Labyrinth: By Roberto Bolaño
They’re seated. They’re looking at the camera. They are captioned, from left to right: J. Henric, J.-J. Goux, Ph. Sollers, J. Kristeva, M.-Th. Réveillé, P. Guyotat, C. Devade, and M. Devade.
There’s no photo credit.
They’re sitting around a table. It’s an ordinary table, made of wood, perhaps, or plastic, it could even be a marble table on metal legs, but nothing could be less germane to my purpose than to give an exhaustive description of it. The table is a table that is large enough to seat the above-mentioned individuals and it’s in a café. Or appears to be. Let’s suppose, for the moment, that it’s in a café.
- The first three paragraphs of Roberto Bolaño’s “Labyrinth,” featured in this week’s issue. To read the rest: http://nyr.kr/zbsEVQ
Sou um admirador de Bolano
Siempre tenemos The New Yorker… newyorker: