The Savage Detectives by Robert Bolano

The Savage Detectives by Roberto Bolaño

I cannot recall the day I started this book; I know it was a while ago, though. I picked it up because it is one of Paul Dresman’s favorites (or so I hear). Let me describe Paul Dresman for you: A professor of literature at the University of Oregon, he taught 20^th Century Novel and Beat classes among others, but that’s not why we like him. No, we like the way he laughs at his own jokes; the way his leathery skin is stretched over his skull; the way he gets hot during a lecture and unbuttons his floral-print shirts; the way he looks like he’s always on vacation, even while asking you questions about The Dubliners; the way you love him or hate him; and the way he interests those who study sciences, not just English.

Dresman read this novel in its original Spanish, and was waaay excited that it got translated. When I took a class with him, we didn’t read this novel, but he taught it in another novel class (Nate was supposed to read this book, but skipped most of the middle). So, Nate had this poor unread book sitting on its shelf, and all I needed to hear to convince me to read it was “Dresman.” WE LOVE THE GUY.

My review is going to be discombobulated, because my reading of the novel was discombobulated. I picked it up long ago (almost two months?) and took an absurdly long time to read its 577 pages (thank you, Spring Break, for affording me the time to finally finish). I wish I could say I savored it, but I didn’t; at times, a week went by when I didn’t crack it open. Sorry, book, I didn’t mean to hurt you.

Recommendation: read this novel if you’re patient. If you’re impatient, stay away from it. Common negative responses to it are because of its length and its style: the first and third sections are written as diary entries, and the middle section contains something like 50 narrators (however, the narrators are always clearly identified). You will spend hundreds of pages wondering, “What the hell is the point?” But if you’re patient, the point will become clear. And even if it doesn’t, you will enjoy the language.

THIS BOOK IS ALIVE! There are many characters, fictional and nonfictional, and they all feel real. There are no caricatures, even if the story borders on the ridiculous. I could believe every last bit of sex, violence, drug use and poetry. So, even if you can’t make it through the whole thing, or it takes a dreadfully long time to do so (like me!), the characterization is palpable. If anything, it’s a good lesson in how to create full-bodied characters.

So, umm, what is this story about, anyway? Its protagonist is Juan Garcia Madero, a 17-year-old who gets sucked into a poetry movement in Mexico, Visceral Realism. The plot hinges on the two leaders of this group, Arturo Belano and Ulises Lima, as they cavort across the planet and search for the mother of the first phase of Visceral Realism, Cesárea Tinajero.

The novel is a savory ride through these boys’ experiences, as we watch them age, grow up, and wind through countless lives. What is it to be a poet? How do you found a literary movement? Even if you age, do you grow up? What is growing up, anyway? How many artists have become household names? How many artists faded into obscurity? What happens if you get killed in a foreign place? Will anyone realize you’re gone? Did I ask enough questions?

I could analyze the structure of the book (some say it’s ground-breaking; others say it’s a failure; some say it’s a combination of both), but I won’t. I don’t particularly feel like addressing the relevance of the novel, either. Frankly, I’ve failed in reading this novel. I took way too long to read it, and because it’s not my book, I didn’t take a single note in it (yeah, I know I could have used an index card or Post-It flags, but color me lazy). So, I am failing to provide to you the quality reviews (ha?) you’re used to.

Nevertheless, I will give this novel a hesitant recommendation. Read it if you’re patient and curious; read it if you want to get a peek into some implausible, yet totally tangible, lives. I can compare reading this novel to something a minor character notes while watching a major character and another engage in a sword duel: “In a brief moment of lucidity, I was sure we’d all gone crazy. But then that moment of lucidity was displaced by a supersecond of super-lucidity (if I can put it that way), in which I realized that this scene was the logical outcome of our ridiculous lives. It wasn’t a punishment but a new wrinkle. It gave us a glimpse of ourselves in our common humanity…” (454).

KK

The Plague by Albert Camus

I haven't read nearly enough by Albert Camus. Prior to reading The Plague, I had read The Stranger and the short "Myth of Sisyphus." The Stranger is one of my favorite novels; if I try to explain now, this will turn into a review of that. Anyway...

