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Las teorías salvajes
Cuando el lector se zambulle en las páginas de Las teorías salvajes ha de saber que se adentra en un mundo de teorías imposibles dónde convergen los personajes más extraños y las ideas más extravagantes. Un pez llamado Yorick y una gatita llamada Montaigne. Una joven estudiante de filosofía que acorrala a su viejo profesor por los pasillos de la facultad. Dos adolescentes que encuentran en su respectiva deformidad física y moral un buen motivo para unirse. Una joven militante de izquierdas que escribe cartas a Mao. Una teoría psicológica que lo explica todo. La facultad de Filosofía de la Universidad de Buenos Aires como punto de encaje desde el que se asoma el mundo.
Ya sea en clave de comedia negra o de tratado de guerra sobre la seducción en la era weblog, Las teorías salvajes es una novela ácida, demencialmente divertida y en ocasiones oscura que acaba convirtiéndose en su propio y terrible monstruo.
Ya sea en clave de comedia negra o de tratado de guerra sobre la seducción en la era weblog, Las teorías salvajes es una novela ácida, demencialmente divertida y en ocasiones oscura que acaba convirtiéndose en su propio y terrible monstruo.
280 pages, Paperback
First published January 1, 2008
123 people are currently reading
2416 people want to read
About the author
Pola Oloixarac
18 books370 followersPola Oloixarac (Buenos Aires, 13 de septiembre de 1977) es una escritora y traductora argentina. Estudió Filosofía en la Universidad de Buenos Aires y ha publicado artículos sobre arte y tecnología en medios como The Telegraph, The New York Times International, Folha de Sao Paulo, Página 12, Revista Quimera, Etiqueta Negra, Qué Leer, Revista Alfa, América Economía y Brando.
Su primera novela es Las teorías salvajes (Entropía, 2008; Alpha Decay 2010; Estruendomudo, 2010), próximamente en traducción al inglés (Jonathan Cape), francés (Editions du Seuil), holandés (Meulenhoff), finlandés (Sammakko), italiano (Baldini Castoldi Dalai), y portugués (en Brasil, Saraiva; en Portugal, Quetzal). En el 2010 fue seleccionada entre Los mejores narradores en español por la Revista Granta (Best of Young Spanish Novelists, Granta 113 UK). En el año 2010 participó en el International Writers Program de la Universidad de Iowa gracias a una beca del Bureau of Educational and Cultural Affairs of the US State Department. En el 2010 recibió la Beca Nacional de Letras del Fondo Nacional de las Artes de Argentina. Publicó cuentos en antologías en Suiza y Argentina, como Acerca de la comunidad de hipotálamos y el código Morse en la antología Literatura Fantástica Argentina (Ed. Pagina 12, 2004) y Die Nacht des Kometen. Argentinische Autorinnen der Gegenwart.
Su primera novela es Las teorías salvajes (Entropía, 2008; Alpha Decay 2010; Estruendomudo, 2010), próximamente en traducción al inglés (Jonathan Cape), francés (Editions du Seuil), holandés (Meulenhoff), finlandés (Sammakko), italiano (Baldini Castoldi Dalai), y portugués (en Brasil, Saraiva; en Portugal, Quetzal). En el 2010 fue seleccionada entre Los mejores narradores en español por la Revista Granta (Best of Young Spanish Novelists, Granta 113 UK). En el año 2010 participó en el International Writers Program de la Universidad de Iowa gracias a una beca del Bureau of Educational and Cultural Affairs of the US State Department. En el 2010 recibió la Beca Nacional de Letras del Fondo Nacional de las Artes de Argentina. Publicó cuentos en antologías en Suiza y Argentina, como Acerca de la comunidad de hipotálamos y el código Morse en la antología Literatura Fantástica Argentina (Ed. Pagina 12, 2004) y Die Nacht des Kometen. Argentinische Autorinnen der Gegenwart.
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Displaying 1 - 30 of 162 reviews
November 22, 2020
Me pareció agotadora, en el sentido de su barroquismo verbal y conceptual. Hay algo en eso de imaginarla como con una risita socarrona todo el tiempo, que se vuelve medio monótono, y tampoco da oportunidad a que te quedes con algo, te va mostrando su virtuosismo en todo sentido, como una esgrimista verbal que no se detiene en ningún momento, y no da tiempo a que nada te conmueva. Y las referencias a internet y a los blogs, supongo que se quedaron en una época, pero si los personajes y la historia hubiesen sido más memorables, no creo que importaría. Le pongo tres por esas risas que me dio en un par de momentos, pero si pudiera más bien le daría dos y medio.
June 12, 2019
"The Spanish word for mirror, espejo, shares a root with the word species; the mirror shows each species for what it is, and lays bare the shoddy reasoning that has led each to think itself unique.”
I enjoyed this book enormously. But it might be not everyone’s cup of tea. Broadly speaking, the book is an intellectual satire, devoted to the ideas and the lifestyle of “the generation of lead”. These are the children of contemporaries and survivors of the Dirty War in Argentina in mid 70s of the last century. That was the terrible time of terror inflicted on the country by the radical right government and death squads which followed the insurgence of the radical left. As a result, the lead generation’s kids are quite cynical in terms of radical ideologies both right and left.Their view of the world is more philosophic, experimental and hedonistic. Pola, the author of the book, belongs to this generation and she is philosophy graduate. So she is well placed to write such a book. In terms of its focus, it reminded me The Remainder- another book about post-trauma generation in Latin America - Chile. But the books are very different in their tone and emphasis. “The Remainder” is more dreamy while this sometimes borderlines theoretical discourse and sometimes extremely funny. But in both cases, I was impressed by the precision and focus of their female authors tackling such a violent serious subject matter.
I would not talk about the plot apart from saying that there are two main parallel narratives with quirky original characters and a lot of digressions into anthropology, psychology, theology and philosophy. (I needed to check out a few words which i did not know, “consubstantiation” or “evanescent” are examples). There are a lot of references to sex as well.
The main theme of the book is an investigation of the nature of human violence. A fictional anthropologist, the contemporary of Freud, has developed the theory: “This primordial trauma - not that of having predators, as Freud had recently suggested in Totem and Taboo, but that if having been prey - explained the human fascination with transforming ourselves into predatory beast, as fellas our instinct for war and our talent for violence.” The anthropologist has later disappeared in Africa without the trace. And, at present, the one of the characters is trying to develop and improve this theory.
All of it might sound a little dry, but the book sometimes made me laugh loud. It is quite an angry satire at times. And she applies it to the right, the left and the academia, the old guerrillas and the young hipsters. So it might offend a few sensitive souls. But i enjoyed it.
The translation by Roy Casey is superb. There is also a very helpful translator’s note at the back. He also posted the review here on GR.
It is telling that after publishing this novel Pola has become the subject of controversy in Argentina as apparently she stepped out of the territory assigned to female writers. I am really happy that she did. And I plan to read her new book which is just out in English.
PS
Just thought I would add a few quotes to give the "taste" of her writing and sense of irony:
“It is well known that the experience of terror late at night is essential to a thorough understanding of political philosophy."
On European expats in Argentina: “Pabst took advantage of the pause to slide few xenophobic notes into Mara’s ear: -These poorly educated Europeans emigrate in search of a culturally backward paradise where they can display whatever leadership qualities they possess against a background of urban third-wordiness. They are just neighbourhood demagogues pretending to be part of the vanguard here where it’s easier to be such a thing, and then bragging about how cheap the rent is to their supermarket manager friends in Munster or Riga or Rouen.”
“ugly people are inevitably more intelligent than beautiful people, because they’ve had to develop more sophisticated means of obtaining things.”
I enjoyed this book enormously. But it might be not everyone’s cup of tea. Broadly speaking, the book is an intellectual satire, devoted to the ideas and the lifestyle of “the generation of lead”. These are the children of contemporaries and survivors of the Dirty War in Argentina in mid 70s of the last century. That was the terrible time of terror inflicted on the country by the radical right government and death squads which followed the insurgence of the radical left. As a result, the lead generation’s kids are quite cynical in terms of radical ideologies both right and left.Their view of the world is more philosophic, experimental and hedonistic. Pola, the author of the book, belongs to this generation and she is philosophy graduate. So she is well placed to write such a book. In terms of its focus, it reminded me The Remainder- another book about post-trauma generation in Latin America - Chile. But the books are very different in their tone and emphasis. “The Remainder” is more dreamy while this sometimes borderlines theoretical discourse and sometimes extremely funny. But in both cases, I was impressed by the precision and focus of their female authors tackling such a violent serious subject matter.
I would not talk about the plot apart from saying that there are two main parallel narratives with quirky original characters and a lot of digressions into anthropology, psychology, theology and philosophy. (I needed to check out a few words which i did not know, “consubstantiation” or “evanescent” are examples). There are a lot of references to sex as well.
