The Savage Detectives is a lot. Being my second Bolaño doorstopper of the year, I assumed I knew what I was in for. I was way off. This was a far more challenging read than 2666. It had its rewards and I’m glad I stuck with it. But I needed to take a break halfway through, at the risk of putting it aside for good.
I’m glad I did because the plot is not the most important thing going on here. This can possibly be considered a hangout novel. Aside from the bookending sections that are narrations from someone’s journal, the bulk of the novel (and it is a heft bulk) rests on people telling stories where characters from this group of obscure Mexican poets pop in and out. Going across the world from Mexico to Israel, through Paris and Barcelona and even stopping in Los Angeles, the two poets at the center of the tale are well traveled. A Don Quixote influence is obvious.
While some of the stories were drawn out too long, I appreciate Bolaño’s gift for creating real, distinct characters with just a few pages of latitude to work with. Many of the tales were enjoyable and after awhile, I stopped trying to figure out the intersecting narrative with the visceral realists and just enjoyed the world he was building.
Also, while I don’t often like metaphysics with my fiction, Bolaño is good at doing it in a low key way. Much like 2666, you’re left debating how much of this is the universe bringing all things together or if we really are fated to chaos and nothing more. Few writers can pull this off.
It’s an investment and one that was worth my time but unlike 2666, I don’t think I’ll need to revisit this one.