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64 of 69 people found the following review helpful:
5.0 out of 5 stars
A wondrous reverie - rich and strange........., December 29, 2003
Roberto Bolano, alas, died this year. BY NIGHT IN CHILE is his only work translated into English (very sensuously and beautifully by Chris Andrews) despite the fact that he wrote nine novels, short stories and poetry in Spanish. Chilean by birth, but expatriated to Barcelona and Mexico City because of political issues, Bolano is an enormously gifted, unique voice. Hopefully Chris Andrews will continue to translate his other works for us as I know the reading public will demand more Bolano after reading this short novel.In a brief but densely packed 130 pages, Bolano takes the voice of Fr. Urrutia who on his deathbed tries to organize the chaotic thoughts that have represented his life before he enters the ultimate climax of death. We learn of his childhood as a poor boy who longed to be a poet, his conversion to the priesthood, his contribution to the literary world of not only his own poems but literary criticism or other writers, and his rather bizarre ramblings of this life adventures - his 'assignment' to unravel the workings of the Opus Dei (with an hilarious metaphor of each church throughout Europe training a falcon to destroy the pigeons in order to keep the buildings free of pigeon excrement only to realize they were destroying the universal symbol of the Holy Spirit!), his conversations with the Chilean critic Farewell, meetings with Pablo Neruda, and his assignment to teach Marxism to Pinochet and the Junta after the fall of Allende, and more. All of this glowing stream of conscience is delivered in words and phrases that stand with the finest of writers - James Joyce, ee cumings, Ezra Pound, Neruda, Marquez - but at the same time they retain flavor which makes them uniquely Chilean. "...I cannot have been properly awake, for deep in my brain I could hear the voices of popes, like the distant screeching of a flock of birds, a clear sign that part of my mind was still dreaming or obstinately refusing to emerge from the labyrinth of dreams, that parade ground where the wizened youth [himself as a child] is hiding, along with the dead poets who were living then, and who now, against the certainty of imminent oblivion, are erecting a miserable crypt in my cranial vault, building it with their names...." or: "...flocks of starlings....appeared again like a lightening bolt, ...and stooped on the huge flocks of starlings coming out of the west like swarms of flies, darkening the sky with their erratic fluttering, and after a few minutes the fluttering of the starlings was bloodied, scattered and bloodied, and afternoon on the outskirts of Avignon took on a deep red hue, like the colour of sunsets seen from an aeroplane, or the colour of dawns, when the passenger is woken gently........and lifts up the little blind and sees the horizon marked with a red line, like the planet's femoral artery, or of the planet's aorta..." These are but too brief abstracts of Bolano's luxuriant writing ( and Andrews' equally gifted translation!) that flow unceasingly from this richly succinct masterwork. This is easily one of the more rewarding new books I have read and I could not recommend it more highly. Read it all in one sitting..and I would gently wager you will immediately re-read it.
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29 of 31 people found the following review helpful:
4.0 out of 5 stars
A good read, November 28, 2004
It is tempting when reading this volume, to check Chilean literary history or the politics of the Allende era ... but it is better to simply read the novel as a good read - at least for the first time. This is a novel that almost invites a study of its references and techniques, to the point one may gloss over the universal aspects of the story. While the novel is deliberately Chilean, the motifs of professional and ethical social climbing and compromising are universal. A young priest is "seduced" by the opportunity to be in the best literary circles - seduced into support of the right wing side of the Church and of politics. This volume is his own telling of his story, near the end of his life, in an attempt to excuse/explain/confess his choices throughout his life. The author's brilliance is in his compact telling of a universal condition in the very specific details of a particular life in a particular time.
