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That's it that's my He Is Literally Me

To me reading Umberto Eco feels like the literary equivalent of listening to U2, but in a good way.

Finished the first part, and I'm thrilled. Bolãno writing is beautiful and imbues every little part of its story with meaning. A broken toilet, a weird dream or nightmare, the tale of a old woman who once travelled to Buenos Aires, the search of a mysterious writer whose identity is unknown, all this is rendered with the same weight and creates something so rich that it becomes almost inexhaustible.

"When I really did have to shit, so much that I could barely stand upright but had to bend forward, I had such a fantastic feeling in my body if I didn’t let nature take its course, if I squeezed the muscles in my arse together as hard as I could and, as it were, forced the shit back to where it came from."
This is a 5 stars for me.

Ali vai um desses.
Como é teu nome?
João Caré.
Onde nasceste?
Não sei. Acho que cresci do chão como erva ruim que ninguém plantou.
Tua mãe?
Morreu.
Teu pai?
Nem ela sabia.
Tens pele de mouro, mas donde tiraste esses olhos esverdeados?
Nunca vi meus olhos.

All my adult life I have kept a distance from other people, it has been my way of coping because I come so incredibly close to others in my thoughts and feelings they only have to look away dismissively for a storm to break inside me.