This is more of a “book I finished in September” than anything (a good 85% of it was knocked out in August), but whatever. This was a fascinating book, not just for its content but for the acclaim it has despite(?) that content. I went into this already a Bolaño fan, but this was my first of his “big” books. “Big,” in this case, referring both to size and reputation, 2666 being both 900 pages long and #6 on the NYT Best of the 21st Century list.
When I finished the book I was sort of baffled by how height of its acclaim (not to mention by the novel itself, if you can even really call it a novel). As time goes on, I’ve sort of wrapped my head around it (I think). Of his work I’ve read, 2666 is the most Bolaño-ey Bolaño book I’ve read. It stands as a sort of omnibus of his style, of his worldview, and of the ideas that keep cropping up in his fiction. It also serves as a reminder of how much remaining potential was lost when he died—even the remaining questions about how “unfinished” this book really was, and what it might’ve looked like had he been given time to finish it, serve to underscore this.
Is 2666 my new favorite book? No. Is it my new favorite Bolaño book? Also no. Amulet still holds that title. But I did really enjoy it, and the more time passes since finishing, the more I’m starting to recognize I got out of it.
2666 is a book about masculinity—“toxic masculinity,” to use a fashionable phrase—and the world it creates. It’s a book about repression, about everything society forces its tenants to repress. Emotion, trauma, sexuality (hetero-, homo-, and otherwise), speech, memory, you name it. And, as all of Bolaño’s books are, it’s a book about books. What’s not to love?
Now, a month out, I can confidently say I really enjoyed 2666. I might’ve even loved it—gimme another few months and I’ll get back to you. But if you’ve never read any of Roberto’s books before, maybe this one’s not the one to start with.