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25 of 28 people found the following review helpful:
5.0 out of 5 stars
The dulling of the human conscience, September 16, 2005
The narrator of Roberto Bolaño's surreal novella By Night in Chile is an Opus Dei priest, Fr. Sebastian Urrutia Lacroix. Using the image of "the wizened youth," Bolaño brilliantly portrays the struggle for the survival of the human spirit trapped in Opus Dei for many years. His imagery is so vivid and provocative that the reader feels as if he or she is lifted up into his dream. "The wizened youth," or Fr. Sebastian's true self is being slowly destroyed by Fr. Sebastian's new Opus Dei identity. This interior battle captures the essence of the Opus Dei experience, as if Bolaño himself had been a celibate member. Initially, it appears as if Fr. Sebastian's newly-formed spirit is soaring toward the heavens; for example, he says "my prayers rising up and up through the clouds to the realm of pure music, to what for want of a better name we call the choir of angels, a non-human space but undoubtedly the only imaginable space we humans can truly inhabit, an uninhabitable space but the only one worth inhabiting, a space in which we shall cease to be but the only space in which we can be what we truly are." In reality, however, Fr. Sebastian's spirit, manipulated by his Opus Dei superiors, Raef and Etah (Fear and Hate spelled backwards) is slowly crushed over a period of many years because he denies the truth and his former self, "the wizened youth."
Fr. Sebastian is ordained an Opus Dei priest at the age of 14, at which time there isn't much of a struggle at all. In fact, Fr. Sebastian is happy to bury the memories of his unpleasant childhood; and is filled with "immaculate hopes" about his future as the protégé of the finest literary critic in Santiago, Farewell. Like so many others who join Opus Dei at an impressionable age, Fr. Sebastian is lured by the promise of an appealing and exciting adventure. The fourteen-year-old is impressed by Farewell's attire, his grand estate, and the prestigious company of the literary elite with whom he shares an exquisite meal. The name "Farewell" symbolizes Fr. Sebastian's bidding his former self farewell. When Fr. Sebastian meets Pablo Neruda, the famous Chilean poet at Farewell's house, he says, "I bet the wizened youth has no stories like this to tell. He didn't meet Neruda." His new identity enthusiastically and blindly submits to the calling higher than himself - to change the tone of literature in society. As he matures in his career, his intentions become tainted when he gives himself a pen name H. Ibacache (meaning: was hidden) so that he could praise his own books and criticize those of his colleagues, calling for a return to the classics and more culture. His pen name symbolizes the burial of the universal truths found in literature as well as the concealment of his new identity as an Opus Dei member.
Even though Fr. Sebastian becomes a successful literary critic, his spirit starts to rebel as he becomes bored with his book reviews and starts to write deep meaningful poems, which he quickly destroys. His Opus Dei superiors immediately step in to crush his dissenting spirit. In his struggle, the wizened youth appears, "The wizened youth is watching from a yellow street corner and yelling at me. I can hear some of his words. He is saying I belong to Opus Dei. I have never hidden that, I say. But of course, he's not even listening to me. I can see his jaws and his lips moving and I know he's shouting, but I cannot hear his words." Fr. Sebastian's superiors reward him with a "delicate mission in Europe" as a distraction and to bolster his fidelity to the organization. Raef and Etah hope Fr. Sebastian will feel as if he is part of something greater than himself, something with a divine purpose that he should feel privileged to belong to - Opus Dei, which means "The Work of God." Throughout his jaunt through Europe, Fr. Sebastian is treated with great affection. In Spain, he says, "they introduced me to "the Opus Dei publishers and the principals of the Opus schools and the Rector of the University, which is also run by Opus Dei, and all of them showed an interest in my work as a literary critic, poet and teacher, and they invited me to publish a book with them . . . and then they gave me a letter addressed to me and written by Mr. Raef, in which he asked How's Europe going, what's the weather like and the food and the sites of historical interest, a ridiculous letter but somehow it seemed to conceal another, invisible letter, more serious in content, and this hidden letter, although I couldn't tell what it said or even be sure it really existed, worried me deeply." Even though Fr. Sebastian has let his guard down and the wizened youth is absent in Europe, he still feels that something is not quite right. But, how can his spirit protest now that everything is going so well for him?