According to the back of the book, "The Plague stands alongside The Stranger among the great novels of the twentieth century. Camus' first book to be published after World War II, it is imbued with the intense concern for the human being that marks all his work. The story takes place in the Algerian port of Oran, where a ravaging epidemic of bubonic plague—which symbolically suggests other spiritual and political plagues—has thrown the city into a harrowing agony. Quarantined from the outside world, Oran becomes a prison of death and disease, to which each character reacts in his own way; the efforts of those seeking to alleviate the suffering become the focus of Camus' human and humane passion."

Some say this novel is an allegory for some crazy-ass political shit: that is is either a metaphor for the French resistance to Nazi occupation, or the spread of fascism. Honestly, I don't know enough about either of those to go into that. I would make an ass of myself. (Then again, some may I make an ass of myself with all this pretentious existentialist talk)...

A. I read somewhere (bad me, no citations) that Camus specifically said this was not an existentialist novel (quickly: Existentialism dictates that existence precedes meaning. It is essential for us to CREATE meaning, because there is no inherent meaning to our existence. It's closely related to Absurdism, in which humans try to find meaning but fail because no such meaning exists. Camus wrote a great deal on these topics (what a badass). I will be a total nerd right now and link to a livejournal post I wrote after reading some Camus. It totally sent me into a mini-crisis). So Camus said this book was not written to make us question the meaning. Were the characters able to realize how absurd life is, fighting the BUBONIC PLAGUE?! Or did they find meaning, thus rising above the absurdity? If we are not allowed to look at the book this way, I am not sure of how to approach it. I don't want Camus' corpse rising from the dead to smite me because I saw The Plague as a book all about finding meaning. What say you. Should I risk it? SHOULD I RISK ZOMBIE-CAMUS?

B. We could write papers and papers on each individual character (well, it's been done, but we could do it again). Cottard tries to kill himself, but finds a reason to live when the plague comes; he smuggles in contraband and makes a killing. Grand spends his free time writing a novel, struggling for months with a complicated opening sentence (only to, at the end of the novel, cut out all the adjectives). Rieux fights the plague tirelessly while his wife is at a sanitarium, only to never be reunited, as she died near plague's end. Paneloux delivers two strikingly different sermons, and believes his faith is enough to fight the plague. And more.

C. You know, this theme of creating meaning is all I got GOOD. There are some others:
*reason vs. emotion (always a literary favorite)
*separation, particularly if it is unending
*does human suffering prove God doesn't exist?
*If you have no future, can you love? Or the converse.
*Modern life—we spend it frittering it away
*being prosecuted for unknown crime

I will stay away from the "meaning of life" analysis, because, well, I do that all the time. In elementary school, during morning announcements, a student was given the opportunity to recommend a book. My teacher nominated me; they expected to be blown away by my recommendation (yeah, I was a nerd then, too). However, I went with the classic One Fish, Two Fish, Red Fish, Blue Fish and disappointed the hell out of them. But you know what? That book totally describes the meaning of life. That's why I picked it.

Instead, let's go with this "spread of fascism" I was so dead-set against. But rather than fascism singularly, I think it is a novel about the spread of isms. An -ism is a suffix that denotes a system of beliefs/theory/doctrine, a state/condition; a disease; a movement... well, there are lots of things -ism can be attached to. So it's not that simple.

You may be thinking, "C'mon, Kristina, what the eff is your point?" That's a very good question. I am finding it insanely difficult to articulate a cogent point. This novel blew my brains out all over the place. Not only are there 19,000 subtexts to every sentence, but it is written so beautifully, too! I have all of these notes, and all of these directions to take this review.

My point: read this book. Read it with a friend, or perhaps a book club. It is very dense and difficult (obviously—I kept putting off finishing it). I knew that it would come to a point where I would admit defeat and say "this book is so hard!" That time came three days ago, when I finished reading it. I admit defeat. Albert Camus, I have no idea what your book is about.

I am going to discuss, then, one of several thousand points he makes. In the novel, the doctor crusading against the plague, Rieux, and his old doctor buddy Castel, determine it must be the plague. And even if it isn't plague, it is best to proceed with precautionary measures as if it were. Because it is certainly something! After agreeing that prophylactic measures were necessary, the agency in charge displayed some nonchalant official notices. But Rieux thought "one had the feeling that many concessions had been made in a desire not to alarm the public" (50).

But why? Well, the government is afraid.
But not afraid of the Plague.
They are afraid of the townspeople's reaction to an announcement about the plague.