The main theme of the book is an investigation of the nature of human violence. A fictional anthropologist, the contemporary of Freud, has developed the theory: “This primordial trauma - not that of having predators, as Freud had recently suggested in Totem and Taboo, but that if having been prey - explained the human fascination with transforming ourselves into predatory beast, as fellas our instinct for war and our talent for violence.” The anthropologist has later disappeared in Africa without the trace. And, at present, the one of the characters is trying to develop and improve this theory.
All of it might sound a little dry, but the book sometimes made me laugh loud. It is quite an angry satire at times. And she applies it to the right, the left and the academia, the old guerrillas and the young hipsters. So it might offend a few sensitive souls. But i enjoyed it.
The translation by Roy Casey is superb. There is also a very helpful translator’s note at the back. He also posted the review here on GR.
It is telling that after publishing this novel Pola has become the subject of controversy in Argentina as apparently she stepped out of the territory assigned to female writers. I am really happy that she did. And I plan to read her new book which is just out in English.
PS
Just thought I would add a few quotes to give the "taste" of her writing and sense of irony:
“It is well known that the experience of terror late at night is essential to a thorough understanding of political philosophy."
On European expats in Argentina: “Pabst took advantage of the pause to slide few xenophobic notes into Mara’s ear: -These poorly educated Europeans emigrate in search of a culturally backward paradise where they can display whatever leadership qualities they possess against a background of urban third-wordiness. They are just neighbourhood demagogues pretending to be part of the vanguard here where it’s easier to be such a thing, and then bragging about how cheap the rent is to their supermarket manager friends in Munster or Riga or Rouen.”
“ugly people are inevitably more intelligent than beautiful people, because they’ve had to develop more sophisticated means of obtaining things.”
November 3, 2016
I’ve read numerous novels that took place during or subsequent to the Dirty War in Argentina--the tragedy of the Disappeared, and the drama of state-sponsored terrorism that affected human values and morale, not to mention the physical danger inherent to anyone who didn’t capitulate. So I wasn’t expecting this sui generis author that wrote of the sons and daughters of the survivors, mostly in Buenos Aires, using satire, but with poignancy. Oloixarac’s unconventional and picaresque novel centers on these adult children, as well as former members of the resistance, academics, former guerillas, anthropologists, philosophers and others whom are psychically lost, confused, and concerned with issues of predator and prey.
The two main characters, Pabst (Pablo) and Kamtchowsky (female) are a wild but celebrated intellectual couple, self-described as unattractive, even jealous of their finer looking peers. They are exhibitionists, and Pabst is obsessed with onanism, public and private. Kamtchowsky is the daughter of a Polish engineer, and inherited his gift for abstract thought. Together, this odd couple did their own fieldwork, so to speak, openly studying the mating rituals and sexual proclivities of their peers and captivating them by flaunting their sexual performance art at parties, museum openings, and academic soirees.
The author almost surreally juxtaposes factual historical figures and social theories with fictional ones, creating a wholly original, exuberantly playful and yet tender story—a love story, primarily. That is what keeps this book engaging. On a lesser author, the text would be pornographic, vulgar, reprehensible. But Oloixarac does it with a larger-than-life heart, and, through jaunts of madness and juxtapositions of reality and fallacy, she pierces the jugular of human behaviors.
The narrator is Rosa Ostreech, who is writing a thesis on violence in culture, zeroing in on how we as humans evolved from prey to predator. Ancient cultures from all over the world are included to illuminate the effect of our upbringing on the human condition. Included are also the most pedigreed philosophies of those like Wittgenstein, Althusser, and Rousseau, and novelists whose minds search the erudite beyond, such as Nabokov and Bolaño, but in contexts like you've never heard before!
The author is exceptionally talented in not taking an authorial stance, on not judging the nature of her characters, which, to me, speaks highly of her skills. She demonstrates, without arbitration, how aggression, human herding and alienation has culturally evolved from antiquity to contemporary times, and allows her modern characters to show the cruelest and most private actions/behaviors/feelings/beliefs. And yet it underscores their vulnerabilities. The story penetrates how we evolved emotionally, politically, and socially. At times, I admit to being appalled by what I read, and yet, and yet…there is a poignant gentleness and tenderness searing through the frequently lurid, tawdry text.
The omniscient narrator is periodically subsumed or even forgotten as other characters emerge and take center stage. But she comes back, the stunning Rose describing her irresistible self, and the paradox of her attraction to a hideously ugly former guerrilla, who yet has an exquisite aesthetic within his obscenity.
“His mouth was still pressed tight against my hand. Then something fluttered beneath his preputial eyelid: it was passion, rumpled and lethal, capable of blowing the human heart to pieces…Collazo was (is) a horrible man, but that doesn’t make him any less attractive to my eyes. The little beast of hatred I carry inside quivers every time it hears his name.”
I read this book (almost) twice. Going back over large parts of the text made it more coherent for me. Hordes of names and works of art, philosophy, or science, in English and Spanish, streamed from the book and often broke my concentration, as I tried to make sense of it all while turning the pages. But, as I re-read much of the novel, I realized that the best way to appreciate it is just to slide in and let it boil over on your tongue, your head, and your heart.
Oloixarac covers everything from the customs of ancient tribes to the sweeping changes marked by the digital age, with post-modern prose and inserts of poems, songs, letters, photos and sketches. Of supreme importance is syntax, lexicon--the structure of words themselves. It is highly entertaining and irreverent, too. I loved the small but significant segment on the tide of sexual dominance being usurped by the rise of nerds—the oppressed classes--via technology, who commandeered and triumphed over the dominant factions of the swaggering, lucky few. So insouciant and yet so biting.
At the end, the superb translator, Roy Kesey, addresses the readers with pearls of insight regarding the book and author. He also informs that reading it in Spanish allows the many meanings to expand. Some of the included poems and prose IS in un-translated Spanish, which makes sense in light of what Kesey says about the limiting English translation. However, he hits on the ongoing displacement that readers may feel due to the abrupt shifts in voice, time, events, characters, and even point of view. Yet, the displacement I experienced when reading also signals the internal displacement of the characters. Read it for the sensory thrill. This is a novel of transgressions and hilarious, mighty, weighty, and trivial ideas. Highbrow and lowbrow, visceral and cerebral, absurd and wise.
The two main characters, Pabst (Pablo) and Kamtchowsky (female) are a wild but celebrated intellectual couple, self-described as unattractive, even jealous of their finer looking peers. They are exhibitionists, and Pabst is obsessed with onanism, public and private. Kamtchowsky is the daughter of a Polish engineer, and inherited his gift for abstract thought. Together, this odd couple did their own fieldwork, so to speak, openly studying the mating rituals and sexual proclivities of their peers and captivating them by flaunting their sexual performance art at parties, museum openings, and academic soirees.
The author almost surreally juxtaposes factual historical figures and social theories with fictional ones, creating a wholly original, exuberantly playful and yet tender story—a love story, primarily. That is what keeps this book engaging. On a lesser author, the text would be pornographic, vulgar, reprehensible. But Oloixarac does it with a larger-than-life heart, and, through jaunts of madness and juxtapositions of reality and fallacy, she pierces the jugular of human behaviors.
The narrator is Rosa Ostreech, who is writing a thesis on violence in culture, zeroing in on how we as humans evolved from prey to predator. Ancient cultures from all over the world are included to illuminate the effect of our upbringing on the human condition. Included are also the most pedigreed philosophies of those like Wittgenstein, Althusser, and Rousseau, and novelists whose minds search the erudite beyond, such as Nabokov and Bolaño, but in contexts like you've never heard before!
The author is exceptionally talented in not taking an authorial stance, on not judging the nature of her characters, which, to me, speaks highly of her skills. She demonstrates, without arbitration, how aggression, human herding and alienation has culturally evolved from antiquity to contemporary times, and allows her modern characters to show the cruelest and most private actions/behaviors/feelings/beliefs. And yet it underscores their vulnerabilities. The story penetrates how we evolved emotionally, politically, and socially. At times, I admit to being appalled by what I read, and yet, and yet…there is a poignant gentleness and tenderness searing through the frequently lurid, tawdry text.
The omniscient narrator is periodically subsumed or even forgotten as other characters emerge and take center stage. But she comes back, the stunning Rose describing her irresistible self, and the paradox of her attraction to a hideously ugly former guerrilla, who yet has an exquisite aesthetic within his obscenity.
“His mouth was still pressed tight against my hand. Then something fluttered beneath his preputial eyelid: it was passion, rumpled and lethal, capable of blowing the human heart to pieces…Collazo was (is) a horrible man, but that doesn’t make him any less attractive to my eyes. The little beast of hatred I carry inside quivers every time it hears his name.”
I read this book (almost) twice. Going back over large parts of the text made it more coherent for me. Hordes of names and works of art, philosophy, or science, in English and Spanish, streamed from the book and often broke my concentration, as I tried to make sense of it all while turning the pages. But, as I re-read much of the novel, I realized that the best way to appreciate it is just to slide in and let it boil over on your tongue, your head, and your heart.
