selfhood and dulled by the temoltous seas of life – seas comprised of changing tides and hostile currents that toss us about at will, shattering dreams, friendships and romances upon the rocks. Not only is it the personal lives of the characters, but the whole of Mexico itself is thrashed and ravaged as time marches on. The sad state of the characters are representative of the state of their nation, and vice versa. We are all connected through each other, and through our homeland. We can all be dragged down together if we are not careful.
Life is fragile and our goals are even more fragile. Yet, still we have to press on. We must adapt and produce in order to not be effaced from the memory of the world. Many of these characters are able to, and we are treated to the advice and stories of those who make it in the literary scene. However, it is those who never reach the peak that are ultimately the heroes of this novel. Through poetry, they attempt this immortality, this cup of eternal life they so seek. If it is not through poetry, then they strive towards criticism and translations. Is reaching for immortality through the arts the answer? Inaki Exhevarne offers this discouraging impression on the arts and criticism:
This ultimately makes one feel awkward even writing a review of this book, as it acknowledges that I too must become a permanent fixture in the trail of bones. The only way out is to hitch a ride on the Work, to be the name attached to the eternal manuscript even though we still must face Death.
Despite all this bleakness, Bolaño offers a bright outcome. It is curious that a novel about poets is relatively devoid of poetic works. There are a few samples of older, famous pieces, including an extensive reference to Theodore Sturgeon’s short story When You Care, When You Love, but the reader never gets to sample the actual poetry of the Visceral Realists. Then, the true poetry is the actual lives of the characters. Life itself is the poetic beauty in the world, and it is through our interactions with others that we find immortality. Those we encounter become our readers, and through their stories and perspectives they carry on our legacy. They interpret our proverbial footprints in the sand for all those who would seek them.
Felipe Müller's recounting 0f the Sturgeon story told to him by Belano gives us a glimpse into the sort of immortality granted by the encounters with others. It is an exercise in infinity. The number of people we encounter is constantly growing, hurtling towards an infinite number of people our simple existence affects. Many of the characters stories in Savage Detectives have only small references to the major players, Belano and Ulises, but even they take something away from these encounters that will pass through them and their actions into the people they subsequently interact with. We occasionally play a large role in the lives of others, but even our smallest roles can be told. Think of the cashier you annoyed by buying cigarettes in all change (guilty), or the waiter you left an extra generous tip to. They may have later told of the small encounter later (especially in the case that you annoyed or enraged them, but hey, if Bolaño is accurate, it’s just a step towards immortality or at least unflattering notoriety). Each individual perspective is unique from everyone else’s of a person, Each encounter bounces off, sometimes revealing positives and sometimes revealing flaws, and the summation of these perspectives, this penumbra of those around us, form the picture of a person. The more perspectives, the more accurate and clear the image. In a way, it is like pixels in a picture. The novel could have been told from a perspective closer to Ulises and Belano, but through all the various perspectives we get a well rounded idea of who they are, and also learn the lives and aspirations of all those they meet.
Bolaño does a magnificent job creating a diverse cast of characters whose eyes the reader can peer through. The voices don’t ever become stale, however when compared to more chameleon-like writers such as David Mitchell of which I’ve been gushing over for months now and can’t help but use as a yardstick for all other authors, a bit more diversity in the voices would have been a nice touch. Still, the effect is pulled off expertly and there are a number of unique voices to soak up. Quim offers a truly surreal depiction of the world around him, Barbara is hilariously vulgar, the optimism of the hippy hitchhiker and the amazing chapter of Heimito told in an obfuscating style that reminded me of Faulker’s Benjy. The rotation of these voices keeps the novel fresh and exciting, and the multiple vantage points on key situations, such as the duel, help pull the reader into the situation and make them feel as if they were there in three dimensions smelling the surf and feeling the sand beneath their feet.
