2666

‘only in chaos are we conceivable'
Im still trying to understand how this book makes me feel, is almost like a massive waterfall that when approached near it dissolves into air. Bolaño is a natural storyteller and that is undeniable, the capacity of encapsulating so many different stories and perspectives in one book is magnificent. However, sadly, the author ended first than the book and the incomplete marks that his death left on the book are more than visible. The pain of the uncertainty, i wish i could see beyond all of that, i wish i had meet you so you could tell me how things end, even tho a part of me knows. I killed this book pushing it down the window, the rain suffocated the pages, i feel better knowing that the end is far.