Oloixarac covers everything from the customs of ancient tribes to the sweeping changes marked by the digital age, with post-modern prose and inserts of poems, songs, letters, photos and sketches. Of supreme importance is syntax, lexicon--the structure of words themselves. It is highly entertaining and irreverent, too. I loved the small but significant segment on the tide of sexual dominance being usurped by the rise of nerds—the oppressed classes--via technology, who commandeered and triumphed over the dominant factions of the swaggering, lucky few. So insouciant and yet so biting.
At the end, the superb translator, Roy Kesey, addresses the readers with pearls of insight regarding the book and author. He also informs that reading it in Spanish allows the many meanings to expand. Some of the included poems and prose IS in un-translated Spanish, which makes sense in light of what Kesey says about the limiting English translation. However, he hits on the ongoing displacement that readers may feel due to the abrupt shifts in voice, time, events, characters, and even point of view. Yet, the displacement I experienced when reading also signals the internal displacement of the characters. Read it for the sensory thrill. This is a novel of transgressions and hilarious, mighty, weighty, and trivial ideas. Highbrow and lowbrow, visceral and cerebral, absurd and wise.
September 20, 2013
Pola no puede parar y es una lástima. Esta crítica ácida al mundo de la Facultad de Filosofía y Letras de la UBA y la izquierda academicista es desprolija y confusa. La novela tiene momentos de nitidez e intensidad pero en enseguida viene una lista de referencias, una oración enredada, un chiste fácil. Se necesita urgente un editor, porque a todo se lo termina comiendo esa necesidad de mostrar todo, todo junto, mezclado. Por eso la sátira termina decantando a provocación, los personajes a cáscara y la trama a plato de fideos pegados. Hay grandes momentos, pero son esos en los que Pola parece distraerse y escriba prosa llana y limpia. Veremos qué escribe a partir de ahora.
February 28, 2018
“A man with a theory is someone who has something to shout.”
Savage Theories is a complex novel with storylines intersecting around themes involving human evolution, the rise of culture through war and violence and the utility of sex. Anthropological studies, philosophical discourse and cameos by past literary and political world figures are woven into the mix of this deep thought-provoking satire.
There are two central storylines: one of a young academic and her infatuation with her professor, the other of two children of the Dirty War and the cognizance of the current generation. Rife with sexual exploits that range from the mundane to the intolerable, this novel might put some ill at ease. At the heart of Savage Theories is the Theory of Egoic Transmissions, which starts with the premise that “the purpose of human existence was to serve as prey”. Throughout evolution this ancestral trauma was hardwired into our brains, deeply rooted within the landscape of the human psyche a fear that drives modern man’s “fascination with transforming ourselves into predatory beasts.” “Our talent for violence” furthermore serving as a “prelude to sex”.
Savage Theories was a difficult read for me for several reasons. One of these being my unfamiliarity of the Dirty War and the political past of Argentina. Another is due to the translation. Not that Roy Kesey did not do an exemplary job, but that there are Spanish phrases in which there is no English equivalent. In Oloixarac’s writing, many of the sentences take on multiple meanings some of which are lost in translation. It is evident that a lot of research and forethought went into this ambitious work.
Pola Oloixarac is an essayist whose work has appeared in New York Times, The Telegraph and Rolling Stone. Savage Theories is her first novel.
“At time one’s mind refuses to let go of its own inventions.”
Thoughts on academia -
“He prowled through the scabrous libraries of the Department of Medicine, blind to everything but his own ideas (and what he took to be prodigious signs proving their validity), living as if walled off from the rest of the world, and in particular from the majestic, blood-drenched corridor in which the great events of this time were taking place.”
Thoughts on youth -
“Our age group is more highly evolved, aesthetically speaking, by which I mean that our mental posture is spontaneously critical of the events that occur, not merely dragged along by preordained actions. I have no idea how many neurons must be called into play to configure that sort of perceptual arc, but surely it is a substantially more complex operation than simply ‘believing oneself to be a constituent force’ of something.”
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November 17, 2020When You Feel You're Too Old for a Book
"Savage Theories" is inventive and sharp, but as I read I felt a certain distance from its interests. About halfway through the book I began to realize my reservation was a matter of my age.
I'd like to say that certain novels seem to be directed to people younger than I am. But I'm not at all sure how to argue that, and there isn't even a proper description of the particular degree of youth I have in mind. If someone says they read contemporary fiction, that implies they don't read primarily children's books or YA fiction. But there's no category for fiction mainly written by, or aimed at, people between the ages of, say, 20 and 40. "Savage Theories" made me think there should be such a category.
It's a tricky subject because the qualities I'm talking about aren't necessarily matters of calendrical age. I'm twenty years older than Oloixarac, but there are plenty of novels written by older writers that raise these same questions for me, and there is no lack of authors who wrote presciently about old age when they were in their teens. Still, I'd like to suggest that there could be a category of fiction that would include "Savage Theories"—books that might seem less than engaging to people for whom college, and even the decade or so after, are well in the past.
This is also a difficult subject because the disaffection or failure of empathy I have in mind does not depend on the subject matter: there's nothing in this book that alienates me because it has too many Gen-X, Y, or Z references. It has something to do with tone, and in particular to a certain lack of distance or control on the narrator's part when it comes to her enthusiasms.
The narrator and the implied author tend to get swept away by "theories," which mainly means political theories, with some psychoanalysis and existentialism. I'm not allergic to novels full of theories and literary references (from Musil and Szentkuthy to Vila Matas), but in this case I am unhappy with something about the way those theories are presented. To start, there is a strange equivalence between the narrator's passion for theories and her passion for sex.
1. Sex
Descriptions of sex can obliterate or derail narrative, as many novelists know, but in novels by writers who are representing (or living through) the decades I'm thinking of, sex can be a flood that washes through the room several times in each chapter. Oloixarac's descriptions of sexuality are as rich in visual metaphors as Neruda's poems about natural objects.
On the other hand, when the characters in "Savage Theories" talk about sex, they are matter-of-fact, dispassionate, and insouciant about combinations of lovers and ideals of beauty. (One of the characters is supposedly fat and ugly, and one of the people she has sex with—in a group of four—praises only her feet.) Sex itself is curiously distanceless, and talk about it is oddly distanced, and that combination strikes me as young. Even the character in Eimear McBride's "Lesser Bohemians" has more distance on sex than the characters in "Savage Theories."
2. Theories
Theories also captivate the characters in this "Savage Theories." The book is full of the sort of breathless allusions I remember from my undergraduate years. "I must say," a man says in a seduction scene, "I'm very impressed that you caught that hidden reference to Marx's 'The German Ideology.'" Although that might seen entirely parodic, on the next page the narrator herself gets swept up in her theorizing:
"I took advantage of the fact that he was chewing, and added that ever since the Knowledge Industry decided to proclaim itself critical (i.e., since the dernier cri of its blusterings is to fancy itself a critic), humanism has been reduced to a republican version of intellectual purity; in the end, product differentiation is as important for (and within) the academy as it is for the capitalist corporations that academics love to hate." (p. 135)
This isn't ironic, except as an example of the mandatory veneer of self-awareness on the narrator's part. It's heartfelt, and the implied author seems entranced by the possibilities granted to her by the unlimited spaces of the novel.
3. Mixing sex and theories
Both sex and theory are hypnotic, and tend to ruin the narrator's ability to focus on other things. They are only mixed in a few passages. Here is one: the narrator has just stopped a man from kissing her by asking for a song. It's a triumph, but she dislikes him for acceeding. That thought leads her on to some political theory:
"Behind my eyes I confirm the presence of a feeling so powerful I want to bite him: his very being exudes a vulnerability so unpleasant that it makes me dizzy, rivals the strength of my patience without rising to the level of my disgust. But enough. Let us return to the scene. I have no desire to distort a rigorous political theory such as has been established in this book just to make of it a practice drill for some monstrous sort of love." (p. 164)
That last sentence is only slightly ironic: the narrator and the implied author care about their theories, believe in them. Usually the intense scenes of sexuality and equally intense scenes of theorizing alternate without interacting. Passions overwhelm the recurring ambition to be ironic and controlled: and that again strikes me as young.
*
That is part of why I feel too old for this book. Some decades have passed since I was in college, and both sex and theories have become more entangled and less breathless. Dylan's "My Back Pages" says this well:
"A self-ordained professor's tongue too serious to fool
Spouted out that liberty is just equality in school
'Equality,' I spoke the word as if a wedding vow
Ah, but I was so much older then, I'm younger than that now."
And even that stanza flies its flags a bit too stridently.
"Savage Theories" is inventive and sharp, but as I read I felt a certain distance from its interests. About halfway through the book I began to realize my reservation was a matter of my age.
