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Life, the Truth, and Being Free

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Steve Maraboli

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“For a while, Criticism travels side by side with the Work, then Criticism vanishes and it's the Readers who keep pace. The journey may be long or short. Then the Readers die one by one and the Work continues on alone, although a new Criticism and new Readers gradually fall into step with it along its path. Then Criticism dies again and the Readers die again and the Work passes over a trail of bones on its journey toward solitude. To come near the work, to sail in her wake, is a sign of certain death, but new Criticism and new Readers approach her tirelessly and relentlessly and are devoured by time and speed. Finally the Work journeys irremediably alone in the Great Vastness. And one day the Work dies, as all things must die and come to an end: the Sun and the Earth and the Solar System and the Galaxy and the farthest reaches of man's memory. Everything that begins as comedy ends in tragedy.”

Literary CriticismBook ReviewsBolanoThe Written WordInaki EchevarneSavage Detectives
Book:The Savage Detectives
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“So Lorenzo grew up in Chile without arms, an unfortunate situation for any child, but he also grew up in Pinochet’s Chile, which turned unfortunate situations into desperate ones, on top of which he soon discovered that he was homosexual, which made his already desperate situation inconceivable and indescribable. Given these circumstances, it is not surprising that Lorenzo became an artist. (What else could he do?)”

PoliticsLatin AmericanBolanoChilean
Author:Roberto Bolaño
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“Dostum Borges aynalardan neden nefret ediyorsa ben de aynı nedenle ses kayıt cihazından nefret ediyorum, dedim. Siz Borges'in arkadaşı mıydınız, diye sordu Arturo Belano, bana biraz saldırgan gelen bir ses tonuyla, şaşırmış gibiydi. Artık uzaklarda kalan gençlik günlerimizde oldukça yakın arkadaştık, hem de çok yakın denebilir, diye cevap verdim. Kuzey Amerikalı kız Borges'in neden ses kayıt cihazından nefret ettiğini sordu. Herhalde kör olduğu için, dedim İngilizce olarak. Körlükle bu cihazın ne ilgisi var, diye sordu. Duymanın içerdiği tehlikeleri hatırlatıyor olmalı, kendi sesini, kendi ayak sesini, düşmanlarının ayak seslerini duymak, diye yanıtladım. Kuzey Amerikalı kız yüzüme bakarak onayladı. Borges'i pek iyi tanıdığını sanmıyorum. Benim eserlerimi bildiğiniyse hiç sanmıyorum, gerçi John Dos Passos İngilizceye çevirmişti. John Dos Passos'u da pek bildiğini sanmıyorum.”

BorgesBolanoVahşi Hafiyeler
Author:Roberto Bolaño
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“Inaki Echavarne, Giardinetto barı, Granada del Penedes sokağı, Barselona, Haziran 1994. Eleştiri, bir süre Yapıt'a eşlik eder, sonra yok olur ve bu kez yapıta Okurlar eşlik eder. Yolculuk uzun da olabilir kısa da. Sonra da Okurlar birer birer ölür ve Yapıt yoluna yalnız devam eder, derken başka Eleştiriler ve başka Okurlar çıkar yoluna. Sonra Eleştiri bir kez daha ölür, Okurlar bir kez daha ölür, Yapıt bu kemik yığını üzerinden geçerek yalnızlıklara yolculuğunu sürdürür. Yapıt'a yaklaşmak, gemiyi onun aydınlığında yüzdürmek kesin ölümün yanılmaz işaretidir, oysa başka Eleştiriler ve başka Okurlar durmaksızın yanaşırlar Yapıt'a, zaman hızla yutar onları da. Sonunda, Yapıt Sonsuzlukta yalnız sürdürür yolculuğunu. Ve bir gün, her şey gibi Yapıt da ölür, tıpkı Güneş'in söneceği, Yerkürenin, Güneş Sisteminin ve Yıldızların, insanoğlunun yok olacağı gibi. Komedi gibi başlayan her şey trajedi olarak son buluyor.”

BolanoVahşi Haifyeler
Book:The Savage Detectives
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“The root of all my ills, thought Amalfitano sometimes, is my admiration for Jews, homosexuals, and revolutionaries (true revo-lutionaries, the romantics and the dangerous madmen, not the apparatchiks of the Communist Party of Chile or its despicable thugs, those hideous gray beings. The root of all my ills, he thought, is my admiration for a certain kind of junkie (not the poet junkie or the artist junkie but the straight-up junkie, the kind you rarely come across, the kind who almost literally gnaws at himself, the kind like a black hole or a black eye, with no hands or legs, a black eye that never opens or closes, the Lost Witness of the Tribe, the kind who seems to cling to drugs in the same way that drugs cling to him. The root of all my ills is my admiration for delinquents, whores, the mentally disturbed, said Amalfitano to himself with bitterness. When I was an adolescent I wanted to be a Jew, a Bol-shevik, black, homosexual, a junkie, half-crazy, and the crowning touch- a one-armed amputee, but all I became was a literature professor. At least, thought Amalfitano, I've read thousands of books. At least I've become acquainted with the Poets and read the Novels. (The Poets, in Amalfitano's view, were those beings who flashed like lightning bolts, and the Novels were the stories that sprang from Don Quixote). At least I've read. At least I can still read, he said to himself, at once dubious and hopeful.”

BolanoRoberto BolanoBolano QuotesRoberto Bolano Quotes
Book:Woes of the True Policeman
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“As if she could hear his thoughts, she glanced over and quirked her mouth up at him. "What are you looking at?" "You," he said. "Did you know, you grow more beautiful every day?" "Well that's odd," said Tessa, resting her chin thoughtfully on the spine of her book, "because as a warlock I do not age, and so I should look the same day to day, neither improving nor worsening. " "And yet," said Will, "you continue to accrue radiance.”

Will HerondaleTessa Herondale
Book:Chain of Iron
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