Sidekick With Touchscreen

I remember several disconnected parts Bolaño's book, but I really liked those, like that of Ulysses in Israel and the continuation of this story Heimito mouth. Arturo also duel with the critic Iñaki Echevarne, the sudden appearance of Arthur in the episode of the well and its relator with heavy Latin phrases, the meeting brought por Octavio Paz con Ulises en el Parque Hundido y el punto de vista de la secretaria de Paz, Arturo en la inmensa África —de repente, me viene un grupo que recorre la campiña francesa haciendo trabajos, recuerdo a un alemán con una camioneta y al encargado del camping...—. La road-movie entre el camaro y el impala me fascinó y también la reunión final de los personajes.
Pero la había abandonado antes de la mitad, cuando vos empezaste a escribirme acerca del libro. Así que en parte la lectura te la debo, no sé, pero creo que yo no la hubiera seguido. Ahora que la terminé, y me alegra haberlo hecho, pienso que la novela contiene dos programas, por decirlo de alguna manera: el del dúo como poetas and the poets as heroes. However, the book has in turn two parts: García Madero's diary and journal coral or built from fragments. Bolaño
inserted in the middle, which is expected to go to the end and I feel great, even with the hassle of travel it. Vos
read the novel twice, first with the intention of the sea and distrust wallow if it was very good or crap. But the second you caught the assembly of the plot, the different voices that are delineating the characters, and then ask the question: Who is Arturo Belano? Does failed poet and powerless, the hero who rescues the boy from the well, which kills the mafia? And so the novel treatment given to each of the characters.
The insert has its charm, of course, because of the different versions and partial looks, however, I was hard to trace some of those looks and I think that the collapse narrative responds to the idea of \u200b\u200bdisplaying a shattered future, perhaps in connection with anything you said that you had loved: the flight of the seventies through the eyes without a country and the ideals of exiles defeated Peruvian, Chilean, Argentine. When I think of something to pieces, I mean something different from the daily narrative García Madero, and inserted there, break everything with their brightness but also their shadows, as failing to enshrine that present. The chronology of the insert
then passes the log-García Madero. But in the final account is rocking the same drift of those poets who become heroes, but in a span larger than that of the coordinates of García Madero, twenty years until 1996.
no fixed territory with many points of view, who live with or are in conflict, the insert is shaped like a splintered or broken mirror, where each piece reflects a part of the whole, but never the whole. And this model resonates on the paper "classical" García Madero, fracture. I said on Wednesday
when I finished Detectives I read your e-mails. Now I do it again and run, your voice seems to become yet another book. My imagination made me think of a headline:

Bin Patricia Martinez, an afternoon of rain across the Mediterranean, on a table in the bar's whip, Barcelona, \u200b\u200bSeptember 2009.

I do not know exactly if you were around that time in Barcelona.
Like it? Later I could invent my own post.