I'd like to say that certain novels seem to be directed to people younger than I am. But I'm not at all sure how to argue that, and there isn't even a proper description of the particular degree of youth I have in mind. If someone says they read contemporary fiction, that implies they don't read primarily children's books or YA fiction. But there's no category for fiction mainly written by, or aimed at, people between the ages of, say, 20 and 40. "Savage Theories" made me think there should be such a category.
It's a tricky subject because the qualities I'm talking about aren't necessarily matters of calendrical age. I'm twenty years older than Oloixarac, but there are plenty of novels written by older writers that raise these same questions for me, and there is no lack of authors who wrote presciently about old age when they were in their teens. Still, I'd like to suggest that there could be a category of fiction that would include "Savage Theories"—books that might seem less than engaging to people for whom college, and even the decade or so after, are well in the past.
This is also a difficult subject because the disaffection or failure of empathy I have in mind does not depend on the subject matter: there's nothing in this book that alienates me because it has too many Gen-X, Y, or Z references. It has something to do with tone, and in particular to a certain lack of distance or control on the narrator's part when it comes to her enthusiasms.
The narrator and the implied author tend to get swept away by "theories," which mainly means political theories, with some psychoanalysis and existentialism. I'm not allergic to novels full of theories and literary references (from Musil and Szentkuthy to Vila Matas), but in this case I am unhappy with something about the way those theories are presented. To start, there is a strange equivalence between the narrator's passion for theories and her passion for sex.
1. Sex
Descriptions of sex can obliterate or derail narrative, as many novelists know, but in novels by writers who are representing (or living through) the decades I'm thinking of, sex can be a flood that washes through the room several times in each chapter. Oloixarac's descriptions of sexuality are as rich in visual metaphors as Neruda's poems about natural objects.
On the other hand, when the characters in "Savage Theories" talk about sex, they are matter-of-fact, dispassionate, and insouciant about combinations of lovers and ideals of beauty. (One of the characters is supposedly fat and ugly, and one of the people she has sex with—in a group of four—praises only her feet.) Sex itself is curiously distanceless, and talk about it is oddly distanced, and that combination strikes me as young. Even the character in Eimear McBride's "Lesser Bohemians" has more distance on sex than the characters in "Savage Theories."
2. Theories
Theories also captivate the characters in this "Savage Theories." The book is full of the sort of breathless allusions I remember from my undergraduate years. "I must say," a man says in a seduction scene, "I'm very impressed that you caught that hidden reference to Marx's 'The German Ideology.'" Although that might seen entirely parodic, on the next page the narrator herself gets swept up in her theorizing:
"I took advantage of the fact that he was chewing, and added that ever since the Knowledge Industry decided to proclaim itself critical (i.e., since the dernier cri of its blusterings is to fancy itself a critic), humanism has been reduced to a republican version of intellectual purity; in the end, product differentiation is as important for (and within) the academy as it is for the capitalist corporations that academics love to hate." (p. 135)
This isn't ironic, except as an example of the mandatory veneer of self-awareness on the narrator's part. It's heartfelt, and the implied author seems entranced by the possibilities granted to her by the unlimited spaces of the novel.
3. Mixing sex and theories
Both sex and theory are hypnotic, and tend to ruin the narrator's ability to focus on other things. They are only mixed in a few passages. Here is one: the narrator has just stopped a man from kissing her by asking for a song. It's a triumph, but she dislikes him for acceeding. That thought leads her on to some political theory:
"Behind my eyes I confirm the presence of a feeling so powerful I want to bite him: his very being exudes a vulnerability so unpleasant that it makes me dizzy, rivals the strength of my patience without rising to the level of my disgust. But enough. Let us return to the scene. I have no desire to distort a rigorous political theory such as has been established in this book just to make of it a practice drill for some monstrous sort of love." (p. 164)
That last sentence is only slightly ironic: the narrator and the implied author care about their theories, believe in them. Usually the intense scenes of sexuality and equally intense scenes of theorizing alternate without interacting. Passions overwhelm the recurring ambition to be ironic and controlled: and that again strikes me as young.
*
That is part of why I feel too old for this book. Some decades have passed since I was in college, and both sex and theories have become more entangled and less breathless. Dylan's "My Back Pages" says this well:
"A self-ordained professor's tongue too serious to fool
Spouted out that liberty is just equality in school
'Equality,' I spoke the word as if a wedding vow
Ah, but I was so much older then, I'm younger than that now."
And even that stanza flies its flags a bit too stridently.
April 23, 2017
i draw your attention to these delightful domestic vignettes, the intimate nucleus of my abstract bestial affections, in order to make more tangible the drastic transformation that the following pages hold. as preface to the horror, suffice it to say that the waters of this tranquil pond rose up in fraught crests as if driven by sirocco winds; that the most profound spirituality was transformed into a hurricane. kind reader: this is not a tale of obsession. my private tragedy, which shouldn't be of particular interest to anyone else—anyone except you, augustus, you who look at me now—is that i was forced to abandon my natural habitat, the velvet-lined home of my solitary, lettered existence, and plunge deep into the brutal swamplands of a monster.wow! pola oloixarac's debut novel, savage theories (las teorías salvajes), is something to behold. the argentine author (counted as one of granta's best young spanish-language novelists) has crafted a work that is ambitious in scope, delicious in its storytelling, and singular in its composition. fans of borges, bolaño, and even álvaro enrigue's sudden death will find much to prize and ponder over.
with three distinct narrative threads encircling the tale, savage theories is a smart (and how!), lascivious, and irrepressibly assured novel—delighting with equal parts passion, politics, and philosophy. oloixarac's ambition cannot be overstated and savage theories reads with an energy most accomplished novelists could only yearn for. part metafictional, part anthropological, part existential, and wholly entertaining, this fictional firebrand aspires to so much... and does so so naturally. oloixarac must have had as much fun writing this as any reader must surely have in inhabiting it. savage theories sprawls in the way the best latin american fiction often does, with rewards aplenty to be had for the boldness with which it's written. no doubt, one of the year's best.
–the whole concept of the urban tribe is both fallacious and stupid, she said. all of these people want exactly the same thing: a simple straightforward fuck. or else a lucid fuck, one they won't feel the need to try to forget tomorrow morning. and it's easier to fuck someone who dresses the same way you do, albeit not so much because of some alleged empathy based on textile preferences—the fact is, you'd fuck anyone willing to fuck you. the key, then, is to maintain a strict policy of defrauding your own conscience, which has no way of knowing that you'd be perfectly happy fucking anyone at all. deciding with whom to associate on the basis of fabric color and texture allows your conscience to verify empirically that in fact you are not fucking absolutely everyone, but only a select few. that is, it's not so much that the modern self has broken down and now finds itself at the mercy of much stronger unconscious forces, but that it perpetually designs ever more sophisticated strategies for maintaining control. and in this case, the chosen means of control requires that one mimic a tactical strategy of unknowing.
*translated from the spanish (with an afterword "on translating pola oloixarac") by roy kesey (himself an author)
**additional reading: it seems oloixarac has drawn the sexist – and pathetically predictable – ire (also pronounced jel-uh-see) of male counterparts and critics. these laughably banal, stunted, over-inflated also-rans must have really been threatened by the literary prowess oloixarac possesses in spades, knowing full well that her debut(!) far eclipses anything their antiquated and obsolete minds could compose if granted even an eternity in which to do so. fuck them, viva (po)la oloixarac!!
June 29, 2020
Of course there is an inside! he shouted, kicking at a pebble.
We arrive at Dr. Johnson by way of Derrida. That would be exceptional, except it isn't in Savage Theories, every line contains these multitudes, the reworkings, sinuous parsings and wayward similes. Fundamentally this is a novel about academia, though one closer to Binet's Seventh Function than say, of David Lodge. There are also eerie parallels with Cronenburg's 2014 novel Consumed, though larded not just with technology but Houellebecq on the sexual economy. It is nearly impossible to ponder this novel without a taxonomy of its sources/references, whether they be Goonies (1985) or Die Deutsche Ideologie (1846).
Ultimately it is two unlikely people walking in Buenos Aires which can leave you at Hopscotch by way of Borges and the Junta. The latter haunt this work, dirty war references abound with nary a mention of tangoes or Lionel Messi. Santa Evita is cited as is Madonna. There is wanton humiliation, anthropological asides, drug use, immersive video games and erudite musings on South American music.
Overnight we were greeted by violent storms, I awoke for good around 04:30 and read the last 60 pages in a cherished delight. I am going to buy her next novel now.
We arrive at Dr. Johnson by way of Derrida. That would be exceptional, except it isn't in Savage Theories, every line contains these multitudes, the reworkings, sinuous parsings and wayward similes. Fundamentally this is a novel about academia, though one closer to Binet's Seventh Function than say, of David Lodge. There are also eerie parallels with Cronenburg's 2014 novel Consumed, though larded not just with technology but Houellebecq on the sexual economy. It is nearly impossible to ponder this novel without a taxonomy of its sources/references, whether they be Goonies (1985) or Die Deutsche Ideologie (1846).