Might their priorities be skewed? Should they let people be oblivious until all the sudden, they are having buboes lanced open before dying in agony?
But it's not just a statement about the government. It's about us, humans, in general.
It's not just our governments or leaders who are slow to react (or even refusing to react). We all are. Some say Camus makes it an allegory for Nazi occupation or Fascism (the last chapter really nails this). But it could be an epidemic of any kind:
starvation
genocide
disease
_________ism

We are blind to what is happening elsewhere; to others' pain/agony/situation/inability to live comfortably and happily... But we know something is happening. We prefer to remain unaware and ignorant, as did the people of Oran:

Hiterto, surprised as he may have been by the strange things happening around him, each individual citizen had gone about his business as usual, so far as this was possible. And no doubt he would have continued doing so. But once the town gates were shut, every one of us realized that all, the narrator included, were, so to speak, in the same boat... (63)

In Oran, before the townspeople knew it, their borders were closed and hundreds were dying a day. Bodies could no longer be buried, but were either cremated in batches or dissolved in lime.
This sounds a lot like other things going on in this perfect world of ours.

The Plague is not all pessimistic and heavy-handed like this. There is actually quite a bit of hope, and a lot about love. Rieux and his friends face the plague head-on, determined to find peace with themselves and be reunited with loved ones. Rambert tries to escape the walls, yet realizes his place is fighting the plague; but he is reunited with his wife. Tarrou found his meaning by working against the plague; but when the epidemic waned, his strength did too, and he found peace at death. I leave you with this, bittersweet:

And, indeed, as he listened to the cries of joy rising from the town, Rieux remembered that such joy is always imperiled. He knew what those jubilant crowds did not know but could have learned from books: that the plague bacillus never dies or disappears for good; that it can lie dormant for years and years in furniture and linen-chests; that it bides its time in bedrooms, cellars, trunks, and bookshelves; and that perhaps the day would come when, for the bane and the enlightening of men, it would rouse up its rats again and send them forth to die in a happy city (287).

KK

Stiff: The Curious Lives of Human Cadavers by Mary Roach

I love it when you read a book, and it leads you to a decision.

For instance, within one chapter of reading Stiff, I decided I was going to donate my body to science. I even Tweeted about it (remember, once something hits Twitter, it cannot be refuted).

Well, I decided that if my organs cannot be salvaged, that I would like to be donated to science. For whatever cause. They can use my cadaver in car impact testings, gun testing, anatomy labs, whatever. I don't care! It's a body, and once I'm dead I have no use for it.

So, thanks Mary Roach, for writing Stiff. Now I need to get a will or something... Law-Man probably doesn't take Twitter as a serious edict.

Roach wrote this novel in order to discover something new: she discusses how she's traveled all over the world as a journalist and had seen everything five times. Then, she "began to look for the foreign lands between the cracks. Science was one such land. Science involving the dead was particularly foreign and strange and, in its repellent way, enticing" (14). This led her to study what happens to human bodies once they cease to live. And boy! What interesting things we do to them. Or decline to.

I recommend this book for anyone with morbid curiosities. Some people will likely be grossed out about this. If you don't like reading about faces being peeled back and how a body decomposes, don't read it.

This novel was written in 2003, so I am a quite behind in its coolness. For example, Roach discusses Plastination—the substitution of body fluids with plastic, which enables bodies to be preserved for eternity. And made a show out of! At press, she mentions that BodyWorlds hadn't been shown in the U.S.

In 2006 some of the Biker Ghouls stormed Vancouver, B.C. to visit the Bodyworlds exhibit. Last year it came near us in Portland, Oregon. Apparently America got over its squeamishness in the years since this book was published.

Sorry for the BodyWorlds tangent. One who likes Stiff must like BodyWorlds and vice versa. Now, other than reading this book for morbid curiosity, you could also read it to learn something. Roach not only discusses what donating a body to science could entail, but she discusses alternatives. Cremation? Burial? Getting shot into space? Why are some cultures so opposed to certain practices?

If you want to donate your body to science, check out a medical school in your state. Fill out the forms in the presence of witnesses, and you should be OK. Of course, your survivors can always decline this, even if it's your wish; therefore, you should let your family know of your intentions and how serious you are about it. Check out Living Bank for more details.

KK

Watchmen by Alan Moore/Dave Gibbons

I admit. I picked up Watchmen because I saw the trailer for the film.