The actual mission in Europe is a portent of the death of Fr. Sebastian's spirit. He learns that the cause of the dilapidation of the exteriors of the European churches is pigeon droppings. The pastors throughout Europe solve this problem by becoming falconers, whose pet falcons murder the pigeons. As Fr. Sebastian travels through Europe, he is not troubled by the blood until he meets Fr. Antonio, who thinks it is a grave error for the predators to kill God's creatures since pigeons and doves are the symbol of the Holy Spirit, "who is far more important than most lay people suspect, more important than the Son who died on the cross, more important than the Father who made the stars and the earth and all the universe." His words haunt Fr. Sebastian who dreams of "falcons, thousands of falcons flying high over the Atlantic ocean, headed for America." The falcons represent predators of the spirits and Fr. Sebastian subconsciously fears for the deaths of many more spirits in the church.
When Fr. Sebastian returns to Chile, he and his spirit have a second, more tumultuous battle. As the country flares up in political turmoil, he starts having doubts again and his personal writing becomes so shocking and disturbing, that even he does not recognize it as his own. This time, however, Raef and Etah do not reward him; rather, they give him a punishment. They manipulate Fr. Sebastian into agreeing to give private lessons on Marxism to Pinochet and his generals. After they cleverly get him to admit that he has some books on Marxism in his personal library, Fr. Sebastian feels as if he must defend himself, saying "You know me, I'm not a Marxist." He describes himself in the scene as "trembling from head to toe and feeling more than ever as if it were all a dream." Raef and Etah try to reassure him "You'll be serving your country. . . Serving in silence and obscurity, far from the glitter of medals. . . you're going to have to keep your mouth shut." Soon after he gives the classes, he is confused about the moral ambiguity of what he has done. However, after some time has passed, Fr. Sebastian justifies his actions, "At the end of the day, we were all reasonable (except for the wizened youth, who at that stage was wandering around God knows where, lost in some black hole or other), we were all Chileans, we were all normal, discreet, logical, balanced, careful, sensible people, we all knew that something had to be done, that certain things were necessary, there's a time for sacrifice and a time for thinking reasonably." He has convinced himself that if there had been any unpleasant consequences from his lessons, they were necessary, and the wizened youth has lost another battle.
Toward the end of the novella, Fr. Sebastian's spirit no longer fights. During the literary soirées in the home of María Canales, whose husband was using their basement as a torture chamber, the wizened youth is invisible. Fr. Sebastian says "I can picture the wizened youth's face. I cannot actually see him, but he is there in my mind's eye." Because curfews were in effect, Fr. Sebastian admits that he sensed that something was not quite right at those lovely literary gatherings, "I thought how odd it was that, with all the racket and the lights, the house was never visited by a military or police patrol." But his ignoring of his conscience had now become such an entrenched habit, that the wizened youth appears to have died. Finally, Fr. Sebastian realizes that he no longer sees the wizened youth. "Where is the wizened youth? Why has he gone away? And little by little the truth begins to rise like a dead body. A dead body rising from the bottom of the sea or from the bottom of a gully. I can see its shadow rising. Its flickering shadow. Its shadow rising as if it were climbing a hill on a fossil planet. And then, in the half-light of my sickness, I see his fierce, his gentle face and I ask myself: Am I that wizened youth?" He realizes that he has spent his entire life fleeing from the wizened youth. He has denied his own eyes, memories, thoughts, and even his own writing. If he had not been a sleepwalker through his life, perhaps he would have come to the truth much sooner; instead, he was in a battle with his own spirit and almost killed it, as the falconers had killed so many of the pigeons or doves in order to save the churches from the pigeon droppings. It is sad that Fr. Sebastian doesn't see the truth until he is almost dead, but by having liberated his trapped spirit, he can finally be at peace with himself.
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