Simon och ekarna makes The Leather Mask look like Bifurcaria Bifurcata. You want some Continental literature about (or, on, or, rather, perhaps, if we might speak broadly, concerning) the Second World War, then read some Reiter.

Goddamn it.

Hey, sorry for the "glaringly unfinished" work. I would've jotted down another masterpiece of modern literature, one simultaneously revelatory and darkening, like a law student with a taste for poetry searching an alley for a prostitute with a complementary taste for German literature (especially novels that…

And yet, yet. The schtick tires itself.

There is no character. There is no gimmick. There is only Bolano.

Excellent. To my shame, I have yet to read Nazi Literature in the Americas-but I have vowed to be a Bolano completist.

Carlos Wieder said,
"Lush, tightly arranged earworms are communism." He said, "Veganism is New Age spirituality, which, in the final reckoning (but nothing is final, not even in Latin America), is nothing more than communism." His words had the effect of a salvo of gunfire at an art gallery. The assembled reporters…

GAWD, TfAD, what Janseist SOPHISTRY.

Why be limited to English-speaking comedy?

Characterization of Latin Americans. Parenthetical aside expressing doubt or uncertainty (or maybe not). Calle Santo Domingo. And I'm going to go with masturbation/threesome.

Hey, that's pretty cool.

I once knew of a pulp science-fiction writer named Jose
I worked as a young student (young in age, certainly, though then I fancied myself advanced in knowledge of the world) at the National Library in Santiago. At night, the darkened stacks resembled the uniformly jagged teeth of a a great and unspeakable beast, the…

I propose that our drink be chorreado, which consists of whiskey, milk, and chocolate (among other things; after all, is it really possibly to exhaustively define a thing, at least outside of the stunted fantasies of Latin American socialists?). It's drunk in the afternoon by the cowboys of Morelos, who usually take…

The Problem of Monsieur Pain
God is a fever dream, which is to say, a Latin American nightmare. He enters consciousness like whores fanning out on Calle Santo Domingo and leaves like a gyroscope turning in upon itself.

I once knew an anti-illegal immigration comedy singer/songwriter
Roy Linds was hired to appear at a lunch sponsored by a group that called itself Americans for Immigration Reform, in addition to a lawyer from Laredo, a couple who claimed to have worked with coyotes and polleros on this side of the border before having…

I once knew an objectivist
Each afternoon, after his classes at the Technical University of Catalonia in Barcelona and after he ate his lunch of cold cocido on a bench at the Placa Catalunya, he would visit the bookshops in El Guinardo. He read Aquinas's commentaries on Aristotle, Borges's biography of Goya, and de…