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The Unknown University Hardcover – July 11, 2013
| Roberto Bolaño (Author) Find all the books, read about the author, and more. See search results for this author |
A deluxe edition of Bolano’s complete poetry
Perhaps surprisingly to some of his fiction fans, Roberto Bolano touted poetry as the superior art form, able to approach an infinity in which “you become infinitely small without disappearing.” When asked, “What makes you believe you’re a better poet than a novelist?” Bolano replied, “The poetry makes me blush less.” The sum of his life’s work in his preferred medium, The Unknown University is a showcase of Bolano’s gift for freely crossing genres, with poems written in prose, stories in verse, and flashes of writing that can hardly be categorized. “Poetry,” he believed, “is braver than anyone.”- Print length772 pages
- LanguageEnglish
- PublisherNew Directions
- Publication dateJuly 11, 2013
- Dimensions6 x 2 x 8.3 inches
- ISBN-100811219283
- ISBN-13978-0811219280
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Editorial Reviews
Review
― Dwight Garner, The New York Times
"The Unknown University, a new anthology of Bolano's poetry, reads like a series of fragments from a diary of this epic artistic journey. It's a book filled with sorrows and joys and discoveries as Bolano the poet takes up themes that are repeated often in his novels. For him, writers are men and women engaged in a sacred search, with poets the purest seekers of all. It's a pursuit that's all the more noble, given that Bolano knows that the immortality writers seek is unattainable."
― Los Angeles Times
"It is his earliest work published in English to date, and fans of The Savage Detectives will hope to find in it some hints of what the real Visceral Realist poetry was like.... It is a testament to Bolano’s fundamental artistic honesty that buried here, in his own long-lost notebook, we find Cesárea Tinajero’s poem/drawing, written twenty years earlier. He was the master of smoke and mirrors, but he couldn’t lie."
― The Millions
About the Author
Laura Healy has received a Master’s in Spanish from Harvard. She is the managing editor of Harvard Review and the web editor of Zoland Poetry.
Product details
- Publisher : New Directions; F First English Language Edition (July 11, 2013)
- Language : English
- Hardcover : 772 pages
- ISBN-10 : 0811219283
- ISBN-13 : 978-0811219280
- Item Weight : 2.26 pounds
- Dimensions : 6 x 2 x 8.3 inches
- Best Sellers Rank: #1,469,786 in Books (See Top 100 in Books)
- Customer Reviews:
About the author

Author of 2666 and many other acclaimed works, Roberto Bolaño (1953-2003) was born in Santiago, Chile, and later lived in Mexico, Paris, and Spain. He has been acclaimed "by far the most exciting writer to come from south of the Rio Grande in a long time" (Ilan Stavans, The Los Angeles Times)," and as "the real thing and the rarest" (Susan Sontag). Among his many prizes are the extremely prestigious Herralde de Novela Award and the Premio Rómulo Gallegos. He was widely considered to be the greatest Latin American writer of his generation. He wrote nine novels, two story collections, and five books of poetry, before dying in July 2003 at the age of 50. Chris Andrews has won the TLS Valle Inclán Prize and the PEN Translation Prize for his Bolaño translations.
Photo by Farisori (Own work) [CC BY-SA 3.0 (http://creativecommons.org/licenses/by-sa/3.0)], via Wikimedia Commons.
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For the curious--what this book is (and this is sometimes hard to figure out because everything is torn apart and renamed/reorganized): 1) endless notebook entries (which the editors bend over backwards to insist Bolano really intended to be published. Even if this is true, this book has not experienced proper editorial scrutiny), 2) 2/3 of the poems from the 2011 collection Tres, 3) 2/3 of the poems from the collection The Romantic Dogs and 4) A "different" version of the novel Antwerp (titled here as "People Walking Away"). Sure, throw in a novel, why not!
Ok, so why am I giving this collection 2 stars? First off, the poetry is sometimes great, but often really bad (like groan-inducing, for example, look forward to such brilliance as, "Disguised as a cop, you watch/ the falling snow But when?/ You Don't remember You were in the street/ and it was snowing on your police uniform"). I actually feel kinda bad for Bolano if he thought he was a better poet than fiction author (for the record, The Savage Detectives is one of my favorite novels)! One star for terrible poetry.
And the other reason for 2 stars: despite claiming to be complete, it's not! For example, I can not find "A stroll through literature" ( a collection of 57 poems found in the 2011 book, Tres). And I haven't bothered to match indices myself, but according to other sources many poems in the book The Romantic Dogs are also not included here. If I am mistaken, someone should let me know! My interpretation: because many of these poems do not have titles/ were never originally published anywhere, the executors have purposefully excluded many poems from this work to make the other collections still valuable. This is sneaky! Recommended for extreme Bolano fans only!
Whereas Charles Bukowski's immense posthumous output was carefully planned in advance by the author himself, and faithfully realized by his publisher, John Martin, Bolaño's posthumous legacy is a hodgepodge of incomplete and inferior material which has been plundered from various hard-drives, notebooks and juvenilia. Both the introduction and the endnotes in The Unknown University are very misleading as to the actual provenance of the published material, some of which was taken from handwritten notebooks which may not have even been intended for publication. Bolaño's widow and publishers, apparently hoping to cash in on the "Bolañomania" that has been whipped up by fans and critics in the ten years since his death, have done Bolaño a great disservice by bringing out this very uneven collection of his poetry.
