The Little Buddhist Monk / The Proof

by César Aira, Nick Caistor (Translator)

Two completely different stories by the inimitable César Aira

The Little Buddhist Monk is a story of Asian invention gone wild, as a diminutive Korean Buddhist monk acts as a tour guide to an increasingly distraught French couple on a working vacation in the Far East. Proof brings us quickly back to the West, where two punks, plus a new recruit  (“Wannafuck?” is the opening line as the two punk lesbians accost the chubby and shy Marcia on a quiet street in Buenos Aires), take control of a local supermarket with dire consequences for the hostages. These two Aira works are as different as night and day. Nevertheless, sex, identity, and modern day economics figure deeply in both of these fast-paced, edgy fictions.

Genres: Fiction, Novella, Short Stories, Latin American, Contemporary

143 pages, Kindle Edition

First published May 30, 2017

About the author

César Aira was born in Coronel Pringles, Argentina in 1949, and has lived in Buenos Aires since 1967. He taught at the University of Buenos Aires (about Copi and Rimbaud) and at the University of Rosario (Constructivism and Mallarmé), and has translated and edited books from France, England, Italy, Brazil, Spain, Mexico, and Venezuela. Perhaps one of the most prolific writers in Argentina, and certainly one of the most talked about in Latin America, Aira has published more than eighty books to date in Argentina, Mexico, Colombia, Venezuela, Chile, and Spain, which have been translated for France, Great Britain, Italy, Brazil, Portugal, Greece, Austria, Romania, Russia, and now the United States. One novel, La prueba, has been made into a feature film, and How I Became a Nun was chosen as one of Argentina’s ten best books. Besides essays and novels Aira writes regularly for the Spanish newspaper El País. In 1996 he received a Guggenheim scholarship, in 2002 he was short listed for the Rómulo Gallegos prize, and has been shortlisted for the Man Booker International Prize.

Reviews

[Keith · Rating 5 out of 5]

2021 reread: I'm doing this thing where I'm not buying any new books right now and I'm rereading the Aira I've read, and I remember this one was the book that made me decide Aira was the best thing alive. In rereading it, The Little Buddhist Monk does not contain the same feeling of dread and unease that I felt the first time I read it -- if you're not waiting for the other shoe to drop, then it takes quite a long time to, and much of the book is a lot more normal than I remembered. The ending is still bonkers, but almost so t0tally bonkers that it doesn't even register as the same book.

The Proof, however, is absolutely BATSHIT. Probably the longest extended dialogue I've read in an Aira book -- like, this could be a short film and would 90% work as-is. This morning I had about 18 pages left to read, and nothing had really happened yet, but BOY HOWDY THOSE LAST EIGHTEEN. Like Quentin Tarantino's entire oeuvre condensed into a scene. Psychotically, architecturally violent. Wow, this book'll getcha. I think these two novellas are fascinatingly weird.
--
2017: When I was in graduate school, a professor had us read Aira's The Literary Conference, and I thought it was amazing and then promptly forgot all about it, which is a shame, because I only just picked up another of his books when the inimitable Kristin Chong (may her name ring out forever) sent me an ARC of The Little Buddhist Monk as a book exchange, and holy crap. Holy crap.

You read these two novellas and you realize that the boredom you feel from reading most novels of any stripe isn't because you just (as everyone supposes) hate everything; it's because you are reading the wrong things. The entire time I read these book(s), I was saying aloud, "holy crap. Oh my God. Oh my God." The language is excellent, the thinking is excellent, the fact that these stories have no center, just sort of are until they are over....

I just don't feel like I have to fuck around with bullshit, you guys. I should just be reading the good stuff. Stop wasting my motherfucking time.

[jeremy · Rating 4 out of 5]

two novellas from the prolific argentine master, the little buddhist monk (el pequeño monje budista) & the proof (la prueba) are quintessential aira. both stories, though wildly dissimilar, embody the aira-ian (airaesque?) impulse of genre-shifting narrative. in these cases, one bends toward techno-dream eeriness, as the other turns ultra-violent — each ending up far afield from where they began. one (of the many) joys of reading césar aira is his seemingly limitless imagination, unconventionality, and the sheer delight of waiting for a story to disrobe itself in all its unexpected (if anticipated) craziness. these novellas, though written more than a quarter-century apart, each contain all we've come to know and love in aira's works.

but one day his dream would come true, he thought, as he raised his eyes to the sky in which he glimpsed the distant reflection of the skies awaiting him. "it costs nothing to dream," he told himself. and if reality was defined by its identification with itself, he glimpsed in that inverted overlap of antipodean skies the triumphant congruence of dreams and life.

