“And I: What are those shadows telling you, Farewell, what is it? And Farewell: They are telling me about the multiplicity of readings. And I: Multiple, perhaps, but thoroughly mediocre and miserable. And Farewell: I don’t know what you’re talking about. And I: The blind, Farewell, the stumbling of the blind, their futile flailing around, their bumping and tripping, their staggering and falling, their general debilitation. And Farewell: I don’t know what you’re talking about, what’s happened to you, I’ve never seen you like this. And I: I’m glad to hear you say that. And Farewell: I don’t know what I’m saying anymore, I want to talk, but all that comes out is drivel. And I: Can you make out anything clearly in that shadow play? Can you see particular scenes, or the whirlpool of history, or a crazy ellipse? And Farewell: I can see a rural scene. And I: Something like a group of farmers praying, going away, coming back, praying and going away again? And Farewell: I see whores stopping for a fraction of a second to contemplate something important, then heading off again like meteorites. And I: Can you see anything there about Chile? Can you see the future of our land? And Farewell: That meal didn’t agree with me… I see Neruda’s profile and my own, but, no, I’m mistaken, it’s just a tree, I see a tree, the multiple, monstrous silhouette of its dead leaves, like a sea drying up, it looks like a sketch of two profiles, but actually it’s a tomb out in the open, cloven by an angel’s sword or a giant’s club. And I: What else? And Farewell: Whores coming and going, a river of tears. And I: Be more precise. And Farewell: That meal didn’t agree with me. And I: How odd, it doesn’t look like anything to me, just shadows, electric shadows, as if time had speeded up. And Farewell: There is no comfort in books… If I weren’t so drunk and didn’t have such a gut-ache I’d ask you to hear my confession right now.  And I: It would be an honour. And Farewell: Or I’d drag you into the bathroom and screw you good and proper.”

(Oh: This is Chris Andrews’s translation.)

For commentary on the first half of this book, see the previous post

More on this later.


2 Responses to “An excerpt from Roberto Bolano’s By Night in Chile: a conversation on shadows”

  1. The Housewives’ Guide To Anatomy » Blog Archive » More on Bolano: Reading By Night in Chile Says:

    […] Night in Chile is even more deliriously beautiful than Amulet (I’ll post an excerpt soon) but somewhat less engaging, probably because of its narrator’s refusal of belief. […]

  2. The Housewives’ Guide To Anatomy » Blog Archive » (And while we’re on the subject of shadows…) Says:

    […] stays so close beside me, he’s a coward you can see; I’d think shame to stick to nursie as that shadow sticks to […]

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