Ultimately it is two unlikely people walking in Buenos Aires which can leave you at Hopscotch by way of Borges and the Junta. The latter haunt this work, dirty war references abound with nary a mention of tangoes or Lionel Messi. Santa Evita is cited as is Madonna. There is wanton humiliation, anthropological asides, drug use, immersive video games and erudite musings on South American music.
Overnight we were greeted by violent storms, I awoke for good around 04:30 and read the last 60 pages in a cherished delight. I am going to buy her next novel now.
September 26, 2011
No es gran cosa. Hay momentos muy aburridos y pseudointelectuales para mi gusto. No le encontré la vuelta estética.
September 9, 2010
I really liked this. It's totally original, funny, witty and sharp. It actually depicts, in a very accurate way, society (Buenos Aires may well be Madrid) and the interactions between human individuals. How it's all connected to seduction, but in fact it's only narcisism, the need to feel loved and to love in that selfish way, all the theory about being attracted to the beast, about the duality from being hunted to become the hunted, or maybe both at the same time (which is what we really are when we're seducting/being seduced in that complex game). Sometimes the language got way too complicated, but it made it interesting and funny at the same time that the author was using such complex words to explain something so simple. Sometimes it became a bit tiring, or heavy, but it quickly made up, and I guess it's also good that a book makes you think from time to time, right? It made me laugh several times. I think it's a parody of the human being, a thorough work of antropology with a twist of humor. The ending fell a bit flat, unexpected after all that action. Perhaps because that's the way life is; it goes on. Four stars. I reccomend it very much.
March 21, 2018
Are some books untranslatable? Perhaps, and if so, this is one of them. It may be a powerful book about the aftermath of the Dirty Wars in Argentinian Spanish but it is so much overly pretentious claptrap in English. The glimpses of humor saved this from being a one, but reading it was an endurance test even though it was only a couple of hundred pages long. There are no characters, no plot, and no point. It's like reading someone's bad senior thesis, if senior theses had slightly nauseating sex scenes. No thank you!
February 11, 2018
Writing a brief description of the plot of Savage Theories is to miss most of what goes on in this odd book that spends most of its time going off on tangents and assuming the reader is a lot more knowledgeable than this particular reader is. Basically, there are two stories; a young woman stalks her professor while justifying it in all sorts of philosophical ways, which hides the creepiness somewhat and; two teenage friends, who believe themselves to be physically repulsive, negotiate their social world with an angry sense of inferiority, even as they engage in orgies with beautiful people.
This is one weird book. It revels in a sort of intellectual ping pong, where the reader is assumed to be not only aware of a broad swath of philosophy, sociology and Argentinian history, but that they are also able to keep up with Pola Oloixarac's frenetic jumping around between topics and references. This is the aspect of the book I liked - after a lot of looking up of things, I eventually just relaxed into enjoying the ride. It's a wild and fun one, even as I missed most of the references and asides.
I did have a problem with the author's cavalier attitude toward sexual violence, which is intended to be humorous, including a gang rape in a nightclub bathroom which is played for laughs and also no big deal. There's more to feel uneasy about here, and much that was interesting, but in the end this was a book I'm not happy to have read.
This is one weird book. It revels in a sort of intellectual ping pong, where the reader is assumed to be not only aware of a broad swath of philosophy, sociology and Argentinian history, but that they are also able to keep up with Pola Oloixarac's frenetic jumping around between topics and references. This is the aspect of the book I liked - after a lot of looking up of things, I eventually just relaxed into enjoying the ride. It's a wild and fun one, even as I missed most of the references and asides.
I did have a problem with the author's cavalier attitude toward sexual violence, which is intended to be humorous, including a gang rape in a nightclub bathroom which is played for laughs and also no big deal. There's more to feel uneasy about here, and much that was interesting, but in the end this was a book I'm not happy to have read.
February 14, 2018
Probablemente la peor novela que ha caído hasta ahora en mis manos. La autora demuestra no tener la menor idea sobre cómo se construye un personaje o la forma en que se desarrolla una trama argumental. Es literalmente incapaz de narrar cómo un personaje va de A hasta B o hace esto o aquello, no digamos ya de escribir un diálogo creíble. También resulta asombrosa la forma en que maltrata el idioma, empleando palabras cuyo significado desconoce (por ejemplo, "blasón de proa" en vez de "mascarón de proa") y frases tan rimbombantes como huecas. Recomiendo su lectura con un lápiz al lado y, si es posible, un libro sobre el arte de la narración ("Mientras escribo", de Stephen King, o "El arte de la ficción", de David Lodge, por ejemplo), resulta muy instructivo todo este cúmulo de errores y despropósitos para aprender cómo NO debe escribirse una novela.
July 20, 2013
A superb and strange short novel by perhaps the best of Argentina's rising stars. Oloixarac invents an entire anthropology to explain us to ourselves, from the first humanoid to decline to be defined as prey to the coolest of Google Maps hacks. I will have a great deal more to be saying about this book in the months to come. For now, my translation of the better part of the first three chapters can be read, along with Maxine Swann's introduction to the novel, in Issue 15 (Winter/Spring 2013) of the great litmag Subtropics, edited by David Leavitt.
March 14, 2018
DNF.
One word review - obnoxious.
One word review - obnoxious.
August 29, 2025
Nunca había leído a una persona tan desesperada por parecer inteligente.
December 7, 2017
Desde que escuché su nombre sentí una poderosa atracción. Todas las reseñas o comentarios que me topaba en internet no hacían más que alabar esta novela. "El gran acontecimiento de la nueva narrativa argentina", dijo o publicó Piglia en algún lado. Piglia. La novela y la autora me pusieron a dirigir mi brújula en su dirección para leerla… y esto sucedió casi 10 años después.
Tuve oportunidad de leer primero Las constelaciones oscuras y simplemente quedé enganchado a esta escritora, como quien se engancha a una droga dura e intravenosa. Su estilo, sus temas, su capacidad de meter páginas y páginas de teoría filosófica en apenas párrafos de una historia, de una trama desbocada que puede ir y venir en el tiempo y en el espacio es increíble.
Cierro los ojos y recuerdo los libritos de Byung-Chul Han, como En el enjambre o Psicopolítica y sus intentos de arañar la contemporaneidad, de desmenuzarla sin éxito, y creo que Oloixarac llega más lejos, más profundo en la llaga, en la herida de nuestros dolores modernos, creo que Oloixarac da de lleno en el blanco al momento de retratarnos sin olvidar en ningún momento cómo demonios llegamos a este salvajismo, a esta barbarie que jodidamente nos afanamos en llamar: civilización.
“Es un mundo extraño, sí. Tienes que aprender que estás solo, aunque te sigan multitudes”. Ovación de pie extendida.
Algo que disfruté mucho fue que a pesar de leerla casi 10 años después que saliera publicada en la Argentina, no sentí que hubiera caducado o envejecido; no me meteré en si es precisa en su modo de tratar un ciberataque, eso poco importa para la totalidad de la obra, es precisa en señalar las falacias, los descalabros históricos, la izquierda progresista setentera en la Argentina, la idea de progreso.
Hay una cerebralidad en este libro increíble, o bueno, al menos una que me atrae a mí, que me llena (y venga, que me la leí como “pausa” al monumento literario de mi adorado David Foster Wallace que vengo leyendo desde hace un par de meses), que me exige como lector, Pola no da tregua, Pola reclama atención, demanda reflexión y pausa; por ahí leí también que o amas el libro o lo odias, no entendería cómo alguien con dos dedos de frente odiaría algo así, es un libro que representa una vuelta a la página de la historia de la literatura.
Solo la he leído una vez, pero, es fácil imaginar que es uno de los libros a los cuales quieres volver, en los cuales sabes que la relectura arrojará algo nuevo, o viejo, pero algo más.
En efecto, hay teoría, hay teorías, mucho de filosofía, una stalker nerd, parejas promiscuas, drogas, porno, drogas, sexo, parece que no hay amor, pero, no estaría tan seguro. Hay mundos salvajes, y mascotas con nombres sublimes como Yorick o Montaigne; no, por favor, no caigas en señalarla como snob, no, no, no, no va por ahí. No digas/pienses malas palabras como posmoderna, metaliteratura, no, tampoco va por ahí. Simplemente leela por el placer de llegar a leer algo de literatura que vale la pena.
Tuve oportunidad de leer primero Las constelaciones oscuras y simplemente quedé enganchado a esta escritora, como quien se engancha a una droga dura e intravenosa. Su estilo, sus temas, su capacidad de meter páginas y páginas de teoría filosófica en apenas párrafos de una historia, de una trama desbocada que puede ir y venir en el tiempo y en el espacio es increíble.