For academics curious to trace Bolaño's development as a writer, The Unknown University may prove helpful. And for those hard-core fans inflicted with "Bolañomania" who simply have to have everything by Bolaño, this collection is probably a must. But true lovers of poetry would be advised to spend their money on more worthwhile collections from other, more accomplished poets. And Bolaño's widow and publishers should have the respect and decency to leave his reputation intact, without flooding the market with inferior material destined to undermine his growing esteem; material that would be better off in the special collections department of some reputable university, and not mass-marketed as The Unknown University.
Top reviews from other countries
Reviewed in Mexico 🇲🇽 on June 11, 2021
The privilege and the confusion come from the same source. I haven't done the research, so I have no idea what preparation work went into the translation and the resulting manuscript, but the book reads as if his journals were gathered by his heirs after his death and published pretty much as they happened to be shelved.
I am not complaining.
Having come to Bolaño through 2666: A Novel and The Savage Detectives, I recognize characters, settings, and above all, poetic strategies, which in the case of The Savage Detectives, is apparently called “visceral realism”. That recognition—the endurance of themes, characters and attitudes—alone makes me feel as if I've peeked into his private files.
I don't think there's a single book of poetry that I've read where the author (or the author's publisher/editor) hasn't gone to enormous trouble to make a clear emotional or narrative path—a guided tour—for me to follow. In the cases/books where I like where the path is heading, I'm OK with that. Where it isn't, I put the book down. But Bolaño. Well, it's more like standing at some half buried ancient ruin on the side of a mountain or on a beach. There's no path, but rather a climate, with weather coming and going at rates far beyond my control.
The climate, of course, is his history as a Chilean outcast from the Latin American writer's clique (we all have them). Weather: the hunchback that pops up over and over; references to defecation, penises, drug use, political horrors, city streets, pastoral longings, loved men and women, the hurt and rage of being laughed at by his writerly peers, and the sly wit, the moments when the text spits at me, a clown in the guise of a rain cloud.
For me, the thing that sets The Unknown University apart from other books of poetry—there is a man behind the curtain, his pants hastily donned, and he is winking at me. Other books pretend there is a poet writing. I suspect this unrepentent humanity describes “visceral realism”, although to be honest I haven't looked it up yet.
I find the world confusing. It is also interesting in the same way dung beetles are interesting when they roll up s*** balls. In The Unknown University there are the poems that just sit there staring at you. Dung beetles don't always roll s***. Sometimes they sleep. I don't actually believe the Nature Channel when it implies that the life of the dung beetle is represented by the 8 second visual wonders of it walking on 2 legs whilst rolling its prize with the others. I also don't believe poets write poetry books, no matter how much the artiste the person responsible presents to us through the pages.
Consequently, I feel privileged to be given the great honour of watching the dung beetle sleeping. It lets me in on the secret of a lived reality instead of being given the longed for one, no matter how tragic, beautiful or despairing. It's kind of like the lull at the beach, when it isn't so hot you can sleep wonderfully in the shade, or so cold you have to run to stay warm.
I do wonder if the book as I've come to have it is the result of the author's intent or just an accident that worked. Either way, it fits into the larger world of his other writings, feeds them, and is fed by them, much, I suspect, as both poetry and prose fed the results we know as his books. In the way an oak tree isn't a forest without the “trash” trees, there is an ecology to the whole of the book. One weak poem is the habitat for many a hidden life.
And as to wether he's a novelist or a poet, that's not a useful question I think. Like, is the forest the oak or the alder? I don't really think either “poetry” or “prose” fit as terms to describe his writing. We need a new idea about how narratives work in the mind. Both the “novels” and the book of “poetry” mix metaphorical and linear logic and thus mix the standard bearers of poetry and prose. Not that this is new in contemporary writing, but somehow with Bolaño it has taken on a new energy, a “real worldness” that I find mostly lacking in the books I read.
But then, I'm happy to be wandering looking at all the oddities, still confused, and therefore still learning. Consequently, I'll keep reading long after I'm done with the guided tours.
Whereas Charles Bukowski's immense posthumous output was carefully planned in advance by the author himself, and faithfully realized by his publisher, John Martin, Bolaño's posthumous legacy is a hodgepodge of incomplete and inferior material which has been plundered from various hard-drives, notebooks and juvenilia. Both the introduction and the endnotes in The Unknown University are very misleading as to the actual provenance of the published material, some of which was taken from handwritten notebooks which may not have even been intended for publication. Bolaño's widow and publishers, apparently hoping to cash in on the "Bolañomania" that has been whipped up by fans and critics in the ten years since his death, have done Bolaño a great disservice by bringing out this very uneven collection of his poetry.
For academics curious to trace Bolaño's development as a writer, The Unknown University may prove helpful. And for those hard-core fans inflicted with "Bolañomania" who simply have to have everything by Bolaño, this collection is probably a must. But true lovers of poetry would be advised to spend their money on more worthwhile collections. And Bolaño's widow and publishers should have the respect and decency to leave his reputation intact, without flooding the market with inferior material destined to undermine his growing esteem; material that would be better off in the special collections department of some reputable university, and not mass-marketed as The Unknown University.