At The Dark Knight's premiere, one of the previews started with a familiar song--the Smashing Pumpkin's "The Beginning is the End is the Beginning". You may think that sounds familiar... that's because "The End is the Beginning is the End" was a single off the Batman & Robin soundtrack (it also won the Pumpkins a Grammy for Best Hard Rock Performance). Anyway, do you follow? "The Beginning" was the closing song on the soundtrack, and was a bit of a reprise of "The End."

Anyhow, both Watchmen and Batman are DC properties, so we'll pretend we didn't know that they recycled a Batman and Robin song for this movie's trailer. It's really quite OK—I love to see the Pumpkins get some love.

Ok, back to my point: I read Watchmen because there is a blockbuster film coming out next year based on it. Because of this fact, and that there is a fully naked character, I decided to read the graphic novel.

My friend Matt pointed out that I committed some sort of sacrilege because it took me so long to read it. Like, I picked it up 10 days ago and just finished it last night. Sorry, man, sometimes ya just don't feel like reading.

When I finished reading it last night, I tweeted "Finished Watchmen. Not sure she can write a review..."
It's not that I didn't spend time thinking while reading the novel. I don't know what it was, but I'm just not feeling the "gettin' all intellectual" business.
To help me write this review, last night I wrote on a notecard:
WTF just happened?
Life goes on!
Seems like a big deal. Impact.
But all resumes, regardless.

The ending of the comic was quite jarring. I guess too many superhero movies have led me to believe that everybody turns out good in the end. But in this one, it is very murky. You want to think Dr. Manhattan is a good guy, because he can control, like, everything, but look what he does to Rorschach! Of course, he had to, in order to keep the cover-up in place. But why was Adrian's plan correct? Because Adrian is the smartest self-made man?

Maybe those who plotted 9/11 were thinking along the same lines as Adrian. Except they used hijacked planes, not a terrifying monster. Or when the US bombed Hiroshima and Nagasaki-we said murder 200,000 to save the world...
Anyway. I'm done thinking about it. I just can't wait to see if the book gets butchered when it's turn into a film.

I highly suggest reading it. Watchmen is extremely intelligent... and one of my favorite things to point out during reviews is relevance. And it is hella relevant!
It's a good thing for superheros—our Watchmen—to not be good through-and-through, I suppose. I shall read this again and maybe think about it a little more.

KK

Snow Falling on Cedars by David Guterson

According to Wikipedia, Snow Falling on Cedars was written by a teacher, taking 10 years to complete. The success of this book should give hope everywhere to teachers who want to be writers. But not just because it was a successful—it is also a good read.

David Guterson's novel was published in 1994, and became a huge hit, spawning a film version in 1999. The front cover gives away its superstar status, with a giant "The Award-Winning #1 Bestseller" badge.

"Oh great," I said to myself after examining the book. I came across this novel when Matt and Anna were simplifying their life and giving away books. I had heard of it, so I took it. But I had it for about almost a year before I read it. That "#1 Bestseller" just turns me away. I don't want people to think I read only bestsellers! I don't want want anyone to assume I'm a DaVinci Code fan! (Disclosure: I haven't read that novel, and I don't want to. Don't make me).

Anyway... this novel was a quick read, even though it's 460 pages long. Once I was into it, I didn't want to stop reading! The novel focuses on a murder trial in the '50s, when there was a lot of anti-Japanese racism resulting from WWII. Set on a Washington state island, the story revolves on the trial of Katsuo, who is accused of killing Carl over wanted strawberry farmland. It is easy for the citizens to get caught up in the racism, because they recall all of the Japanese citizens being interned in 1942, and many are war veterans. The internment of Japanese-Americans was a disgraceful action; this novel is a good reminder to us to not forget it. I don't think I heard about citizens being interned until I was in high school—which is pretty outrageous. Remember, kids, we study history lest we repeat it!

Which brings me to the relevance of this novel: it is really easy to read, sure, and very involving. Guterson has a gift for description: the strawberry fields, the snow, the mossy tree, each character's sex life, etc. But there is more to it than pretty words; it really makes you think about racial profiling and stereotyping. Well, Katsuo is a Kendo master, so he must been responsible for Carl's head wound.

I read that Snow Falling on Cedars is taught in many schools (but also banned in some). It is a great novel to teach for things like language, but more so for the potential discussions about racism. It's scary, because in the past seven years, America has painted all of its Arab-American citizens as potential terrorists. So, please read this novel as a reminder not to let these things happen!