Cierro los ojos y recuerdo los libritos de Byung-Chul Han, como En el enjambre o Psicopolítica y sus intentos de arañar la contemporaneidad, de desmenuzarla sin éxito, y creo que Oloixarac llega más lejos, más profundo en la llaga, en la herida de nuestros dolores modernos, creo que Oloixarac da de lleno en el blanco al momento de retratarnos sin olvidar en ningún momento cómo demonios llegamos a este salvajismo, a esta barbarie que jodidamente nos afanamos en llamar: civilización.
“Es un mundo extraño, sí. Tienes que aprender que estás solo, aunque te sigan multitudes”. Ovación de pie extendida.
Algo que disfruté mucho fue que a pesar de leerla casi 10 años después que saliera publicada en la Argentina, no sentí que hubiera caducado o envejecido; no me meteré en si es precisa en su modo de tratar un ciberataque, eso poco importa para la totalidad de la obra, es precisa en señalar las falacias, los descalabros históricos, la izquierda progresista setentera en la Argentina, la idea de progreso.
Hay una cerebralidad en este libro increíble, o bueno, al menos una que me atrae a mí, que me llena (y venga, que me la leí como “pausa” al monumento literario de mi adorado David Foster Wallace que vengo leyendo desde hace un par de meses), que me exige como lector, Pola no da tregua, Pola reclama atención, demanda reflexión y pausa; por ahí leí también que o amas el libro o lo odias, no entendería cómo alguien con dos dedos de frente odiaría algo así, es un libro que representa una vuelta a la página de la historia de la literatura.
Solo la he leído una vez, pero, es fácil imaginar que es uno de los libros a los cuales quieres volver, en los cuales sabes que la relectura arrojará algo nuevo, o viejo, pero algo más.
En efecto, hay teoría, hay teorías, mucho de filosofía, una stalker nerd, parejas promiscuas, drogas, porno, drogas, sexo, parece que no hay amor, pero, no estaría tan seguro. Hay mundos salvajes, y mascotas con nombres sublimes como Yorick o Montaigne; no, por favor, no caigas en señalarla como snob, no, no, no, no va por ahí. No digas/pienses malas palabras como posmoderna, metaliteratura, no, tampoco va por ahí. Simplemente leela por el placer de llegar a leer algo de literatura que vale la pena.
November 5, 2016
Pabst y Kamtchowsky son los hijos inevitablemente bobos de una generación que prolongó sus sueños revolucionarios de juventud con el kitsch político de la izquierda urbana de Buenos Aires. "Los diarios de la tía Vivi", una conversación con registro subnormal de una simpatizante erpiana con Mao Zedong es el punto más cruel de esta sátira de los géneros literarios psicobolches. La vigencia en clave de consumo irónico que recibieron textos como ese durante la llamada "decade won" debe haber instado a Oloixarac a ajustar cuentas con este material involuntariamente cómico.
Esta novela de ideas se atasca frecuentemente en convulsiones discursivas y escorzos teóricos sobre ideas fijas encarnadas en algunos personajes. Oloixarac compone un panorama desolador del ambiente académico en el que mendigan atención mediocres notables como Augustus García Roxler o en el que, en años precedentes, intentaron abrir nuevos mercados Fodder y Fischer. La formulación de una nueva teoría y la adopción de conceptos propuestos por predecesores prestigiosos tiene algo de entrepreneur pirata, sugiere:
"'Como ves, amigo mío, tomar prestada la noción de trauma infantil de los freudianos insertaría nuestra teoría en el contexto de una teoría en discusión, lo que excitaría el interés de los freudianos y sobre todo el de sus detractores, asegurando duración y crecimiento' … Fischer había encontrado un mercado para el consumo de la teoría; el tamaño máximo de un mercado disponible aumentaría gracias a la penetración de la temática del sexo como pièce de resistance medicinal"
Duración y crecimiento, atributos igualmente aplicable a conceptos académicos psicoantropológicos como a los flujos de caja que desvelan a los analistas financieros.
Queda una sensación de nihilismo, aunque dirigido contra un perfil muy preciso de charlatanería, pero que de todos modos no termina de imponerse sobre el panorama compuesto. Los personajes en este novela son todavía voceros de los distintos discursos que Oloixarac ofrece al lector, un aspecto que mejora bastante en su segundo libro. Si bien funciona como una novela, "Las teorías salvajes" se lee mejor como manifiesto personal.
Esta novela de ideas se atasca frecuentemente en convulsiones discursivas y escorzos teóricos sobre ideas fijas encarnadas en algunos personajes. Oloixarac compone un panorama desolador del ambiente académico en el que mendigan atención mediocres notables como Augustus García Roxler o en el que, en años precedentes, intentaron abrir nuevos mercados Fodder y Fischer. La formulación de una nueva teoría y la adopción de conceptos propuestos por predecesores prestigiosos tiene algo de entrepreneur pirata, sugiere:
"'Como ves, amigo mío, tomar prestada la noción de trauma infantil de los freudianos insertaría nuestra teoría en el contexto de una teoría en discusión, lo que excitaría el interés de los freudianos y sobre todo el de sus detractores, asegurando duración y crecimiento' … Fischer había encontrado un mercado para el consumo de la teoría; el tamaño máximo de un mercado disponible aumentaría gracias a la penetración de la temática del sexo como pièce de resistance medicinal"
Duración y crecimiento, atributos igualmente aplicable a conceptos académicos psicoantropológicos como a los flujos de caja que desvelan a los analistas financieros.
Queda una sensación de nihilismo, aunque dirigido contra un perfil muy preciso de charlatanería, pero que de todos modos no termina de imponerse sobre el panorama compuesto. Los personajes en este novela son todavía voceros de los distintos discursos que Oloixarac ofrece al lector, un aspecto que mejora bastante en su segundo libro. Si bien funciona como una novela, "Las teorías salvajes" se lee mejor como manifiesto personal.
February 12, 2019
Pernóstico até o tutano. O livro sobre o poliamor entre Kamtchowsky, Pabst, Mara e Andy até que não seria ruim, se não fosse constantemente atrapalhado pelos devaneios ególatras da narradora e a prosa pretensamente filosófica da autora. Um tédio. O equivalente feminino da autoficção falida de um macho hétero.
November 15, 2018
Lo pintaban deslumbrante, me decepcioné. Primer capítulo parece venir bien, el segundo se pierde totalmente y llegué al final aburrida. Planea ser una sátira de la oficialidad académica, cultural y progresista de la Argentina de los 60. Demasiado pretencioso y confuso.
May 18, 2020
Bolano, Borges, Cortazar, Maso, Perec in foul mood after gorging on Celine...
If any of the above appeal to you, check out Oloixarac.
For me, Savage Theories was unfortunately more frustrating than it was fascinating (though it truly was fascinating in parts). This was apparently a hell of a translation to pull off. The bummer is, I think a lot of the humor that the book supposedly possesses was lost in the process. To this reader the thing felt damn dark. Anywho, my eye is on Oloixarac, because in spite of my difficulties with the book, I can't shake the feeling that something exciting is going on here.
Will report back after Dark Constellations.
If any of the above appeal to you, check out Oloixarac.
For me, Savage Theories was unfortunately more frustrating than it was fascinating (though it truly was fascinating in parts). This was apparently a hell of a translation to pull off. The bummer is, I think a lot of the humor that the book supposedly possesses was lost in the process. To this reader the thing felt damn dark. Anywho, my eye is on Oloixarac, because in spite of my difficulties with the book, I can't shake the feeling that something exciting is going on here.
Will report back after Dark Constellations.
April 12, 2016
/Edite esto un poco porque ya que lo están leyendo....una tiene que ser educada/
De todas maneras mis reseñas se leen como dios manda aca: http://esmifiestamag.com/
Aunque suene gracioso, bueno...lo es, volví a agarrar ese libro por el affair Dante Palma-Petracca (aunque ahora usa otro apellido que no recuerdo cual es) porque algo de todo eso me resonó en este libro de Caracciolo. La idea de la alumna de Puan entongada con el docente y jugando a ser reina de un reinado que se cae a pedazos, ¿quién quiere ser reina de un lugar tan feo?, la conocemos hasta las que no tuvimos el honor de ser egresadas, o estudiantes, de la benemérita facultad de Filosofía y Letras.
Amigas, conocidas y conocidas de conocidas, que tuvieron una historia, un affair o que incluso luego de soportar ser la otra, de un tipo casado ¿hay que aclarar?, fueron formalmente la señora de y tuvieron el hijo del señor que dicta la cátedra tal No hay diferencias con una mujer como Pamela David, excepto las económicas y las estéticas. David es más linda (por no afirmar: David ES linda) y ha hecho más dinero. Lo que la separa de las puaners, una tribu urbana al parecer, es que ellas han leído más, han leído mejor y una larga cadena de conceptos que antes que nada buscan aquietar la conciencia. A mis 30 años todo eso me parece tan absurdo y viejo como llegar a una reunión en donde alguien dice "gorila" o "bolchevique".
