Adrián Astur Álvarez reviewed The literary conference by César Aira
Review of 'The literary conference' on 'Goodreads'
5 stars
"Under my interior magnifying glass, or inside it, each thought takes on the figure of a clone in its rhetorical anamorphosis: an overdetermined identity." - pg. 20
"The lights were very low, we were practically in the dark. Or rather, the beams and pulses of the colored lights allowed us to see what was going on but not reconstruct it in our minds. This is the astute discovery such night spots have made. Their lighting arrangements reproduce subjectivity thereby nullifying it, a process further assisted by the alcohol and the noise." - pg. 46
In a literary floor routine worthy of an Olympic medal Aira contemplates the nature of subjectivity, the relationship between the reader and the author, the value and flow of intellectual ideas as Lyotard-ian self-replicating viruses, the limits of perception, even the nature of reality itself wrapped inside a brilliant and entertaining package of allusions to Frankenstein, …
"Under my interior magnifying glass, or inside it, each thought takes on the figure of a clone in its rhetorical anamorphosis: an overdetermined identity." - pg. 20
"The lights were very low, we were practically in the dark. Or rather, the beams and pulses of the colored lights allowed us to see what was going on but not reconstruct it in our minds. This is the astute discovery such night spots have made. Their lighting arrangements reproduce subjectivity thereby nullifying it, a process further assisted by the alcohol and the noise." - pg. 46
In a literary floor routine worthy of an Olympic medal Aira contemplates the nature of subjectivity, the relationship between the reader and the author, the value and flow of intellectual ideas as Lyotard-ian self-replicating viruses, the limits of perception, even the nature of reality itself wrapped inside a brilliant and entertaining package of allusions to Frankenstein, giant B-Movie monsters, and secret pirate's treasure. HE DOES THIS IN 68 PAGES.
In a very self-conscious departure from Aira's usual third person POV, and in the only way he ever could write in first person, this novel revels in the subjective trappings of its perspective, doubling back on it, justifying it, getting completely tangled like an entire film made between Hugh Grant's stuttering from one idea to another.
"At least I had the good sense not to mix my drinks, but rum is deceptive, always so smooth, so calming, like a perennial cause with no effect, until the effect shows itself, and then you realize the effect had been there from the beginning, even before there began to be a cause." - pg. 42
Themes in this novel scale and like fractals in the natural world and it all feels like magic to me as a reader. How did Aira pull off such virtuosity in such bold concision?
His interests, playfulness, and intelligence have quickly won me over. I'll be reading a lot more.