Joyous Odes

2666 has a hiccup on interest on p. 54. Through its first 140 pages, the novel appears rife with hiccups and I suspect the condition continues. The detour on p. 54 concerns the University of Belgrade, where my wife studied Spanish Literature. The points established in the aside doesn't appear to temper the narrative in any lasting degree, but i yet I found myself further drawn, by this slimmest of coincidences, to this rolling field of narratives and a myopic quest.

I feel like Miss Havisham this evening, though without the caustic regret, only the attention to moments and the unspoken echoes.

I am a bitch and a fake. -- Graham Greene

Perhaps there is some Sarah Miles in me as well, yes, I am often transgendered in terms of literature, though only in those conspicuous pathological senses: hooray for the holidays.

As alluded, I spent some time with Bolano today but not to any extended effort. It was interesting to note that Joel was nearly brained by 2666: the idea of it being a lethal gift has all the throes of a Calvino or, perhaps, Nabokov in Laughter in the Dark.