KK

Hell's Angels by Hunter S. Thompson

Both Hunter S. Thompson and the Hell's Angels bring preconceived notions to mind:
Thompson was a crazy sonofabitch. He was a nutbag druggie who liked to blow things up.
The Hell's Angel's are crazy motherfuckers. Remember Altamont? They killed like 500 people while providing concert security for the Rolling Stones.

Both of these notions have some basis in reality. Thompson liked drugs and blowing things up. The Hell's Angels did provide security at Altamont, where one person was killed by an Angel (in self-defense).

It is very fitting that Thompson got close to the Angels in order to write a book, Hell's Angels: A Strange and Terrible Saga (1969). This book is definitely in the vein of Gonzo journalism—Thompson spends nearly a year with the Angels, drinking, going on runs, and having close encounters with the lawmen.

Don't expect to read about some elaborate ritual where Thompson gets initiated into the gang. That doesn't happen. He just hangs around with them enough that they start trusting him (and he doesn't even ride a Harley, but a British bike!). He sees firsthand what runs are like, what parties are like, and what the members do when they aren't together. Turns out the Angels are much more tame than their reputation sells them.

Many are married with a mortgage, but some are unemployed couch-surfers. Neither is unique to the Angels—I'm sure you'll find both types in a Scrapbooking club.

But no one has quite the reputation of the Angels. So, where did this reputation come from?

Guess, c'mon...

Five seconds...












Ok, it was the press. Media is responsible for making the Angels simultaneously feared and revered. Thompson uses excerpts from articles and reports to show how this happened. You may have heard how Thompson got "stomped" out of the club—that's such a brief part of the story, it's in postscript.

Point being, don't read this book expecting to see how brutally Thompson was beat by the Angels. That is not what it is about. It's about a group of men finding common ground and forming a club. The club—and its members and their actions—get blown out of proportion by the media to become a symbol for all that is wrong with sex, drugs, and motorcycles.

Really, they aren't that bad. That's not to say they are good—they just aren't that bad.

I highly recommend reading it, especially if you haven't read anything by Thompson before. I also recommend reading it if you're looking to start a much-feared gang... everything comes down to reputation.

KK

Still Life with Woodpecker by Tom Robbins

Still Life With Woodpecker by Tom Robbins is "A sort of a love story."

There is a love story, and that is what holds all the randomness, such as redheads, Red Beards, miscarriages, cheerleaders, $20 million pyramids, sex, isolation, bombs, cocaine, Ralph Nader, and royalty together.

Did I mention Ralph Nader? If nothing else, I suggest one read this book because the protagonist has a thing for Ralph Nader. And by thing, I mean she both adores his ideas and wants to hump him.

Still Life is one of those postmodern treats where the author interacts with the reader. Robbins achieves this through occasional rants about his new electric typewriter, a Remington SL3. He isn't sure about this newfangled device: he senses "the novel of my dreams is in the Remington SL3" (ix), but he can't keep up with how fast it allows him to type. So if he gives up on the typewriter, and finishes his novel in longhand, does that mean this awesome book isn't the novel of his dreams?

I haven't read any of Robbins' work besides this, so I can't say if it gets better than this. But this book is pretty damn good. I didn't want to put it down, for a few reasons:

1. The plot is entertaining with some good twists (even if some are predictable)
2. It is naughty; definitely not for the prude
3. Non-sequitur city
4. Those of the Ginger persuasion may be controlling human fate
5. What secret is the Camel pack trying to tell us?

The main question of the novel is "What makes love stay?" Princess Leigh-Cheri really wants to know. Can an outlaw bomber help her figure it out? You may be surprised. I was expecting the Princess to be scorned by the self-proclaimed outlaw Bernard (the Woodpecker), but it didn't quite happen. Maybe outlaws are like cocaine, and that's the lesson. You know you shouldn't do it, but you can't stop yourself. Because you are addicted.

Then again, I know nothing about cocaine... and nothing about dating Outlaws. One time this guy I dated returned a bicycle to Target claiming it was broken when really, he just got sick of riding it to work... and that's the closest I've come to outlaw love.

So, back to the novel:
I recommend you read it. It is wholeheartedly enjoyable. I forgot to mention this, but there is an alien subplot.

KK