*translated from the spanish by nick caistor (neuman, onetti, saramago, et al.)

[Lauren · Rating 2 out of 5]

Probably not the best place to start with Aira. Of the two stories/novellas, The Little Buddhist Monk was the better of the two.

[Jim · Rating 4 out of 5]

These two short novelettes by Cesar Aira run the gamut from Korea to Buenos Aires. In the first, a French couple are taken in hand by a strange little Buddhist monk who speaks their language and acts as a fixer in seting up a photo shoot for them. But in so doing, he misses the start of a television program gining details about the clitoris.

The second story is about two punk girls who try to pick up a straight girl for lesbian sex. As she resists them, the two pickup artists ramp up their efforts and stagea grisly "demonstration" of their love for her.

[Sini · Rating 4 out of 5]

Ik ben nogal een fan van César Aira, de in 1949 geboren Argentijn die elk jaar minstens één onvergelijkbaar vreemd boekje publiceert, dat steeds anders is dan al zijn andere maar steeds net zo ongerijmd en grillig als de wereld. Kennelijk is het leven volgens Aira een chaotische aaneenschakeling van onsamenhangendheden, een turbulente wirwar die zonder enige reden gewoon 'gebeurt'. En in elk boekje deelt hij steeds opnieuw en in steeds andere vorm zijn aanstekelijke verbazing daarover. "The little buddhist monk & the proof" bevat zelfs twee korte bizarre Aira-romans: "The proof" uit 1989, en "The little buddhist monk" uit 2005. In beide korte romans neemt hij alle vrijheid die een schrijver maar kan nemen, door zich van associatie naar associatie te bewegen en zich geen fuck aan te trekken van conventies, waarschijnlijkheid of consistentie. En in beide romans ruimt hij de conventionele barrières en sleetse patronen in mijn hoofd mooi op, zodat ik weer met frisse blik kan kijken naar de steeds verrassende grilligheden die ook mijn wereld doordrenken.

"The proof" begint met een vraag: "Wannafuck?". Dat is de start van een onnavolgbare reeks verwikkelingen, met de dikkige gedeprimeerde adolescent Marcia en de twee vrouwelijke punkers Mao en Lenin als hoofdpersonen. "Wannafuck" is tevens een voorstel, van Mao aan Marcia. Aanvankelijk bestaat het verhaal vooral uit reflectie en dialoog, vol van die krankjoreme filosofische zijpaden waar Aira het patent op heeft. En daarin wordt fraai voelbaar gemaakt hoe Marcia, heel geleidelijk aan en zonder het zelf te begrijpen, door m.n. Mao uit haar veilige "world of explanations" wordt losgemaakt en glimpen begint te zien van soorten schoonheid die in deze "world of explanations" nauwelijks kunnen bestaan. Via allerlei niet na te vertellen wendingen, maar wel op een manier die gek genoeg toch logisch en dwingend aanvoelt, schakelt het verhaal vervolgens over naar een heel andere sfeer: de sfeer van brute actie, waarin een supermarkt door de beide punkers wordt leeggeroofd in een orgie van excessief en bijna ritueel geweld. Dat orgiastische geweld wordt echt meesterlijk op papier gezet, en nog meesterlijker is hoe de onderliggende en onbevattelijke dreiging ervan wordt verwoord: "There was a threat, but not a simple, straightforward nd comprehensible one, rather one confused with the realities it referred to, which in this way no longer functioned as a language but merged into a blurred, illegible whole". Fraai wordt ook de gruwelijke schittering van dat tafereel beschreven: "In the darkness of the flames, in the crystal of smoke and blood, the scene was multiplied in a thousand images, and each of these thousand in a thousand more.... realms of weightless, rootless gold". Een schittering van "weightless, rootless gold", van goud dus dat niet wortelt of meeweegt in onze conventionele wereld, dat is de onwerkelijke schittering die opgeroepen wordt door het overschrijden van alle grenzen en het breken met alle innerlijke taboes. Niet voor niets wordt verwezen naar de bekende Dostojevski-gedachte dat als God niet bestaat, alles is geoorloofd. Maar dit tafereel gaat nog verder, omdat alle "laws of verisimilitude" worden overtreden, wat dan weer leidt tot het verontrustende inzicht dat "If everything is permitted…. everything is transformed". En dat stelt op verontrustende wijze al onze antwoorden en zekerheden in vraag. Terwijl het ook een even verontrustende, maar tegelijk enorm verlokkende, affirmatie is van nieuwe mogelijke werelden: "A centrifugal force, the Big Bang, the birth of the universe. It was as if everything known was dispersing at the speed of light, to create in the far distance, in the blackness of the universe, new civilizations based on other premises". En precies die onbekende werelden, alsook de fascinatie en de vrees die zij oproepen, worden suggestief opgeroepen in "The proof". Zoals ook het angstige verlangen naar die werelden, aan gene zijde van goed en kwaad en dus voorbij alle grenzen van wat wij ons kunnen voorstellen, door Aira mooi wordt verwoord. Uiteraard is dit soort intense transgressie alleen acceptabel op papier, en durf ik er mij alleen vanuit mijn veilige leeshoek mee in te laten. Het gaat hier bovendien om ervaringen voorbij elke grens, voorbij elk zelfbehoud, voorbij het verstand: ervaringen waardoor de drie personages zelf bijna letterlijk exploderen: ze verschroeien op adembenemende wijze in hun passie, en veranderen in bundels van excessieve, bijna Goddelijke energie. Maar deze irrationele intensiteit fascineert mij wel, ook al ben ik dan een rationele burgerman die gesteld is op zijn rust, want er is zoveel meer dan ratio en rust alleen. En dus kan ik erg genieten van dit soort exuberante excessen op papier, als ze althans zo vaardig en filosofisch worden opgeschreven zoals hier door Aira.

