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Λέγεται «The Autobiography of JGB», δημοσιεύτηκε στον New Yorker, έχει θέμα φανταστικό, και είναι μικροσκοπικό (μόνο 1000 λέξεις) και πανέξυπνο. Διάβασέ το εδώ.

Οn waking one morning, B was surprised to see that Shepperton was deserted. He entered the kitchen at nine o’clock, annoyed to find that neither his post nor the daily newspapers had been delivered, and that a power failure prevented him from preparing his breakfast. He spent an hour staring at the melting ice that dripped from his refrigerator, and then went next door to complain to his neighbor.

Surprisingly, his neighbor’s house was empty. His car stood in the drive, but the entire family-husband, wife, children, and dog-had disappeared. Even more odd, the street was filled by an unbroken silence. No traffic moved along the nearby motorway, and not a single aircraft flew overhead toward London Airport. B crossed the road and knocked on several doors. Through the windows, he could see the empty interiors. Nothing in this peaceful suburb was out of place, except for its missing tenants.

Thinking that perhaps some terrible calamity was imminent-a nuclear catastrophe, or a sudden epidemic after a research-laboratory accident-and that by some unfortunate mishap he alone had not been warned, B returned home and switched on his transistor radio. The apparatus worked, but all the stations were silent, the Continental transmitters as well as those of the United Kingdom. Disconcerted, B returned to the street and gazed at the empty sky. It was a calm, sun-filled day, crossed by peaceful clouds that gave no hint of any natural disaster.

Να ένα θαυμάσιο (και μικρό) διήγημα επιστημονικής φαντασίας από τον New Yorker. Λέγεται «The Invasion From Outer Space», το ‘γραψε ο Στίβεν Μίλχαουζερ, και περιγράφει μια αλλόκοτη εισβολή εξωγήινων, πολύ ωραία και μελαγχολικά.

The story broke a little after ten in the morning. The TV anchors looked exactly the way we knew they’d look, their faces urgent, their hair neat, their shoulders tense, they were filling us with alarm but also assuring us that everything was under control, for they, too, had been prepared for this, in a sense had been waiting for it, already they were looking back at themselves during their great moment. The sighting was indisputable but, at the same time, inconclusive: something from out there had been detected, it appeared to be approaching our atmosphere at great speed, the Pentagon was monitoring the situation closely. We were urged to remain calm, to stay inside, to await further instructions. Some of us left work immediately and hurried home to our families, others stayed close to the TV, the radio, the computer, we were all talking into our cells. Through our windows we could see people at their windows, looking up at the sky.

O Ρομπέρτο Μπολάνιο είναι ο αγαπημένος μου συγγραφέας που δεν έχω διαβάσει. Δηλαδή, ένα βιβλίο του το ‘χω διαβάσει, το Μοναχικό Αστέρι, δεν με ενθουσίασε κι όλας, αλλά έχω διαβάσει κριτικές και σχόλια για τα καλύτερά του, το “Los Detectivos Salvages” και το «2666«, κι έχω διαβάσει και διηγήματά του στ’ αγγλικά που μου έχουν προκαλέσει το ενδιαφέρον. Δεν θέλω να διαβάσω αυτά τα βιβλία στα αγγλικά -μια χαρά μεταφράζεται η Ισπανική γλώσσα στη δική μας- οπότε είμαι αναγκασμένος να περιμένω τον Καστανιώτη. Κι αργεί, πανάθεμά τον.

Τέλος πάντων, στο θέμα μας, διάβασα χτες μετά από πολύ καιρό το διήγημά του στο περσινό Winter Fiction Issue του New Yorker (πρόσφατα χάρισα κι ένα αντίτυπο, το κέρδισε η αναγνώστρια Eleni) με τίτλο «Meeting With Enrique Lihn«, και το βρήκα εξαιρετικά καλογραμμένο. Μπορείς να το διαβάσεις εδώ.

Άντε, τελείωνε, Καστανιώτη!

Ξαφνικά οι εφημερίδες γέμισαν διθυράμβους γι’ αυτή τη συλλογή διηγημάτων μιας νεαρής Ελληνίδας. Ε, το διάβασα. Είναι έξι ιστοριούλες με αρχή, μέση και τέλος, που διαβάζονται ευχάριστα και δεν σε κάνουν να πιστεύεις πως πέταξες το χρόνο σου ανώφελα. Πράγμα καθόλου αυτονόητο στην Ελληνική λογοτεχνία. Διάβασε κριτικούλα εδώ.

Δεν είναι κακό (ποτέ δεν μπορείς να πεις «κακό» κάτι που γράφει ο Σεντάρις) αλλά αυτό δεν σημαίνει ότι αξίζει και τα λεφτά του. Όχι απαραίτητα. Το review.

Ακόμα: Ο Ντέιβιντ Σεντάρις παραδίδει πίτσα.