If I may, I’m going to switch from intellect to inebriate for a moment (intellect being a term I’ve shamelessly and unwarrantedly bestowed upon myself, but it made for some fun word play). This novel came at the right time in my life, and allowed me to examine the bonds that tie us to reality. A novel like this makes one question their lives, their choices, and really evaluate themselves and value those around them. It may be a bit clichéd now, but this novel felt to me similar to how [b:On the Road|70401|On the Road|Jack Kerouac|https://i.gr-assets.com/images/S/compressed.photo.goodreads.com/books/1658929891l/70401._SY75_.jpg|1701188] did to me as an impressionable teen. I credit many of the traits of my silly-puddy teenage personality to my experience with that novel. One look at my young college days at MSU, arriving at parties with a cigarette between my lips, guzzling a jug of wine while wearing a flannel shirt and drunkenly ranting about Buddhism, poetry, and the inescapable sadness that provides the true beauty of life, and I might as well have the books title tattooed on my spine. It worked at the time, but this is the sort of life we have to let go of lest we become pathetic. Savage Detectives takes this sort of ideals and displays them further on down the road. The book is rather sad in that it shows how fickle people are towards their goodtime friends. Once Ulises and Belano take off, the ‘tight knit’ group relatively forgets them. Some could care less when they return. The ephemeral moments we with could last forever are just a brilliant burning flame that will be extinguished. We can keep it in our heart and immortalize it through epic retellings, but we can’t expect time to stand still. If we do, it will trample us on its march to the future. I miss my old friends, but I have good ones now too, just a lower number of them due to societal constraints on my time. In the past few years I’ve left behind my home, my friends and family, to live several hours away and have noticed how true this book is. There are good friends I’ve now lost touch with, and people that I’m sure have forgotten me. We all have lives and responsibilities, and when someone isn’t immediately present, it is understandable that current issues will elbow their way into the vacant spot. The reading of this book in a GR group made a sort of ‘metagroup’ considering the ideas expressed in the book, and made me really value the discussions and friendships that have been formed on this site. Thank you everyone. There was a time when I took trains around the Midwest and crashed on couches in Tennessee, but now those are just stories that I hope when others tell them that I appear as a positive and amiable figure in. The Kerouac days are over, but what Road was to my youth, Savage Detectives is to my present state in my mid-twenties. I hope to learn from this book and always remember that our immortality comes through our interactions with others. I want to live to the fullest, and to strive to be a positive figure in the stories that will one day be told. If you made it this far, thank you for listening to me vomit up some overly sentimental ramblings. Don’t judge too harshly?
Savage Detectives is an incredible investigation into the lives of the Visceral Realist, a group based upon actual people in Bolano’s life. It paints a well-rounded portrait of these key figures and reminds us that life is always fluctuating, for better or for worse, as it inches closer to our inevitable deaths. This book comes together quite nicely. He leaves us with an empowering message that the world outside our window is ours to shape. It is a world of infinite possibility. Just don’t let it shape you. Also, it was moving to see the mother of Visceral Realism defend the later generations like a lion to her cubs. Despite all the frailties of friendship, the human bond will not break or shake in the face of death, and we see good always strive to conquer evil. We all end up as the bones that the eternal Works will step over, but even bones have their story to tell. May we all face the stars and the depths of eternity together. Everything that begins as comedy ends as as bittersweet memories
Best enjoyed with a bottle of Tecate or Modelo on a hot summer's day.
5/5
(my original posting of this review years ago was 4 out of 5, but as time goes on this one has grown so much in my heart that I had to give it the full five).
Thanks to everyone in the Cabbage Detectives group led by Don Juan Ian. I would encourage anyone to please read their wonderful reviews, as each perspective brings this novel into clearer focus.
In no particular order:
Ian
Ifer
Kris
Scholar Mike
Mary
Ja(y Rubin)son
Sean
Praj
And more to come...
‘Youth is a scam’
Roberto Bolaño (1953-2003) created a very special novel with The Savage Detectives. The novel is constantly moving, grinding slowly across the years steady and sure as a freight train, carrying the baggage of our existence towards the inevitable finality of life. During the course of my reading, people would misinterpret the title and tell me they enjoyed a good crime thriller and inquire into the plot of the book I clutched lovingly in my hands. While this is no ‘whodunnit’ novel, it is still an investigation of sorts formed primarily through a series of interviews that leave the truth up to the reader to deduce. These various perspectives provide anything from glowing reports to unflattering dismissals of the major characters as their lives intertwine. These perspectives form an ever-expanding collage of lost souls floating across Europe and the Americas. They occasionally collide and leave their mark upon one another and redirecting the course of their lives for better or for worse.
The novel begins with the youth and youthful aspirations of young Hispanic poets. As is the common folly of youth, they believe firmly in their still-forming convictions and have yet to embrace the truths of their own mortality, thus believing in an impenetrable immortality that they will construct of themselves by etching their mark upon the literary scene and politics of Mexico. As the timeline expands, we see often these lofty ideals falter, the bonds of friendship fizzle and their efforts fail, and the reader is reminded of their own mortality and the uncertainties that lie ahead of them. That sharp flint which we would plunge into the beating heart of the world is chipped through our battles for selfhood and dulled by the temoltous seas of life – seas comprised of changing tides and hostile currents that toss us about at will, shattering dreams, friendships and romances upon the rocks. Not only is it the personal lives of the characters, but the whole of Mexico itself is thrashed and ravaged as time marches on. The sad state of the characters are representative of the state of their nation, and vice versa. We are all connected through each other, and through our homeland. We can all be dragged down together if we are not careful.