"The little buddhist monk" is net zo verbazend, maar op een heel andere manier. Geweld en excessieve heftigheid komen er niet in voor, maar wel veel aanstekelijk absurdistische of surrealistische taferelen, diverse idiote maar fraaie terzijdes, en vooral veel aanstekelijk originele filosofische en kunstfilosofische passages. Het verhaal speelt in Korea, en draait om een onvoorstelbaar kleine Koreaanse monnik en zijn interacties met het Franse artiestenechtpaar Napoleon Chirac (een fotograaf die cultuurbepaaldheid van ruimtes wil vangen in zijn foto's) en Jacqueline Bloodymary (een cartooniste die met haar cartoons wandtapijten versiert). Alle drie hebben een intens verlangen naar andere werelden. Hetgeen ook naar voren komt in de heel vreemde fotografie van Napoleon Chirac: "It consisted in photographing a "space" from its center, covering the whole perimeter in a series of linked images". Maar ja, hoe dat te doen, want zowel "centrum" als "omtrek" zijn vloeiende begrippen: "The kind of photography he believed in made it necessary for him to decide first and foremost where the central point was. But before he could do that, he had to work out what circumference most interested him. Het let himself be guided by intuition, refined by his practice,and rectified by his taste. He had discovered that in nature there was no such thing as a circumference. It was the occasion that created them". Ruimte fotograferen, zonder echt te vatten wat een centrum of een omtrek is...… Dat is maar een van de vele verbazende motieven in deze roman. Die daardoor vol zit met filosofische verwondering, en verwonderlijke beelden van paradoxale schoonheid die je alleen bij Aira ziet: "The birds had fallen silent; the monks gone off to sleep. This moment, which prolonged itself, was day and night at the same time. A radiant night and a dark day. In the depths of the sanctuary, the fat, bronze Buddha still glowed. Hanging from the edge of the shrine, a drop of Coca- Cola refused to fall, held by its own transparent brilliance, traked with veins of gold and fiery red, its liquid curves reflecting the near and the far". Niks is zeker in deze roman, en alles is daardoor verwonderlijk. Wat prachtig naar voren komt in de filosofische mijmeringen, in de surrealistische scenes en verhaalwendingen, in de zeer vreemde kunstvormen die allemaal berusten op improvisatie en contra- intuïtieve intuïtie , en in maffe scenes als deze waarin nacht en dag vermengd raken en dit vermengde licht spectaculair schittert in een verstilde Coca- Cola druppel...… En ook, bijvoorbeeld, in een langdurige voettocht van de kleine monnik, door een surrealistisch en metamorfoserend bos dat tegelijk wel bestaat en niet bestaat, vergeefs op jacht naar een licht dat even absurdistisch is als subliem, even banaal als onwerelds prachtig. Zodat ik grinnik om die zotte tocht en er tegelijk zeer door word ontroerd. Wat dan op frappante wijze rijmt met allerlei eerdere, raadselachtig- intrigerende beschouwingen over het vermengen van hoge en lage kunst, of van grappen met kunst. En dat houdt allemaal weer verband met het zoeken naar nieuwe vormen van schoonheid, en nieuwe mogelijke werelden, voorbij de wereld en de schoonheid die wij menen te kennen. Zoals dus die schitteringen in de verstilde Coca- Cola druppel.....

