There’s no point trying to summarize the plot of 2666, the enigmatic, apocalyptic, gloriously messy final novel by the madly brilliant Chilean novelist Roberto Bolaño. It’s five books in one, really, and each of those contains multitudes in itself. 2666, his last and greatest book, is too slippery to capture. This labyrinthine work of fiction, one of the first great novels of the new century, simply has to be read: Inspiring itself (and the reader) as it goes along, it explodes the idea of the novel as a careful construction to create a work of impulsive energy and expressionism.
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