Stella distante - Roberto Bolaño 
La lettura di Bolaño è stata multipla e parallela fin dall’inizio. Non posso di dire di aver iniziato a leggerlo partendo da un solo suo libro. Mi hanno sempre circondato numerose sue pagine, e la sua lettura è venuta sotto assedio per un motivo ben preciso: la sua profonda, pur se dispiegata nei dialetti più impensabili della sua coscienza, dicevo, la sua profonda unitarietà.
Bolaño è un campione del travestimento e se devo pensare a un’immagine che renda giustizia al nostro incontro, ripenso alla famosa leggenda sulla nascita del Buddha che, sotto forma di elefante a sei zanne, con il corpo del colore della neve, entrò in sogno dentro la madre, la regina Maya, trapassandole il fianco. Destatasi dal sogno la regina non ebbe né dolori né peso, ma si sentì leggera. La mostruosità dell’immagine religiosa può essere attenuata dalla sua valenza simbolica, ma io non voglio attenuare nulla. La carica di Bolaño, impetuosa e sanguigna, desolatamente e poeticamente latinoamericana, è paragonabile alla forza di un elefante maestoso che ti entra nel fianco. Ma il dettaglio onirico e la levità e parimenti la dolcezza sono caratteristiche che non si possono ignorare leggendo il cileno.
Ho scelto, come i tipi della Sellerio, di commentare “Estrella distante”, because besides being a fine example of his writing, one of those horrible crisp, which made its reputation within a short time, is also an invitation to future generations, the novel is weird wild puberty. It 'did, to take a picture of the glorious dancing bard of that bill and stuff of dreams, as are the verses that are penned by the protagonist in heaven evil of these pages, Carlos Wieder (Wieder means "again" because the character is taken from a previous book Bolano, "Nazi Literature in America," referred to distant stars is the Siamese twins, the faster, the less fat and has no bulky size, as said the same author).
Poet, murderess, macabre photographer, film director and hardcore snuff movie, and just sky-writer and aviator. Character quite unthinkable for a game such as the identity of Frizzi, Wieder is generated from a nightmare and like all nightmares is generating other nightmares that come down, like a hail pounding on our collective unconscious. Wieder is on everybody's lips, all acclaim him admire him seek him, but he is reckless, flying high in the heavens, is the maker of games cruel, careless of the risks and controls of the control tower, try to thin the chasm that exists between us and the poetry. Drifts in sky by the breezes that enliven the writing Bolaño. And never before have echoed the lines that Hölderlin wrote shine by one of our evening:
Oh drink breezes of the East (referring to the land and in German it's even better, Trinka Morgenlüfte ... O, that 'East Bolaño liked and it was hoped),
appointment until you are hatching and what lies before you.
can not longer remain
the unspeakable secret.
and then says:
But where most overflowing clear that sources
gold and has made her more serious the wrath of heaven
must between day and night
finally seem real.
trascrivilo three times, but also said it is now not
must, oh innocent, to remain.
Wieder's research is really alienating.
Nobody knows where is not because they lack the witnesses, but because there is no charge. Nobody cares about him, he forgets Chile, its history becomes marginal, peripheral and twilight. Just when the world seems to praise him betrayed, that's the real literature seems interested in him. And the police cut the last chapters, tribute to the b-side that Bolaño has meticulously studied in its ten-year career, alas, takes its place very physical and explosive. Bolaño gives back to the yellow tinge metaphysics with which he entered in the literary realm, we taste the product, there is already watering, we start looking unaware of evil, the Absolute, the antagonist. One who is opposed to copula and love. This places on earth hoax and abandoned, with the belief that multiplies the misery. He says the big Szymborska, in a beautiful lyrical, happy that love has never populated the earth, which is a scandal in high places of life.
Reading distant star, with the claustrophobia that haunt us, because the border between life and death is not joy but terror, Szymborska seems to be correct, any attempt to happiness is only bankruptcy . However, trying and trying to track down the mountains, the geography, the seas, the poet-aviator, a symbol of evil shifty, Bolaño suggests perhaps a path contrary, less sensational, but more rewarding: the pursuit of happiness, or rather, serenity, or even better than the rest, ugly and scattered in the mountains of loneliness and fear.