Kortom: twee heel verschillende, maar ook heel verbazende romans. Allebei ook sterk verschillend van andere Aira- romans die ik ken, maar net zo verrukkelijk vreemd. "The little buddhist monk" leidt tot een aangename ontregeling in mijn hoofd, te vergelijken met de ontregeling die beoogd wordt met Boeddhistische Koans, en daardoor ook tot het verlichtende gevoel dat ik eventjes minder last had van de vastgeroeste conventionele patronen in mijn hoofd. "The proof" liet mij proeven van een intense, orgiastisch woelige wereld voorbij goed en kwaad, van een redeloosheid die veel onveiliger is dan mijn dagelijkse leven maar juist daardoor ook heel fascinerend. Het is wel duidelijk: met Aira ben ik voorlopig nog niet klaar!

[Stephanie B · Rating 5 out of 5]

Cesar Aira does it again. I honestly believe he’s one of the best writers I have ever read, he is so unique. He goes places that would be impossible in another format in these tiny books that linger forever in my mind after reading each one.

This book has 2 novellas inside. The first story (from 2005) is about a tiny Buddhist monk leading two French tourists around Korea, and the second (from 1992) is about a woman being propositioned (“wannafuck” - the opening line) by a couple of punk lesbians (named Mao and Lenin symbolically) in Buenos Aires and… well both continue onto quite unexpected adventures from there. Wildly different stories, yet there is a theme - each presents the reader with 2 people meeting a third and becoming quickly intimate, and having an outlandish experience together over the course of the following 24 hours. Both also really dig into the ever-changeable nature of identity. Each story is hilarious at times although the second one gets quite dark and violent at the end which I found to be a bit extreme for me personally, but then I read an excerpt by Latin American literary scholar Hector Hoyos who interprets the story as being about destabilizing sexual orientation and the inherent violence of ordinary commerce in the supermarket which helped it all come together for me.

And this is the interesting thing about his books. They reach me, deeply, emotionally, sweep me off my feet - even if I sometimes can’t quite explain why, and then I read someone who has studied him extensively or another's perspective and sometimes it clicks. Or sometimes what someone else thinks is completely different than what I got from it too! These books seem to live right on the border of a dream, and contain a bigger picture. .

I really do love the unexpected nature of them, they are completely unpredictable and imaginative, and they seem to effortlessly switch from being magical or surreal to wildly philosophical and digressive tackling big life topics. These two stories specifically take on the themes of consumerism, globalization, sexuality, the search for meaning, and perspective. I really want to buy all of his books because I would love to really spend time digging into all of the meaning there is to be had within, and yet I also really want to own all of his books because the language is just so good, and inspiring and a general delight to read!

[Alex · Rating 4 out of 5]

Rounded up.

It’s always a toss-up as to whether Aira’s improvisatory style will serve or sabotage his stories. LBM and The Proof are complimentary in that the majority of the former is served by Aira’s improvisation up until we reach the conclusion, while the latter is undermined by it until the final scene, when the improvisation kicks into a heinous, rapturous overdrive and triumphantly (though disturbingly) saves the whole thing.

What’s simultaneously frustrating and easy to love about Aira is that he keeps you on your toes. It would be a major gamble to put him down before you reach the end. Here’s the proof.

[Natalia · Rating 4 out of 5]

I wouldn't say this is a great translation. Some things definitely felt weird but maybe it was translated into British English? Either way, the first short story about the Buddhist monk feels whimsical and weird, reminiscent of Haruki Murakami. The Proof, the second short story, is darker- almost reminded me of Quentin Tarantino. Super quick read.

[Sara · Rating 1 out of 5]

Worst book I ever read. Almost. Both stories. Can't even go into it. I spent 9 weeks slogging through it. I am now FREE.

[Nadine in California · Rating 2 out of 5]

The Little Buddhist Monk may not be the best starter story for Aira (I didn't read Proof). Either that, or he's not for me. I heard somewhere that he writes through improvisation rather than by editing and refining - an 'always forward, never back' approach. This isn't the same as 'stream-0f-consciousness', so I was curious. Plus there was something irresistible about the title. The story started out charmingly enough, but about halfway through it began to feel like a wind-up toy, arbitrarily puttering around. I couldn't stop asking myself 'Why am I reading this?' The answer that kept me going was 'Because it's only 92 pages'.

[Ally · Rating 4 out of 5]

This is a bindup of two of Cesar Aira's novellas - THE LITTLE BUDDHIST MONK and THE PROOF. They were both grounded in a visceral reality that I could clearly place myself into, but that reality was punctuated by bits and pieces of the surreal.

