Cesar Aira

'To write you have to be young; to write well you have to be a young prodigy. By the time you get to fifty, much of that energy and precision [that makes for good writing] is gone.'

'All my life I pursued knowledge, but I pursued it outside of time, and time took its revenge by unfolding elsewhere.'

This book is not so much about a birthday but signifies (or rather 'signified' as this UK edition has been released some 20 years later and Aira is now 70 years old not 50) a point in the author's life where he takes stock of his existence. Upon realising he has incorrectly learnt the explanation for moon phases, he ruminates on other gaps in his 'knowing', his limitations, time's passing and what he has done in its stead.

Despite being only 93 pages long, it is a complex and thoughtful blend of ten mini-essays, loosely orbiting the idea of frailty and purpose especially in relation to the unnoticeable and irretrievable passing of time. I have previously only read one of Aira's novels and I think to have read a greater number would have enriched reading this. Even so, there were lots of interesting (not to mention sobering!) reflections here, reminding us that time waits for no one; cherish the fraction you have been given.
… (meer)

This was a strange one. Short, readable, engaging but at the same time bizarre, nonsensical and in some ways like reading the work of a creative writing undergraduate. This isn’t meant as a slur, i just really didn’t know what to make of it and I’m grappling around with how to communicate why/how! Maria is a young girl walking alone in the crowded Chilean barrios as night approaches when her attention is drawn by someone addressing her with the following pleasantry: ‘Wannafuck?’. Two ‘punk’ (in inverted commas due to their constant loathing of being labelled throughout the story) girls called Lenin and Mao, the latter lovestruck and adamant she loves Maria whom she has only just laid eyes on, want Maria to get to know them and see if this new found love will be reciprocated. You see, I said it was weird but that’s not half of it. For a large majority of the book, the girls discuss their situation and the world their situation is in. Through Maria and Aira, we explore the meeting of diverse people and the particular attempt for understanding of a more extreme facet of humanity. After theories on love and life and what is real and what is not real, we are led to Mao and Lenin’s declaration of proof and the somewhat ‘change of pace’ of the novella as it swiftly descends/ascends into slasher/horror/where did this come from territory! It is all rather a bit mad and you can’t quite believe what you are reading but then there is this sense that there is perhaps a profound message in there somewhere about energy, love, potential, meaning and life and the universe and everything. I’m very keen to read more of his work despite the fact I’m really not sure what to make of this nor feel like it was particularly good. But somehow or other it was really intriguing and interesting and... erm, good? Who knows! I give up trying to explain, haha!… (meer)

César Aira uses the same detached perspective that I've seen in Bolaño. This is the method that uses the tone of a nonfiction book but then, almost surreally, covers details that a biographer or a historian couldn't possibly know. So you'll have a dry account of how this painter's letters indicated that he picnicked on a field south of town one Saturday only to dive into the painter's brain and examine how the universe is a series of unfolding aesthetic revelations or something like that. The total disregard for a consistent voice is more then just jarring, it's positively liberating. What's so great about it is that it is totally apropos to the subject matter. Bolaño, for example, uses it for his psychopaths and shell-shocked individuals. Aira, a little more subtly, uses it to convey the perspective of a true artist. Rugendas cares very little for interpersonal relationships, or typical travel details, or even really his own health and safety. All that matters is his quest for the "physiognomy of nature." Therefore the narrative itself is almost dismissive of physical events, but lovingly details the philosophical musings of a master trying to perfect his craft.
I also find the understatement of the title particularly amusing. The titular "episode" is an almost mythological cataclysm that unhinges and transfigures the artist into an even more perfect vehicle for artistic interpretation. This event, far from being a disaster, enables the artist to finally reach his peak. Rugendas as a drug addled, deformed maniac is finally liberated from humanity and becomes a creature totally fearless in the pursuit of art.… (meer)