Interview: Natasha Wimmer on translating Bolaño’s sex scenes

Metió los dedos hasta el fondo, la chica gimió y alzó la grupa, sintió que sus yemas palpaban algo que instantáneamente nombró con la palabra estalagmita.

He pushed his fingers all the way in, the girl moaned and raised her haunches, he felt the tips of his fingers brush something to which he instantly gave the name stalagmite.”

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Essay: ‘Neuman, Touched by Grace’ by Bolaño (Entre Parentesis)

When I come across these young writers it makes me want to cry. I don’t know what the future holds for them. I don’t know whether a drunk driver will run them down some night or whether all of a sudden they’ll stop writing. “

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Essay: ‘I Never Went to Blanes’ by Diego Trelles Paz

‘With every day that passes, I am more convinced that the act of writing is a conscious act of humility.”

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Fiction: The Insufferable Gaucho in the New Yorker

In spite of everything, his life was happy. It’s hard not to be happy, he used to say, in Buenos Aires, which is a perfect blend of Paris and Berlin, although if you look closely it’s more like a perfect blend of Lyons and Prague. “

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Fiction: Álvaro Rousselot’s Journey by Roberto Bolaño

He drank a lot. On waking, he discovered a woman beside him. The woman’s name was Simone, and she was a prostitute. They had breakfast together in a café near the hotel. Simone liked to talk, so Rousselot discovered that she didn’t have a pimp, because a pimp was always the worst kind of deal, that she had just turned twenty-eight, and that she liked watching movies.”

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Bolaño in Mexico by Carmen Boullosa

On July 2, 2003, I wrote scolding him for not having replied to my e-mail of a few days before. On the third, Carolina wrote back: “Dear Carmen, Roberto asked me to reply to your message and tell you that he’s gone into hospital… he’ll be back at the keyboard soon. Love, Carolina.” He died on the fifteenth of that month.”

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Interview with Bolaño by Carmen Boullosa

“Nicanor Parra says that the best novels are written in meter. And Harold Bloom says that the best poetry of the 20th century is written in prose. I agree with both. But on the other hand I find it difficult to consider myself an active poet. My understanding is that an active poet is someone who writes poems. I sent my most recent ones to you and I’m afraid they’re terrible, although of course, out of kindness and consideration, you lied.”

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