When a book is described as “a novel of stupefying ambition” and “the electrifying literary event of the year” and “the first great book of the 21st century”, I take notice. Add to the mix the fact that author died before it was completed, and that it is 898 pages in length, and I am curious.
So, I finished 2666 by Roberto Bolano this week, and I really don’t know what all the fuss was about. It reminded me of David Mitchell’s Cloud Atlas because of the 5 different sub-stories, but unlike that book, there were linkages between all stories – though with not enough continuity or closure to satisfy me. His writing is very direct and readable – I was rarely bored, but there were moments when I wondered what the point of it all was. It felt like he was throwing historical and literary references in over the top of a disjointed jalopy of a tome in the hope it would bring magic, but to me it just didn’t jell so well. It felt unfinished, or at least in need of some serious editing.
The first section was completely unexpected, but fascinating, the second intriguing, the third seemed a real mess – unfinished, the fourth – detailing nearly 300 pages of killings, a mile too long, and the last a reasonable attempt at bringing it all together.
I enjoyed it, but I probably shouldn’t recommend it really – or else I’ll get I’ll get a repeat dose of the ire I copped from a workmate of Kim’s for recommending Peter Carey’s Illywhacker to her. At least I’ll get 2 month’s head start this time though. 4 stars.