Is he any good?

>>8995676
If he were white, maybe. But no, of course not

>>8995678
haha

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he has some 2 pomo 4 me pieces, but fuck, La noche boca arriba blew my mind when i was 15. as an argiefag i should read more by him.
>>8995678
Xd

>tfw replied to your 62 a model kit thread
Overrated by special snowflake girls but I like him tbqh

Borges-lite

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>>8995676
ay
lmao

>>8995676
Hopscotch was pure shit. His short stories are okay. Just stick to Borges, Fuentes and Rulfo.

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>>8995676
the best cortazar is a mediocre borges

>>8996154
>>8996122
>>8996140

I actually think that his early stuff was better. But i wouldn't call him a borges-like. You are mostly ignoring all the writtings in which he destroys the structure of writting itself.

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> you be the judge:

He had begun to read the novel a few days before. He had put it aside because of some urgent business conferences, opened it again on his way back to the estate by train; he permitted himself a slowly growing interest in the plot, in the characterizations. That afternoon, after writing a letter giving his power of attorney and discussing a matter of joint ownership with the manager of his estate, he returned to the book in the tranquility of his study which looked out upon the park with its oaks. Sprawled in his favorite armchair, its back toward the door--even the possibility of an intrusion would have irritated him, had he thought of it--he let his left hand caress repeatedly the green velvet upholstery and set to reading the final chapters. He remembered effortlessly the names and his mental image of the characters; the novel spread its glamour over him almost at once. He tasted the almost perverse pleasure of disengaging himself line by line from the things around him, and at the same time feeling his head rest comfortably on the green velvet of the chair with its high back, sensing that the cigarettes rested within reach of his hand, that beyond the great windows the air of afternoon danced under the oak trees in the park. Word by word, licked up the sordid dilemma of the hero and heroine, letting himself be absorbed to the point where the images settled down and took on color and movement, he was witness to the final encounter in the mountain cabin. The woman arrived first, apprehensive; now the lover came in, his face cut by the backlash of a branch. Admirably, she stanched the blood with her kisses, but he rebuffed her caresses, he had not come to perform again the ceremonies of a secret passion, protected by a world of dry leaves and furtive paths through the forest. The dagger warmed itself against his chest, and underneath liberty pounded, hidden close. A lustful, panting dialogue raced down the pages like a rivulet of snakes, and one felt it had all been decided from eternity. Even to those caresses which writhed about the lover's body, as though wishing to keep him there, to dissuade him from it; they sketched abominably the fame of that other body it was necessary to destroy. Nothing had been forgotten: alibis, unforeseen hazards, possible mistakes. From this hour on, each instant had its use minutely assigned. The cold-blooded, twice-gone-over reexamination of the details was barely broken off so that a hand could caress a cheek. It was beginning to get dark.

(1/2)

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>>8996389

Not looking at each other now, rigidly fixed upon the task which awaited them, they separated at the cabin door. She was to follow the trail that led north. On the path leading in the opposite direction, he turned for a moment to watch her running, her hair loosened and flying. He ran in turn, crouching among the trees and hedges until, in the yellowish fog of dusk, he could distinguish the avenue of trees which led up to the house. The dogs were not supposed to bark, and they did not bark. The estate manager would not be there at this hour, and he was not there. He went up the three porch steps and entered. The woman's words reached him over a thudding of blood in his ears: first a blue chamber, then a hall, then a carpeted stairway. At the top, two doors. No one in the first room, no one in the second. The door of the salon, and then, the knife in his hand, the light from the great windows, the high back of an armchair covered in green velvet, the head of the man in the chair reading a novel.


>(2/2)

>>8996389
>>8996396
Was he white though? If not this is all irrelevant

>>8996389
>>8996396
So this anon >>8996154 was right.

He's not bad. Check out House Taken Over.

>>8996131
we meet again...

>>8996140
Why do you dislike Hopscotch?

>>8995676
I just can't stand how he looks tbqh. I feel like he was a pretentious special snowflake fag, who refused to groom properly or shave his unibrow simply because it gave him a unique and ostentatious appearance. I don't know too much about his work though, desu senpai - he might actually be pretty decent, but I doubt I'll ever read any of his work.

>>8996396
Where is this from?
>>8996212
What do you mean by that?

>>8996389
>>8996396
Better than Bolano, that's for sure.

>According to the medical examiner's report, she had been vaginally and anally raped and then strangled. Vaginally and anally raped.

>>8995676
Is that Jude Law's dad?

>>8995676
Nigga got sum hormonal treatment so he could grow a beard, no jokin, nigga was a fuckin pussy mane