In THE LITTLE BUDDHIST MONK, a French photographer and his wife travel to Korea to visit Buddhist temples and take 360-degree photos for an art project. They don't speak the language, and are delighted to serendipitously run into this monk who is almost a homunculus. He speaks fluent French, knows the least-touristy temples, and leads them to a particularly picturesque one. The more they speak to him, the more the monk seems a little...off. Even stranger is that, after spending a few hours at the temple site, a car from the French embassy pulls up and the travelers are beckoned, to take them back to their hotel. Why is all this happening? Who exactly is this Buddhist monk? What the heck is happening? The author plays with expectations and unreliability, and sneaks in a bit of science fiction and the supernatural.

In THE PROOF, a teenager named Marcia is the target of two punk teens named Lenin and Mao. They see her walking in their Buenos Aires neighborhood after dark, and follow her around - talking cryptically about sex and love - finally deciding that instead of discussing love they need proof of it in the form of action. What follows is a warped and brutal declaration of love which, in the twisted logic of Mao and Lenin, involves holding up a local supermarket and enacting cruel punishments on anyone who gets in their way.

If you're not afraid of the weird, don't mind when storylines cross into "what the heck is going on" territory, and love interesting characters in complicated situations, then this bindup is right up your street.

[Bill Hsu · Rating 1 out of 5]

Well it's very hard for me to not be enthusiastic about The Proof. After all, see the blurb for the opening line, and the punk lesbians are named Mao and Lenin.

But.

Update: one star for The Proof. That ending, ouch. You expect me to be fair about Little Buddhist Monk after this?

[Saff · Rating 4 out of 5]

The Proof was surreal and also lovely.
The Little Buddhist Monk lost itself somewhere near the end.
But totally worth it.

[Sadiyya · Rating 1 out of 5]

The Little Buddhist Monk was an enjoyable read up until the end which left me hanging.

The Proof was cringe-worthy from the start, so I didn't finish this story.

[Ali Bird · Rating 4 out of 5]

Deeply weird but beautifully written

[Nate · Rating 4 out of 5]

A collection of two Cesar Aira novellas, each a little shorter than his usual short works.

The first novella "The Little Buddhist Monk", contains every element of my favorite Aira stories; and could be counted among his better works. Surprising, magical, funny, strange, bizarre, fucked up, and hallucinatory in the best way imaginable. Reading it was a thrill.

The second, "The Proof", stands among some of my lesser favorite Aira books. (Even though I love him, he can be a little "hit or miss" for me). Its an earlier work of his (dated 1989); and though it has moments of oddball surrealist humor, it just didn't really hit me -- and I sort of finished it, just to finish it.

Its an odd pairing of stories -- I'm not sure if New Directions thought these went well together, or if it was a matter of convenience (a google search shows that The Proof had been translated previously, although out of print).

Anyway, 5 big stars for The Little Buddhist Monk.
3-ish stars for The Proof.

But since Aira fans like different elements of his work; you might have a different opinion. I always love his super bonkers fiction; and my favorites are Seamstress and the Wind, Varamo, and Episode in the Life of a Landscape Painter.

[Omar Z · Rating 4 out of 5]

As we're all aware, this release is a single book containing two novellas, so I'll take a similar approach to the one I'd taken when reviewing Gass' In the Heart of the Heart of the Country: I'm going to review and rate both novellas then conclude with an overall rating of the book in its entirety; and given how different yet related both novellas are, I believe it's fair and fitting to do so--let's begin:

Prior to reading this book, the only work by Aira that I'd ever read was Ghosts, and at the end of my reading of Monk/Proof, I quickly dug out my copy of Ghosts from my filing cabinet (yikes, I know) and placed both books side by side, and the memory of the events read in Ghosts flooded in and, for some inexplicable reason I can't exactly place a finger on, the experience of Monk/Proof felt much more worthwhile, but that's not to say it wasn't great, it's but a little moment I felt compeled to share; anyhow, The Little Buddhist Monk is about a little Buddhist monk, wow, in Korea who takes part in his Buddhist duties by day and studies Western literature, geography, philosophy, European literature, languages by night, most notably Hegel, Balzac, Shakespeare, Kafka, etcetera, and he believes that even before his mind had been made aware of the existence of a world outside of Asia that he'd already had his heart set on going abroad, someplace that could only be explained as Europe or America, but this doesn't at all interfere with his Buddhist faith, he doesn't expect himself to abandon his faith, he only wishes for the opportunity to have a chance at going to any of these two places, and the moment actually presents itself--but I won't go any further, there's no use in spoiling it.

