Bolaño’s insight, and it is both unsettling and unshackling, is that the only subject left to write about is the epilogue of Literature: the story of the people who pursue Literature, scratching on their knees for the traces of its passing. This is no mere meta-gamesmanship or solipsism; this is looking things in the face.
“Nude in your hot tub, facing the abyss (A literary manifesto after the end of Literature and Manifestos) | The White Review” at