Pasando hojas al azar encontré que la prosa de Caracciolo tiene puntos en común con la desbocada catarata facebookera de Petracca (curioso que ambas compartan la manía de mutar de apellido) que no tiene ni ton ni son. Dejando de lado las cuestiones de género- soy feminista lo juro por mi madre- lo que más me molestaba de Petracca es que escribiera mal sus elucubraciones contra Palma, que como todo académico carece de belleza en su prosa, cuando yo me esperaba una prosa cercana a un pequeño Salem.
Pero repito volví a revisar cuestiones de este libro frente al estallido de Petracca en las redes sociales y me llamo la atención no solo la similitud de las historias, sino también la poca falta de vuelo y pericia técnica para contarlas. Para mentir antes que nada lo que se debe dejar de lado son los detalles, "estaba envuelva en manta amarilla de nepal comiendo palta", ir a lo justo a lo arbitrariamente necesario. El arte de mentir se hermana en la lectura, cuando una novela que contiene una línea histórica no puede perder nunca lo que se dijo 20 páginas atrás. Lo que empezamos diciendo no puede entrar en contradicción con lo que terminamos narrando.
Petracca no sabe mentir y Caracciolo no sabe narrar. Pero los une una cosa: la obsesión por formar parte de la academia, la cultura, los espacios que significaban algo en el siglo xx pero que ahora languidecen frente al avance del empleo #Google. No interesa el título universitario en las carreras humanísticas, interesa como vender sensibilidad y eso, como el charmé, viene con una.
Esos mundos de Puan en donde de repente de la noche a la mañana se transformaron en mundos donde damiselas en apuros corretean de ser tocadas por sátiros, es notablemente curioso por lo hipócrita. Las que asisten a Puan antes que nada son mayores de edad y cuentan con herramientas económicas y culturales para deshacerse de tipos como Dante Palma. Con lo que no cuentan es con el valor de creer en si mismas, respetar el intelecto de una mujer tanto como el de un hombre y recurrir a la solidaridad de género o la desgastada palabra sororidad.
Esto sin duda no es una reseña formal de "Las teorias salvajes" es nada mas una curiosidad, algo que llamo mi atención, lo que siempre me asombra: que fácil es mentir, pero que caro.
Así que nadie debería tomarse esto en serio y a las damas aquí mencionadas: tampoco.
De todas maneras mis reseñas se leen como dios manda aca: http://esmifiestamag.com/
Aunque suene gracioso, bueno...lo es, volví a agarrar ese libro por el affair Dante Palma-Petracca (aunque ahora usa otro apellido que no recuerdo cual es) porque algo de todo eso me resonó en este libro de Caracciolo. La idea de la alumna de Puan entongada con el docente y jugando a ser reina de un reinado que se cae a pedazos, ¿quién quiere ser reina de un lugar tan feo?, la conocemos hasta las que no tuvimos el honor de ser egresadas, o estudiantes, de la benemérita facultad de Filosofía y Letras.
Amigas, conocidas y conocidas de conocidas, que tuvieron una historia, un affair o que incluso luego de soportar ser la otra, de un tipo casado ¿hay que aclarar?, fueron formalmente la señora de y tuvieron el hijo del señor que dicta la cátedra tal No hay diferencias con una mujer como Pamela David, excepto las económicas y las estéticas. David es más linda (por no afirmar: David ES linda) y ha hecho más dinero. Lo que la separa de las puaners, una tribu urbana al parecer, es que ellas han leído más, han leído mejor y una larga cadena de conceptos que antes que nada buscan aquietar la conciencia. A mis 30 años todo eso me parece tan absurdo y viejo como llegar a una reunión en donde alguien dice "gorila" o "bolchevique".
Pasando hojas al azar encontré que la prosa de Caracciolo tiene puntos en común con la desbocada catarata facebookera de Petracca (curioso que ambas compartan la manía de mutar de apellido) que no tiene ni ton ni son. Dejando de lado las cuestiones de género- soy feminista lo juro por mi madre- lo que más me molestaba de Petracca es que escribiera mal sus elucubraciones contra Palma, que como todo académico carece de belleza en su prosa, cuando yo me esperaba una prosa cercana a un pequeño Salem.
Pero repito volví a revisar cuestiones de este libro frente al estallido de Petracca en las redes sociales y me llamo la atención no solo la similitud de las historias, sino también la poca falta de vuelo y pericia técnica para contarlas. Para mentir antes que nada lo que se debe dejar de lado son los detalles, "estaba envuelva en manta amarilla de nepal comiendo palta", ir a lo justo a lo arbitrariamente necesario. El arte de mentir se hermana en la lectura, cuando una novela que contiene una línea histórica no puede perder nunca lo que se dijo 20 páginas atrás. Lo que empezamos diciendo no puede entrar en contradicción con lo que terminamos narrando.
Petracca no sabe mentir y Caracciolo no sabe narrar. Pero los une una cosa: la obsesión por formar parte de la academia, la cultura, los espacios que significaban algo en el siglo xx pero que ahora languidecen frente al avance del empleo #Google. No interesa el título universitario en las carreras humanísticas, interesa como vender sensibilidad y eso, como el charmé, viene con una.
Esos mundos de Puan en donde de repente de la noche a la mañana se transformaron en mundos donde damiselas en apuros corretean de ser tocadas por sátiros, es notablemente curioso por lo hipócrita. Las que asisten a Puan antes que nada son mayores de edad y cuentan con herramientas económicas y culturales para deshacerse de tipos como Dante Palma. Con lo que no cuentan es con el valor de creer en si mismas, respetar el intelecto de una mujer tanto como el de un hombre y recurrir a la solidaridad de género o la desgastada palabra sororidad.
Esto sin duda no es una reseña formal de "Las teorias salvajes" es nada mas una curiosidad, algo que llamo mi atención, lo que siempre me asombra: que fácil es mentir, pero que caro.
Así que nadie debería tomarse esto en serio y a las damas aquí mencionadas: tampoco.
April 10, 2016
Pretensioso, referências em excesso, desconexo, confuso.
Read
February 4, 2018I’m giving up approximately 50 pages from the end. No rating.
December 17, 2024
In places amusing, and in others quite shocking in its scatological descriptions of graphic sex, this is a satirical novel, taking a stance at Argentina’s foundational mythology and national identity, especially at those who might be considered as Buenos Aires academics.
It relies on complex philosophical tirades to get across its message, and therefore a slow and difficult read.
I didn’t find the resulting humour strong enough to balance the amount of effort to get through the preceding pages. A rare book for me, in that I must admit that it may well read better to an audience in its own country.
It relies on complex philosophical tirades to get across its message, and therefore a slow and difficult read.
I didn’t find the resulting humour strong enough to balance the amount of effort to get through the preceding pages. A rare book for me, in that I must admit that it may well read better to an audience in its own country.
January 27, 2021
Pola Oloixarac es inteligente y cínica. Y así lo es esta novela, y entiendo ahora todo aquello que he leído sobre las ampollas que levantó en el mundillo académico bonaerense.
Hacía mucho que no leía un libro tan "extraño" y, a momentos, exigente. Te tiene con una constante sonrisa incrédula en la boca, no porque lo que cuente sea fantástico o salga de la realidad, sino por lo excéntrico de los personajes, sus ideas y las situaciones en las que se ven envueltos. Creo que es una obra que daría mucho en un estudio más detenido (quizás me lo apunto como pendiente).
He disfrutado la lectura a pesar de lo caótico de la misma, llega a atrapar por los constantes hilos que la autora lanza, a los que a veces puedes aferrarte, y otras se deshacen entre los dedos. Quizás no es una lectura para todo el mundo, pero sin duda a mí me quedan a deberle muy buenos momentos.
Hacía mucho que no leía un libro tan "extraño" y, a momentos, exigente. Te tiene con una constante sonrisa incrédula en la boca, no porque lo que cuente sea fantástico o salga de la realidad, sino por lo excéntrico de los personajes, sus ideas y las situaciones en las que se ven envueltos. Creo que es una obra que daría mucho en un estudio más detenido (quizás me lo apunto como pendiente).
He disfrutado la lectura a pesar de lo caótico de la misma, llega a atrapar por los constantes hilos que la autora lanza, a los que a veces puedes aferrarte, y otras se deshacen entre los dedos. Quizás no es una lectura para todo el mundo, pero sin duda a mí me quedan a deberle muy buenos momentos.
January 2, 2020
Antes de Mona y Las Constelaciones, Pola Oloixarac debuta con Las Teorías... que en su momento supo causar revuelo y que fue presentado como un libro critico de las izquierdas. Cuando la política toma un texto la primera baja es la objetividad. Desde ese momento, quienes ven en Pola Oloixarac una posible diputada PRO, no reconocerán ni un solo mérito a esta novela. Por contraparte, muchos han intentando venderla (Piglia, por ejemplo) como todo un acontecimiento dentro de la narrativa argentina, y...