From my reading, The Little Buddhist Monk felt like an invention of Pynchon's, a slice from a chapter or two from any of his lesser-read works, straight from the peculiar character names (the names in Ghosts were all legitimate Latino names,) to the situations that occur throughout the text being as outlandish as the UFO and chef scenes in Vineland, if only a bit toned down in comparison, with the only things Pynchonesque lacking in the Pynchon-Aira comparison being both prose and the use of characters, which I won't need to explain, one could infer from context alone what I'm implying here; The Little Buddhist Monk is a fun story, at times metaphysical, at times dense and requiring a reread just to ensure comprehension as you might incidentally try speeding through it, and, ultimately, at times easygoing; I mainly believe it to be a satirical exploration of the misconceptions carried by the West when engaging with Eastern culture as well as religion, all whilst investigating the truths of the concept of art and the artist.

As much as I hype the book up, I will say that there's a moment in this book which makes use of a literary narrative device I feel absolute scorn for, and Aira is aware of it of course, so aware that he actually mentions it by name after employing it on the story as a metafictional nod to the reader, and after reading it, I felt that it was a make-and-break situation, I disliked it being used, even though it was deliberate, but then Aira saves it with some of the stupidest humor I'd read since Charlie Kaufman's Antkind, it's so stupid that it just works, and that acted as the redemptive element at the end of the story for me; and of course, there's a little bit foreshadowing of there being more mentions of the circumstances that herald the ending of the story, but for it to be this brash negatively influenced the flow of the narrative, so it was still jarring, even with being able to tell he was hinting at something concerning it in hindsight; let me share a few excerpts from the story now, I haven't forgot:

"But one day his dream would come true, he thought, as he raised his eyes to the sky in which he glimpsed the distant reflection of the skies awaiting him. "It costs nothing to dream," he told himself. And if reality was defined by its identification with itself, he glimpsed in that inverted overlap of antiopdean skies the triumphant congruence of dreams and life." Pg. 6

"After the liberation, they had both chosen the path of art, but it could be said that they had done so from the opposite shores of time: him in the instant of the click of a camera shutter; she in the months if not years that it took weavers to complete a tapestry. And yet, for him to reach that click required a great deal of work with space and time, whereas for her, to reach that slow task of weaving she needed only the instant of finding the idea." Pg. 67

Overall, The Little Buddhist Monk novella is an 80/100.

After completing The Little Buddhist Monk, I'd began reading The Proof a few minutes later, and with the memory of that previous novella still fresh in my mind, the prose in The Proof had created a contrast for me, the prose was much more alive, it was a lot more electric than the latter, and because of that, I began to cycle through my head ideas of doubt pertaining to the possibility that Aira's writing in the past was much more charged than his later writing (Monk was published in 2005, Proof in 1989,) but I realized that that thought isn't one to touch Aira, he's a chameleon, his writing varies and transforms depending on the premise of his story--if it's 'domestic,' such as the writing in Ghosts, it'll be more subtle, casual; if the story feels chaotic, it'll require the chaotic prose necessary to convey that energy, and so forth--and so I let go of the preconception to allow myself to read this novella in peace.

The Proof is about a young lady walking the streets of some Argentine town that may or may not exist outside of the story, and she's approached by 2 Lesbians in 'punk' attire--the first line of the text is perhaps the most equally stupid, equally vulgar way to start a novel--anyhow, the story grows on from that first interaction, budding situations like narrative twigs that only an awkward interaction could start; by the end of the story, you're enveloped in something violent, transgressive, unlike anything I'd read from Aira--the only thing I could compare it to is the ending of Scenes of the Life of a Faun by Arno Schmidt in Nobodaddy's Children but in a microcosm all its own, contained within doors and windows; and I think it's worth noting that one of the main characters is perhaps the most incessantly deprecating character I'd had the misfortune to read in a book before, and yes, even more so than any narrator or character from Nobodaddy's Children, because at least they seem to have a 'reason,' for lack of a better word, to feel that way, the character in The Proof is hellbent on going against the grain, to the point of being a displeasure to be around deliberately, denouncing who they are with the intention to escape being categorized if even for a lighthearted reason attributed to the purpose of a simple conversation, they're being provocative to exercise their personal rights of provocation--it'll leave a bad taste in your mouth that doesn't really fade with a few instances of excusing it to continue reading onward, and the redemptive qualities behind that that are present near the end of the story just don't exist in the real world, so there's that; but that shouldn't be a reason to not read the story.