Life is fragile and our goals are even more fragile. Yet, still we have to press on. We must adapt and produce in order to not be effaced from the memory of the world. Many of these characters are able to, and we are treated to the advice and stories of those who make it in the literary scene. However, it is those who never reach the peak that are ultimately the heroes of this novel. Through poetry, they attempt this immortality, this cup of eternal life they so seek. If it is not through poetry, then they strive towards criticism and translations. Is reaching for immortality through the arts the answer? Inaki Exhevarne offers this discouraging impression on the arts and criticism:
’For a while, Criticism travels side by side with the Work, then Criticism vanishes and it's the Readers who keep pace. The journey may be long or short. Then the Readers die one by one and the Work continues on alone, although a new Criticism and new Readers gradually fall into step with it along its path. Then Criticism dies again and the Readers die again and the Work passes over a trail of bones on its journey toward solitude. To come near the work, to sail in her wake, is a sign of certain death, but new Criticism and new Readers approach her tirelessly and relentlessly and are devoured by time and speed. Finally the Work journeys irremediably alone in the Great Vastness. And one day the Work dies, as all things must die and come to an end: the Sun and the Earth and the Solar System and the Galaxy and the farthest reaches of man's memory. Everything that begins as comedy ends in tragedy.’
This ultimately makes one feel awkward even writing a review of this book, as it acknowledges that I too must become a permanent fixture in the trail of bones. The only way out is to hitch a ride on the Work, to be the name attached to the eternal manuscript even though we still must face Death.
Despite all this bleakness, Bolaño offers a bright outcome. It is curious that a novel about poets is relatively devoid of poetic works. There are a few samples of older, famous pieces, including an extensive reference to Theodore Sturgeon’s short story When You Care, When You Love, but the reader never gets to sample the actual poetry of the Visceral Realists. Then, the true poetry is the actual lives of the characters. Life itself is the poetic beauty in the world, and it is through our interactions with others that we find immortality. Those we encounter become our readers, and through their stories and perspectives they carry on our legacy. They interpret our proverbial footprints in the sand for all those who would seek them.
Felipe Müller's recounting 0f the Sturgeon story told to him by Belano gives us a glimpse into the sort of immortality granted by the encounters with others. It is an exercise in infinity. The number of people we encounter is constantly growing, hurtling towards an infinite number of people our simple existence affects. Many of the characters stories in Savage Detectives have only small references to the major players, Belano and Ulises, but even they take something away from these encounters that will pass through them and their actions into the people they subsequently interact with. We occasionally play a large role in the lives of others, but even our smallest roles can be told. Think of the cashier you annoyed by buying cigarettes in all change (guilty), or the waiter you left an extra generous tip to. They may have later told of the small encounter later (especially in the case that you annoyed or enraged them, but hey, if Bolaño is accurate, it’s just a step towards immortality or at least unflattering notoriety). Each individual perspective is unique from everyone else’s of a person, Each encounter bounces off, sometimes revealing positives and sometimes revealing flaws, and the summation of these perspectives, this penumbra of those around us, form the picture of a person. The more perspectives, the more accurate and clear the image. In a way, it is like pixels in a picture. The novel could have been told from a perspective closer to Ulises and Belano, but through all the various perspectives we get a well rounded idea of who they are, and also learn the lives and aspirations of all those they meet.
Bolaño does a magnificent job creating a diverse cast of characters whose eyes the reader can peer through. The voices don’t ever become stale, however when compared to more chameleon-like writers such as David Mitchell of which I’ve been gushing over for months now and can’t help but use as a yardstick for all other authors, a bit more diversity in the voices would have been a nice touch. Still, the effect is pulled off expertly and there are a number of unique voices to soak up. Quim offers a truly surreal depiction of the world around him, Barbara is hilariously vulgar, the optimism of the hippy hitchhiker and the amazing chapter of Heimito told in an obfuscating style that reminded me of Faulker’s Benjy. The rotation of these voices keeps the novel fresh and exciting, and the multiple vantage points on key situations, such as the duel, help pull the reader into the situation and make them feel as if they were there in three dimensions smelling the surf and feeling the sand beneath their feet.
