“Madness is contagious,” the most memorable line from this sprawling, desultory, Frankenstein of a novel. And madness is a tedious, dull slog in Bolano’s world. I can ride through a couple hundred pages of experimental obnoxiousness in an ambitious novel like this, as long as the rewards are there. But, ultimately, 2666’s rewards are minor.
I started out liking this book, found it fascinating and darkly funny in the Kafka sense. From there the humor was either lost, or, later, shifted registers into that nasty Celine territory, which I can get interested in if something worthwhile is at stake, something important is being said or grappled with. But, as you read, it becomes evident that the stories and motifs are going nowhere, really, or perversely feeding back into themselves, as though written by a madman applying his very personal and idiosyncratic logic to stories and ideas, whose only end is to regenerate further applications of this logic, never getting anywhere--deliberately going nowhere--the sole purpose to keep his madness alive and thriving.
If you’re looking for any remotely sympathetic characters, you won’t find them here. They’re not even characters--more like zombies, really. If you think zombies are cool, you may hate them after reading this book. “Death to zombies!” may be your new motto. Then there’s the sense that the novel is so full of literary inside jokes or elaborate cross-textual references so as to render it incomprehensible to a reader like me. I really couldn't stand nearly all of the final book. Was that supposed to be funny? interesting? fascinating? insightful?
Masterpiece? I don't think so.
While there is much to be admired in Bolano’s skills (his narrative command is excellent, which makes what he’s using it for frustrating), and he has some fine sentences, figurative and philosophical, the final experience of this novel is just plain boredom. Finishing the last page, I was left completely cold and disinterested in unraveling any the stories’ various enigmas.
2666 comes across as a grand exercise in narrative obfuscation. If that’s what he was going for, mission accomplished.
Hey, Good For You
Hey, Good For You
Hey, Good For You
>Hey, Good For You
>Hey, Good For You
>Hey, Good For YouHey, Good For YouHey, Good For YouHey, Good For You>Hey, Good For You>Hey, Good For You>Hey, Good For You
>translation
kys
>Post is about 2666
>Picture is Infinite Jest
0/10
>>8110003
I have to agree. This novel has very little in the way of rewards for the tedium one must endure. It was literally one rape after another with some different clothing thrown in to make it seem like something different. The book never goes nowhere and leads to nothing. It says nothing at all. It is madness and celebrates madness, violence and sexism. I only stuck with it as I thought at some point it might actually bring things together and say something of worth. By the time I was near the end, I realized I had wasted countless hours. This goes down as my longest, most miserable, worthless read of all time.
>>8110003
>“Madness is contagious,” the most memorable line from this sprawling, desultory, Frankenstein of a novel. And madness is a tedious, dull slog in Bolano’s world. I can ride through a couple hundred pages of experimental obnoxiousness in an ambitious novel like this, as long as the rewards are there. But, ultimately, 2666’s rewards are minor.
>I started out liking this book, found it fascinating and darkly funny in the Kafka sense. From there the humor was either lost, or, later, shifted registers into that nasty Celine territory, which I can get interested in if something worthwhile is at stake, something important is being said or grappled with. But, as you read, it becomes evident that the stories and motifs are going nowhere, really, or perversely feeding back into themselves, as though written by a madman applying his very personal and idiosyncratic logic to stories and ideas, whose only end is to regenerate further applications of this logic, never getting anywhere--deliberately going nowhere--the sole purpose to keep his madness alive and thriving.
>If you’re looking for any remotely sympathetic characters, you won’t find them here. They’re not even characters--more like zombies, really. If you think zombies are cool, you may hate them after reading this book. “Death to zombies!” may be your new motto. Then there’s the sense that the novel is so full of literary inside jokes or elaborate cross-textual references so as to render it incomprehensible to a reader like me. I really couldn't stand nearly all of the final book. Was that supposed to be funny? interesting? fascinating? insightful?
>Masterpiece? I don't think so.
>While there is much to be admired in Bolano’s skills (his narrative command is excellent, which makes what he’s using it for frustrating), and he has some fine sentences, figurative and philosophical, the final experience of this novel is just plain boredom. Finishing the last page, I was left completely cold and disinterested in unraveling any the stories’ various enigmas.
>2666 comes across as a grand exercise in narrative obfuscation. If that’s what he was going for, mission accomplished.
Welcome to post-modern maximalism. Where books don't matter, and pretentiousness reigns king.
>>8110121
Why are all critically acclaimed books like that anyway? What's happening that makes books like that?
>>8110085
FUCkinggg
>I dont get it, so is shit!
>>8110706
Tell us what is there to get because I'm not seeing it.
>>8110003
The review keeps going back to 'reward'.
How can you not see there is a reward in 2666? Is it not a fulfilling mystery? Does it not manage to connect these stories in a unique way? Does it not create a universe that is both way realistic and mystical at the same time?
Did you expect a morale at the end of the story? Did you jump from Aesop to this and was therefore disappointed?
1/10 would not read review again.