I'd initially felt let down reading this second novella, it felt as though it had the tell-tale signs of the 'dirty old man' pen that befalls certain authors and results in them penning some really disconcerting work, but the further I read, the more I understood that Aira actually cared for his characters, which isn't typically a characteristic of those kinds of writers--crisis averted, it's but a really abrasive story.

The Proof contains more dialogue than the entirety of The Little Buddhist Monk, it's fixated on an approach akin to realism, all whilst its Monk counterpart is concerned with a Magical Realist-esque narrative style, yet, The Proof, which functions as a juxtaposition against The Little Buddhist Monk, actually has a few major things in common with the latter: they're both satirical explorations of a society's misrepresentation of another tradition (in this instance, it's an areligious counterculture rather than the culture and religion of the Eastern world,) and that's really about it, the novellas are just two unorthodox stories exploring and juxtaposing cultures and their social differences; excerpt time:

"The two punks looked at her with neutral, serious expressions. That expression, which expressed nothing, was one of pure violence. They were violence. There was no escaping the fact. She wasn't going to emerge from her audience with the punks scot-free, as she had absentmindedly thought. It's not the same as with any other strange specimen in society, which could be provided with a favorable setting in which to ask questions. Because they themselves were the setting. She resigned herself to it: she had never set foot in this Pumper before, and had no problem with never coming back if they were thrown out." Pg. 115

The Proof receives a rating of 87/100.

Overall, this duo had given me mixed feelings all throughout (near the end of the first, constantly throughout the second), but that ambivalence never lasted, as by the end of both reads, the positives always came out on top--a gamble I'd be willing to take again when it comes to Aira; The Little Buddhist Monk/The Proof is an 85/100.

Lovely; I need to get my hands on the Magical Brain and An Episode in the Life of a Landscape Painter, or maybe Shantytown; I'm deciding to read an entirely different novel next as a refresher though, so we'll see what comes of it.

[morag Sarkar · Rating 5 out of 5]

its so French but the author is from Argentina and the story is set in South Korea.
I loved it -the mystery journey the little Buddhist monk took me and the 2 French tourists on.

What an unbelievable ending --after so much philosophy it all ends in so much as rushing back for your favourite show. but thats why Cesar Aira is so good.

[Jeff · Rating 5 out of 5]

Like all of Aira's work, these two novellas are funny, ethereal, beautifully written, and a bit madcap.

The first César Aira book I read was The Literary Conference, which remains one of my favorites. (It's always hard to tell in cases like this: is it my favorite because it's one of his best or is it my favorite because it was my first?) That book was (in my opinion) such a clear metaphor for the act of writing; e.g. it was a novel about writing a novel. So now every time I read something by Aira I spend a lot of time trying to interpret it into literary self-reference. And, I'm usually successful.

So, in that light: how are The Little Buddhist Monk and The Proof metaphors for writing? I'm more stumped than usual.

The Little Buddhist Monk does involve two artists (one who works in permanence and one who works in the ephemeral) so I could apply a more surface level reading to get there. But clearly The Little Buddhist Monk himself is the key, not the artists. Is he a metaphor for the whimsy of inspiration? The artificial muse? The desire for... something? I haven't quite figured it out yet, but I loved the book nonetheless, with the way it slips between realism and the fantastical, the charm of the conversation and the occasional dive into the philosophy of art, it's unexpected melancholy, and I love that every time I read Aira I feel like there are levels and levels to excavate even if I don't have the tools to do so.

And what to make of The Proof, which starts like Edward Albee's The Zoo Story before going off the rails into a nihilistic Pulp Fiction action sequence? But, oh, I loved it. Is this just about the brutal loss of innocence (e.g. how all loss of innocence is necessarily brutal no matter how it happens)? Is it some kind of modern mythology, how the three Harpies first meet? And where's my beloved metaphor for writing underneath all of this? Perhaps the only way to write a novel is to get mad and break stuff, to leave polite society, to care about nothing. Well, then, I want to be a punk too.

[L.S. Popovich · Rating 4 out of 5]

This small double-feature novella surprised me. I had only read My Life as a Nun by Aira. He’s an odd writer. Like Calvino and Bolano, but containing something of his own as well. He is memorable and forgettable at the same time. He’s easy to read, which is a plus, but only re-readable in bits and pieces. At least that is the feeling I get from these two novellas. They seem like the work of an amateur who has mastered what amateurs only dream of doing. He tells a compelling tale which is entirely absurd and unbelievable. He purposefully makes it difficult to suspend disbelief, but at the same time knows how to absorb the reader. I found the story of the Buddhist monk surprising because of the twist ending but also because of the shifting perspective. You get things wholly from the monk’s viewpoint at first, but then it starts shifting until the world takes on the likeness of a photograph. The art of the storytelling takes on the dimensions of its own story. The second novella, called The Proof, only justified the events it depicted in the last line. The last line was brilliant and surprising. The escalation from verbal to physical dread and horror was abrupt in the way that a lot of horror movies advance in fits and starts. The delightful conversation and shifts in attitude that occur seemed nonetheless realistic despite their extreme unbelievability.

