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2666: A Novel Roberto Bolano
Publisher: Picador

The reason I bought 2666 wasn't because I knew I was getting stomach flu, but because of my occasional worry that I'm too old to experience a new novel as a masterpiece. Several days ago, I came out with a rather clumsy post (mostly written during my lunch break) comparing "The Part About Archimboldi" to a novel by Jakov Lind called Landscape in Concrete. I have very little patience for books I'm not enjoying and I have no reluctance to put a book down forever if I'm not getting "pleasure"* from it. Was all right and all, but if I wanted a real book, see, maybe I'd like to check out this Bolaño fellow with him. When Roberto Bolaño, a Chilean writer seemingly destine for a Nobel Prize had he not passed away so unjustly at the age of 50, chose to use Detroit as a setting in his near-universally acclaimed final novel 2666. When #occupygaddis was proposed on Twitter, I posted it to Facebook, where Pat suggested that J.R. Not every writer would write a novel in the form of a completely invented encyclopaedia of imaginary writers and call the result Nazi Literature in the Americas. 2666 is a novel written by Roberto Bolaño and published posthumously in Spanish in 2004. No other book has done to me what 2666 did. Bolaño's final, posthumously published novel, 2666, is dominated by the void. Now that I have that distance, no tangible perspective has come other than this: nothing else I've read since has been 2666. Unlike our editor, Ligaya Mishan, I have yet to finish “2666” and probably won't before the month's end. In his post “Castle Dracula” at Infinite Zombies, Daryl L. Roberto Bolaño's final novel 2666, released posthumously, is a sprawling literary tome. 2666 is one of those novels which push the limits of the novel past its conventional size and scope, and its 893 pages of text definitely is one literary mammoth. This is the issue that Roberto Bolano sets up in his novel 2666. I'm about 600 pages into Roberto Bolaño's 2666 –a book that is both horrible and hypnotic, one of the few Bolaño works I've been able to finish (Amuleto was the other one). Over the past 2 months, I've been reading Roberto Bolaño's encyclopedic novel 2666 in the spare minutes before bed. The novel's cryptic title is one of its many grim jokes; there is no reference to this figure in its 900 pages. The English translation hits stores next Tuesday and the reviews couldn't be better, especially considering the book's 912 pages.