The "flight forward" technique (pushing the story onward with any device available to the writer's imagination, hurdling over the pauses and revisions necessary to create logical, believable plot developments) seems more attractive to me as an idea than as demonstrated in this short novel. But apparently Aira cranks out a handful of these short novels each year, and a very uneven output should be expected. I wonder what the best examples from this writer are. Sometimes I'm unsatisfied with authors who try to "elevate" genre fiction, because usually they do not elevate the elements that make genre fiction thrilling to read. The typical method of such authors is to write a typical genre plot (in this case science fiction - mad scientist playing God brand) with more distanced and florid prose, to replace involved pseudo-science with hasty philosophical explanations for the fantastic occurrences, and finally to cut away the prevailing moral typically presented in such tales. I'm not saying that it can't be done well, but this one was just limp. This needs to be experienced to be believed. First Aira book I read, though my first encounter was with a short in the New Yorker, which I found charming because of its idiosyncratic inventiveness. This seems to be more of the same, but don't get me wrong, that doesn't mean that it gets repetitive. Aira bends and breaks conventions of narrative and sanity, but often in unexpected ways. Minor details you thought were extravagances of fabulation turn out to be meaningful, seemingly important plot points are brushed over with the urgency of new flights of the story. I recommend Aira to people who find that they read books that are too serious. If you want to understand how irreverent and light-hearted literature can be, then turn to Aira. This is not a comedy book, however. Aira seldom resorts to silliness -- and he never seems as frustatingly random as automatic writing can be. To me, it seems like Aira has made the best of throwing all supposed writing wisdom over board.
Do You like book El Congreso De Literatura (1997)?
Macuto Line - Carlos Fuentes - giant blue silkworms slithering down the hill.
—Spencer
Interesting, but I'm pretty sure most of it went well over my head.
—jazz