[Emir]

At the heart of both The Little Buddhist Monk and The Proof, two novellas by Cesar Aira, lies a misunderstanding, at which heart, I think, lies an Airaesque joke, relayed on the first novella:

"The conflict had arisen between two branches of Buddhism who were arguing about the way to tell jokes. One of them, innovatory thanks to Western influence (and which ultimately was triumphant) proposed telling them with the punchline at the end. The other school resisted any change, and defended the traditional Korean way of telling them, in which the punch line or climax should come at the beggining, not the end."

The joke let loose on an unsuspecting audience is met by general, yes, misunderstanding, a fair measure of success, a direct annotation on the form and an ingenious affirmation of content, that is misunderstanding, that is joke.

"To start with, she grasped that it was not okay to go on praising the form; such praise had to be transmitted implicitly in her comments on the content. But she was so dazzled that form and content became intertwined; whatever she might say about the former would inevitably be transferred to the latter. The most practical thing -- and what came most naturally to her, were questions, doubts." (The Proof)

[Jake Ayres · Rating 4 out of 5]

These novellas are classic Aira. They simmer and pop with philosophic waxing, deft dialogue, and the one of a kind narration that we have come to expect in his stories.

Both stories are translated by Nick Caistor, who I was not familiar with. I'm so used to reading Aira through the lens of his long-time translator Chris Andrews that I was a little skeptical about a newcomer to the César scene, but about 5 pages into The Little Buddhist Monk my worries were at ease. Caistor's translation feels just as genuine as Andrews's; all the twists, turns, and play with language are in tact.

I won't go into specifics on plot, but if you've ever read César Aira you know to expect the unexpected. If you haven't read him, this may be a good place to start.

Thanks to New Directions for the ARC!

[Tom · Rating 3 out of 5]

The Proof is borderline horrible and unusual for Aira, who tone is usually whimsical, which trims the edges of even his more serious moments. In contrast, The Proof is an exercise in manipulative nihilism, with all of the political, societal, and moral repulsiveness and insincerity that comes with it. I'm not sure why Aira wasted his time writing it, his Argentine publisher printed it, Nick Caistor translated it, and New Directions republished it. The Little Buddhist Monk is more in line with Aira's other work, based on the following premise: A Korean Buddhist monk hopes to entice the French couple he met by accident to hire him as a full-time assistant so he can explore the museums of Paris during his free time.

[Arlo · Rating 4 out of 5]

Two novellas that both get strange. The strange is expected with Aira. The Little Buddhist Monk deals with space and perceptions. Not outer space but spaces and architecture etc. I did follow the story but I'm not completely sure I got the message. The second novella deals with punk lesbians and gets strange too. Both books are told in a campfire fashion, In the sense that the weirdness progresses as the story progresses.

[Maria · Rating 4 out of 5]

With Aira, only the strange is expected and both of these novellas take huge left turns at the end. Peppered with wisdom and humour, don't take this collection too seriously and enjoy. I preferred the science-myth eeriness of the first story, but the psychology of The Proof was very intriguing. For fans of genre-shifting narratives that defy expectation.

[Claudio · Rating 3 out of 5]

The Little Buddhist Monk 3/5 - I really enjoyed this story up until the final pages. I wasn't a fan of the plot twist thrown in at the end, felt like it was rushed into a conclusion that could've been handled better

The Proof 4/5 - Similar to the previous story in terms of the fact that there's a plot twist near the end though I feel that this story carried it off better, random as it was

[Elena · Rating 4 out of 5]

Delightful, odd, philosophical, and hilarious. How Cesar Aira manages to twist stories in completely surprising ways, and in such few pages, is amazing and a pure joy to read. This book ties at #1 with How I Became a Nun on my 'favorite Cesar Aira' books' list.

[Matt Brown · Rating 4 out of 5]

The Little Buddhist Monk: 4/5
The Proof: 5/5

[Old Man JP · Rating 4 out of 5]

Aira writes such short novellas that they can easily be read in one sitting. This collection of two stories was not as good as some of his others but he is still an enjoyable read.

[Aster Wamser · Rating 3 out of 5]

Pretty good. I liked it