Bolaño, My Bolaño

I'VE BEEN LUSTING for Bolaño for some time now. With generally positive reviews for his 2666, I tried contacting Powerbooks to place an order (along with his The Savage Detectives). The last time I did this was for Borges's Collected Fictions and it was three or four years ago! However, I received an email telling me that, "We regret to inform you that the book titles [you asked for] are currently not available in our branches and even for special order." It was very frustrating. I asked Allan (Popa) if he's placing an order of books from Amazon.com anytime soon. He texted me that the earliest would be March and I don't know if I'd survive without Bolaño until then.

The New Yorker provided a first aid by publishing in their latest issue a short fiction by Bolaño, "Meeting with Enrique Lihn." It's really short, but good enough to help me survive Christmas without thinking of what I'm missing everyday without 2666. But it's also a very sad story, not really a piece you'd like to read for Christmas unless you're too fucked up to think that nothing could be worse than your life. Even if everything was mostly a dream, Lihn was a real person, he did live, wrote and read poems before he succumbed to the frailties of the body he was given, and that makes it sadder, for me at least. (Four more Bolaño stories are actually available in The New Yorker website, but just don't expect anything less sad.)

Tomorrow's Christmas, I'm in San Pablo waiting for my godchildren (no, I'm not the hiding kind of ninong), and so I'm not gonna update until I'm back to Marikina on the 26th. Besides, why the heck are you gonna be in front of the computer reading blogs on Christmas day?