¿Acontecimiento por que?. Mas allá de posiciones políticas (que a la hora de leer no me interesan, como si por ser antisemita Viaje al fin de la noche, de Celine, no sea una obra maestra) el gran pecado de su novela es su profunda carencia de estética. ¿Se le puede llamar a esto literatura?, la respuesta mas evidente para todo aquel lector sensible e inteligente, es que no. En todo caso es un panfleto (a favor de, en contra de, que comulga con, que dispara a) en forma de novela. Pola quiere ser la mas viva del curso, quiere reírse de los demás y hacer una sátira, pero al ser una escritora insegura, recurre a Wikipedia para adornar el libro con perfume intelectualista, comedia y reminiscencias houellebecquianas. Aquí su sentido del humor, si acaso lo tiene, es la sátira del/desde estereotipo (basta leer la escena del robo o la construcción de Collazo).
Que venga apadrinada por Piglia es tan anecdótico como que Garcés venga apadrinado por Abelardo Castillo. Que en su tercer novela, Pola le de las gracias a Garcés, ya muestra un poco por donde vienen los tiros. El posicionamiento ideológico de un escritor no debería ser de relevancia a la hora de leer uno de sus libros. El problema es que cuando la literatura desaparece por completo, la posición ideológica queda desnuda y evidente, y es lo único que puede ser materia de critica -positiva o negativa-. Este problema surge cuando el autor escribe libros con el diario clarín o infobae digital, y no con la inventiva de un creador cuyas inspiraciones provienen de su propia experiencia con la vida. Como se dice en el barrio, a Pola le falta calle.
Es -guiño a los cinéfilos- la Roger Corman de la literatura argentina de hoy.
¿Acontecimiento por que?. Mas allá de posiciones políticas (que a la hora de leer no me interesan, como si por ser antisemita Viaje al fin de la noche, de Celine, no sea una obra maestra) el gran pecado de su novela es su profunda carencia de estética. ¿Se le puede llamar a esto literatura?, la respuesta mas evidente para todo aquel lector sensible e inteligente, es que no. En todo caso es un panfleto (a favor de, en contra de, que comulga con, que dispara a) en forma de novela. Pola quiere ser la mas viva del curso, quiere reírse de los demás y hacer una sátira, pero al ser una escritora insegura, recurre a Wikipedia para adornar el libro con perfume intelectualista, comedia y reminiscencias houellebecquianas. Aquí su sentido del humor, si acaso lo tiene, es la sátira del/desde estereotipo (basta leer la escena del robo o la construcción de Collazo).
Que venga apadrinada por Piglia es tan anecdótico como que Garcés venga apadrinado por Abelardo Castillo. Que en su tercer novela, Pola le de las gracias a Garcés, ya muestra un poco por donde vienen los tiros. El posicionamiento ideológico de un escritor no debería ser de relevancia a la hora de leer uno de sus libros. El problema es que cuando la literatura desaparece por completo, la posición ideológica queda desnuda y evidente, y es lo único que puede ser materia de critica -positiva o negativa-. Este problema surge cuando el autor escribe libros con el diario clarín o infobae digital, y no con la inventiva de un creador cuyas inspiraciones provienen de su propia experiencia con la vida. Como se dice en el barrio, a Pola le falta calle.
Es -guiño a los cinéfilos- la Roger Corman de la literatura argentina de hoy.
July 26, 2019
No entiendo qué acabo de leer. Esta ¿novela? me ha disgustado bastante. Para empezar, la autora divide la narración en distintas micro-historias pero ninguna tiene profundidad. No se entiende bien cuál es el argumento de cada una. Los personajes de las mismas no tienen ningún desarrollo complejo, ni decir ya verosímil. No se explica cómo pasan de realizar X acción a trasladarse a otro lugar o tener un diálogo con otro personaje.
Ni hablar de los constantes y soporíferos devaneos de la narradora que en cada historia realiza reflexiones aparentemente muy filosóficas y rimbombantes pero carecen de sentido y entorpecen los mínimos momentos de entretenimiento. Pareciera que la autora trata todo el tiempo de hacer notar que estudió Filosofía y que debe necesariamente introducir conceptos, autores o frases de una sintaxis confusa para parecer erudita.
Sin ir más lejos, hay muchas referencias al mundo Puán (Facultad de Filosofía y Letras de la Universidad de Buenos Aires) que, por pertenecer yo también a ese espacio las entiendo, pero realmente para un lector o lectora que no sabe ni qué significa “Puán” se vuelve todo mucho más irreconocible y complejo.
Realmente, no entiendo cómo esta “obra literaria” pudo causar un “revuelo” en las letras argentinas. No hay un uso correcto de la sátira, al contrario, la narración cae en lugares comunes para criticar a la izquierda y al academicismo de la UBA -que, no olvidemos, es donde pudo estudiar de manera pública la autora- y roza un discurso clasista, discriminatorio (¡¿qué fue ese episodio con el chico con síndrome de down?!) y misógino.
Ni hablar de los constantes y soporíferos devaneos de la narradora que en cada historia realiza reflexiones aparentemente muy filosóficas y rimbombantes pero carecen de sentido y entorpecen los mínimos momentos de entretenimiento. Pareciera que la autora trata todo el tiempo de hacer notar que estudió Filosofía y que debe necesariamente introducir conceptos, autores o frases de una sintaxis confusa para parecer erudita.
Sin ir más lejos, hay muchas referencias al mundo Puán (Facultad de Filosofía y Letras de la Universidad de Buenos Aires) que, por pertenecer yo también a ese espacio las entiendo, pero realmente para un lector o lectora que no sabe ni qué significa “Puán” se vuelve todo mucho más irreconocible y complejo.
Realmente, no entiendo cómo esta “obra literaria” pudo causar un “revuelo” en las letras argentinas. No hay un uso correcto de la sátira, al contrario, la narración cae en lugares comunes para criticar a la izquierda y al academicismo de la UBA -que, no olvidemos, es donde pudo estudiar de manera pública la autora- y roza un discurso clasista, discriminatorio (¡¿qué fue ese episodio con el chico con síndrome de down?!) y misógino.
August 21, 2020
DNF-ed at %16
I know, bear with me.
so far this year, if I've felt like DNF-ing a book, I would just remove it from my shelves and pretend nothing ever happened - mostly, out of preservation for my reading challenge. it has always felt disingenuous to include within your reading pile books you didn't finish. but with oloixarac's novel, dnf-ing is not so much a bother but a disappointment.
I had really high hopes for this. its premise reminded me of ciaran carson's hybrid "novels" - Shamrock Tea and Fishing for Amber - and the thought of finding a new story mixing philosophy, cultural history, and fiction was exciting. the premise, I dare say, is the best thing about this novel.
probably, its most troubling aspect was the fact that it reminded me so much of my attempts at writing prose. which is to say, of my inability to separate my academic brain from my fictional one. spoiler alert, I never felt I was very good at this and I don't think oloixarac is either. her characters, more than being actual individuals with a character, felt more like accumulations of descriptors. it just didn't amount to anything particularly engaging in the end.
I know, bear with me.
so far this year, if I've felt like DNF-ing a book, I would just remove it from my shelves and pretend nothing ever happened - mostly, out of preservation for my reading challenge. it has always felt disingenuous to include within your reading pile books you didn't finish. but with oloixarac's novel, dnf-ing is not so much a bother but a disappointment.
I had really high hopes for this. its premise reminded me of ciaran carson's hybrid "novels" - Shamrock Tea and Fishing for Amber - and the thought of finding a new story mixing philosophy, cultural history, and fiction was exciting. the premise, I dare say, is the best thing about this novel.
probably, its most troubling aspect was the fact that it reminded me so much of my attempts at writing prose. which is to say, of my inability to separate my academic brain from my fictional one. spoiler alert, I never felt I was very good at this and I don't think oloixarac is either. her characters, more than being actual individuals with a character, felt more like accumulations of descriptors. it just didn't amount to anything particularly engaging in the end.
March 15, 2012
Ik hou van 'moeilijke' boeken. Maar of ik van dit boek houd, weet ik nog niet. Het is een boek dat je, eens je het hebt uitgelezen, meteen opnieuw zou moeten lezen om te weten te komen of je het een goed boek vindt. 'Las teorías salvajes' knipoogt in z'n titel alleen al naar Roberto Bolaño, en heel de roman door blijft Oloixarac intertekstueel knipperen. Essays, gedichten, dagboekfragmenten, technische informatie. Politiek, filosofie, satire. Je moet als lezer zelf de verbanden leggen. Pas na een honderdtal bladzijden zat ik in het verhaal, en begreep ik deze opzet. Maar dan was ik reeds verloren in het spel dat met de lezer wordt gespeeld. Is het boek dan zo goed dat ik het opnieuw móet lezen (?)
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