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290 pages, Paperback
First published October 1, 2009
we'd have become foreigners whose only comfort would be to write about precisely that: about belonging nowhere after having seen everything.the delight in reading certain authors often resides in their beautiful and commanding use of language, or relishing in the imagination required to tell a heretofore untold tale (and tell it well), the acuity and care taken in crafting believable characters, or even the thought-provoking asides which serve to enrich an already engaging narrative. in reading a select few authors of the highest order, that delight shifts easily into an overwhelming joy (if not outright envy) at seeing all of those elements present in a single work. such is to be found throughout the writing of argentina-born, barcelona-based author rodrigo fresán.
and we'd be happy.
for ezra, science fiction was a weapon.fresán's latest work of fiction to be translated into english (after last year's incomparable the invented part and 2006's kensington gardens ), the bottom of the sky (el fondo del cielo) isn't a "novel of science fiction," but "a novel with science fiction." first published in 2009, the bottom of the sky is an exuberant story transcending both space and time, shaded with hues paying homage to the sci-fi greats (with so many literary [and pop culture] nods along the way: vonnegut, dick, cheever, bioy casares, chabon's the amazing adventures of kavalier & clay, et al.). fresán's ambitious tale is, at once, a love story, an enigmatic eschatological puzzle, a book rooted firmly in the present while simultaneously orbiting in a far-off realm, and a genre-transcending work unbound by formulaic construct or conceit.
for me, science fiction was a shield.
maybe, now that i think of it, i was a man who—consciously or unconsciously, today, after The Incident, i realize this with a mix of relief and pain—decided that he didn't have to live or feel all that much because he was too busy trying to recall the most transcendent days of his life. a man who, every so often, at the most unexpected moments and in a not-entirely-clear way, received intermittent news and irrefutable proof of intelligent life from a remote and—i can feel it, the ping of its echo already resounding on the radar screen, i almost see it now—fast-approaching planet called Past.the bottom of the sky is the third of fresán's books rendered into english (and the second published by open letter). open letter currently has plans for at least two more: the dreamed part (the second in a trilogy which began with the invented part) and mantra, described by his late friend, roberto bolaño, thus:
"a kaleidoscopic novel, shot through with fierce, occasionally over-the-top humor, written in a prose of rare precision that allows itself to oscillate between anthropological document and the delirium of late nights in a city—mexico city—that superimposes itself on the subterranean cities beneath it like a snake swallowing itself...each of three books currently available in english from fresán excel on their own merits, yet, taken collectively, demonstrate the prodigious talents of an author not yet on the receiving end of international accolades long overdue. fresán is so much fun to read: entertaining and edifying in equal measure. is he primed to (finally) make a resounding stateside splash like his chilean colleague before him? or will he linger on the peripheral literary radars, forever poised to be more than a passing blip, but never garnering the attention he deserves? supergiant or white dwarf?
mantra is one of the most exciting books i've read in recent years. it made me laugh more than any other book, and it seemed more virtuous and at the same time more roguish; it's steeped in melancholy, but always to some aesthetic end, never lapsing into the preciousness or sentimentality always in vogue in spanish-language literature. it's a novel about mexico, but like all great novels it's really about the passage of time, about the possibility of and impossibility of dreams. and on an almost secret level it's about the art of making literature, though very few may realize it."
find yourself wherever you find yourself, near or far, if you can read what i now write, please, remember, remember me, remember us, like this.