What do you think?
Rate this book


156 pages, Paperback
First published January 1, 1926
These books, which I would devour in their numerous ‘batches’, were stories of José María, the Lightning Bolt of Andalusia, or of the adventures of Don Jaime the Bearded and other rogues, more or less authentic and picturesque, as could be seen from the prints that showed them as follows:
Horsemen on stupendously saddled colts, with extra-black side burns on their ruddy faces, their bullfighter’s ponytail covered by an extremely shiny cordobés hat, and a blunderbuss mounted in the saddletree. They would usually be offering, with a magnanimous gesture, a yellow bag of money to a widow standing at the foot of a little green hill with a babe in her arms.
Sometimes at night I would think of the beauty with which poets made the world shake, and my heart would flood with pain, like a mouth filling with a scream.
I thought of the parties they went to, the parties in the city, the parties in the city parks lit with torches bright as the sun in the flowering gardens, and my poverty fell from my hands.
I do not have words, I cannot find words, to ask for mercy.
My soul is desolate and ugly as a bare knee.
The trials of life came flooding once again into my spirit, the images I did not wish to see or to remember. And with my teeth clenched I walked down the dark alleys, past streets where the shops were protected by metal shutters and wooden boards.
There was money behind these doors, the owners of these shops were peacefully asleep in their rich bedrooms, and I was wandering the city like a dog.
¿Dónde estará el corazón? Los opacos golpes interiores me indicaron su posición.
sometimes at night i would think of the beauty with which poets made the world shake, and my heart would flood with pain, like a mouth filling with a scream.admired by the likes of jorge luis borges, juan carlos onetti, julio cortázar, and roberto bolaño, argentine novelist, playwright, and journalist roberto arlt was a pre-boom writer who inspired many a south american author (including fellow countryman césar aira). throughout his stunning collection of essays, between parentheses, bolaño mentions arlt on a number of occasions:
the second line of descent is more complex. it begins with roberto arlt, though it's likely that arlt is totally innocent of this mess. let's say, to put it modestly, that arlt is jesus christ, argentina is israel, of course, and buenos aires is jerusalem. arlt is born and lives a rather short life, dying at forty-two, if i'm not mistaken. he's a contemporary of borges. borges is born in 1899 and arlt in 1900. but unlike borges, arlt grows up poor, and as an adolescent he goes to work instead of to geneva. arlt's most frequently held job was as a reporter, and it's in the light of the newspaper trade that one views many of his virtues, as well as his defects. arlt is quick, bold, malleable, a born survivor, but he's also an autodidact, though not an autodidact in the sense that borges was: arlt's apprenticeship proceeds in disorder and chaos, through the reading of terrible translations, in the gutter rather than the library.the mad toy (el juguete rabioso), arlt's first novel (published in 1926), is but one of five he wrote during his brief life. inspired, in part, by his own childhood, arlt's story is set in 1920s buenos aires and tells the tale of a precocious and resourceful teenager as he struggles to escape his urban poverty and limited opportunities. silvio drodman astier, despite his youth, is crafty yet prone to crime, curious yet malcontent. with a cunningness matched perhaps only by his ingenuity, silvio, an avid reader with a fondness for both baudelaire and dostoyevsky (as well as science and mathematics), dreams of a life for himself that may, perhaps, be forever just beyond his reach.
then, slowly, my drunken excitement subsided. an irrational seriousness took its place, a serious attitude of the kind that it is a mark of good taste to display in public. and i felt like laughing at this ridiculous, paternalistic seriousness. but because seriousness is hypocrisy, and because 'conscience' needs to be acted out in private, i said to myself:split into four chapters (with each corresponding roughly to another of silvio's teenage years), the mad toy follows the young narrator from his days as a street thief, to his work as an errand boy in a bookshop, to a brief stay in a military academy, and finally selling paper products on the streets of buenos aires - before a nefarious plot will come to mark the rest of his life. silvio's idealism, tempered by frustrations and abjection, forever leads him on a exploratory quest to not only better himself, but also carve out a meaningful life. resilient and conscientious (in his own unique way), silvio's independence is met by myriad disappointments - until he decides what he must inevitably do.
'you are accused... you are a scoundrel... an incendiary. you have enough remorse for a whole lifetime. you will be interrogated by the police and the courts and by the devil... prisoner in the dock, this is no joke... you don't understand that you need to be serious... you're going to be thrown headfirst into the clink.'
but my attempt at seriousness did not convince me. it sounded empty, like an empty can. no, i couldn't take this mystification seriously. and now i was a free man, and what did society have to do with this freedom? and now i was free i could do whatever i liked... kill myself if i wanted... but that was a bit ridiculous... and i... i needed to do something beautifully serious, perfectly serious: to love life. and i repeated:
'yes, life... you are pretty, life... did you know it? from here on in i will love all the pretty things of the earth... of course... i will worship trees, and houses and the sky... i will adore everything that there is in you... and also... tell me, life, isn't it the case that i'm an intelligent kid? did you ever know anyone like me?'
'it's right... there are moments in our lives when we need to be scum, to make ourselves dirty even on the inside, to do something infamous, i don't know... to destroy a man's life for ever... and after doing this then we can walk with our heads held high again.'the mad toy is quite the novel and it's of little wonder that roberto arlt was held in such high esteem by a veritable who's who of latin american letters. arlt's prose is remarkable, vacillating between the urban slang of his young protagonist and his more museful introspections. silvio's street reality is portrayed adroitly, as is arlt's snapshot of the argentine capital. the mad toy is a fine work of fiction - one that situates arlt prominently amongst the other masters of argentina's rich literary heritage.
the trials of being human! how many sad words did we still keep hidden in our guts!