Bookmarker is a personal project by @dellsystem to help with retaining reading material. Source on GitHub.

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6 years, 4 months ago

no one asks Balzac to be Stendhal

There are those who reproach Bayly for his neglect of form. On rare occasions, I’ve been one of them. But actually I don’t think that Bayly neglects the formal aspect so much as it might seem at first glance. Especially beginning with his third novel, I think he tries to seek a form that suits his …

—p.329 Between Parentheses: Essays, Articles and Speeches, 1998-2003 by Roberto Bolaño
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6 years, 4 months ago

boys and men like Huck don’t write

But these aren’t Huckleberry Finn’s wrists, they’re Tom Sawyer’s. And that’s Mark Twain’s primary misfortune and also our delight, hypocritical readers, because it seems clear that if Twain had become Huck at some point in his eventful life, he would surely have written nothing or almost nothing, b…

—p.297 by Roberto Bolaño
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6 years, 4 months ago

how to recognize a work of art? why/write

Borges, who wrote absolute masterpieces, explained it once already. Here’s the story: Borges goes to the theater to see a production of Macbeth. The translation is terrible, the production is terrible, the actors are terrible, the staging is terrible. Even the seats are uncomfortable. And yet when …

—p.240 by Roberto Bolaño
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6 years, 4 months ago

bolano on philip k dick

In my long conversations with Rodrigo Fresán about Philip K. Dick in bars and restaurants around Barcelona or at each other’s houses we’ve never run out of things to say.

These are some of the conclusions we’ve reached: Dick was a schizophrenic. Dick was a paranoiac. Dick is one of the ten best …

—p.196 by Roberto Bolaño
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6 years, 4 months ago

to pack up and move all one’s books

[...] Now, at last, Cercas is back in Gerona. He’s here to take it easy. Or at least that’s the official explanation. Or so his wife and son can have a yard. Or to be closer to his job, so he isn’t killed in a car accident. The truth is, I doubt all of these explanations. Cercas has come home to wr…

—p.165 by Roberto Bolaño