If I may, I’m going to switch from intellect to inebriate for a moment (intellect being a term I’ve shamelessly and unwarrantedly bestowed upon myself, but it made for some fun word play). This novel came at the right time in my life, and allowed me to examine the bonds that tie us to reality. A novel like this makes one question their lives, their choices, and really evaluate themselves and value those around them. It may be a bit clichéd now, but this novel felt to me similar to how [b:On the Road|70401|On the Road|Jack Kerouac|https://i.gr-assets.com/images/S/compressed.photo.goodreads.com/books/1658929891l/70401._SY75_.jpg|1701188] did to me as an impressionable teen. I credit many of the traits of my silly-puddy teenage personality to my experience with that novel. One look at my young college days at MSU, arriving at parties with a cigarette between my lips, guzzling a jug of wine while wearing a flannel shirt and drunkenly ranting about Buddhism, poetry, and the inescapable sadness that provides the true beauty of life, and I might as well have the books title tattooed on my spine. It worked at the time, but this is the sort of life we have to let go of lest we become pathetic. Savage Detectives takes this sort of ideals and displays them further on down the road. The book is rather sad in that it shows how fickle people are towards their goodtime friends. Once Ulises and Belano take off, the ‘tight knit’ group relatively forgets them. Some could care less when they return. The ephemeral moments we with could last forever are just a brilliant burning flame that will be extinguished. We can keep it in our heart and immortalize it through epic retellings, but we can’t expect time to stand still. If we do, it will trample us on its march to the future. I miss my old friends, but I have good ones now too, just a lower number of them due to societal constraints on my time. In the past few years I’ve left behind my home, my friends and family, to live several hours away and have noticed how true this book is. There are good friends I’ve now lost touch with, and people that I’m sure have forgotten me. We all have lives and responsibilities, and when someone isn’t immediately present, it is understandable that current issues will elbow their way into the vacant spot. The reading of this book in a GR group made a sort of ‘metagroup’ considering the ideas expressed in the book, and made me really value the discussions and friendships that have been formed on this site. Thank you everyone. There was a time when I took trains around the Midwest and crashed on couches in Tennessee, but now those are just stories that I hope when others tell them that I appear as a positive and amiable figure in. The Kerouac days are over, but what Road was to my youth, Savage Detectives is to my present state in my mid-twenties. I hope to learn from this book and always remember that our immortality comes through our interactions with others. I want to live to the fullest, and to strive to be a positive figure in the stories that will one day be told. If you made it this far, thank you for listening to me vomit up some overly sentimental ramblings. Don’t judge too harshly?
Savage Detectives is an incredible investigation into the lives of the Visceral Realist, a group based upon actual people in Bolano’s life. It paints a well-rounded portrait of these key figures and reminds us that life is always fluctuating, for better or for worse, as it inches closer to our inevitable deaths. This book comes together quite nicely. He leaves us with an empowering message that the world outside our window is ours to shape. It is a world of infinite possibility. Just don’t let it shape you. Also, it was moving to see the mother of Visceral Realism defend the later generations like a lion to her cubs. Despite all the frailties of friendship, the human bond will not break or shake in the face of death, and we see good always strive to conquer evil. We all end up as the bones that the eternal Works will step over, but even bones have their story to tell. May we all face the stars and the depths of eternity together. Everything that begins as comedy ends as as bittersweet memories
Best enjoyed with a bottle of Tecate or Modelo on a hot summer's day.
5/5
(my original posting of this review years ago was 4 out of 5, but as time goes on this one has grown so much in my heart that I had to give it the full five).
Thanks to everyone in the Cabbage Detectives group led by Don Juan Ian. I would encourage anyone to please read their wonderful reviews, as each perspective brings this novel into clearer focus.
In no particular order:
Ian
Ifer
Kris
Scholar Mike
Mary
Ja(y Rubin)son
Sean
Praj
And more to come...
apricot_jam101's review
Maybe it gets better after we get past Garcia Madero’s section but the consistent homophobia/sexism did not do it for me. It feels like the book is confusing gratuitous sex scenes (including a rape scene by page 45) with being profound. Not to mention that a further part of the story is set in Israel - booooo.
Content Warnings
Minor: Homophobia, Rape, and Sexual violence
shagdalen's review against another edition
adventurous
challenging
funny
mysterious
slow-paced
- Plot- or character-driven? Character
- Strong character development? It's complicated
- Loveable characters? It's complicated
- Diverse cast of characters? Yes
- Flaws of characters a main focus? N/A
4.0
heidilreads's review
2.0
I've read this is a modern day Don quixote... maybe if I knew that story, is have appreciated this one more. the different perspectives were interesting, but I wasn't always sure who was speaking (downside of audio books)
del_rea's review against another edition
adventurous
challenging
dark
emotional
funny
inspiring
mysterious
reflective
medium-paced
- Plot- or character-driven? A mix
- Strong character development? It's complicated
- Loveable characters? No
- Diverse cast of characters? Yes
- Flaws of characters a main focus? No
3.5