In anticipation of a trip down to Mexico City (second) this February, I decided it was only proper to crack open another behemoth Belano novel, this one a big sloppy love letter to Mexico City. Of course, like 2666, Savage Detectives has a similarly global scope (Europe, near east, Americas), but, also similarly to 2666, at some point (very early on here) the story gets stuck in a Mexican quicksand. Mexico seems to live as a sort of geographical black hole. A place where, once passed through, time may appear to pass beyond, but never truly escapes and is left forever dirtied by the confusion the agent is thrown into here. Here the agent, or protagonist, is Belano himself, in addition to a colorful cast of poets and academic delinquents which we can gather are portraits of Balano’s friends from the 60s/70s, but this is just the needle's eye. The story uses this as a jumping off point to follow Balano and his conspirator, Ulises Lima, all the way to the modern day, before jumping back to the 60s to revisit the needle’s eye: an amorous escape and semi-accidental murder of a by-gone poet.
The story itself is long, winding, and jumps between narrators through different journals and interviews(?) that are being conducted, likely, from an unimportant character studying the “visceral realists”, Balano and Lima’s poetry movement. Some of these details are relatively unimportant, but serve to say that there’s a lot here. But it’s never boring and the pace is quick, even if some of the points Balano (author) seems to be trying to make take 50-100 pages, rather than the 2 it might take a more succinct author. And Balano, unapologetic in his style, is himself soul searching throughout the novel. One gets the feeling that Balano never quite presents anecdotes or ideas in a too moralized way, probably because he is wrestling with these things himself. This book, and 2666 to a less extent, feels like a revolutionary’s death rattle. There’s plenty of sneering and fist shaking at the state of things, but much is left for debate. Though his poetry friends who are interviewed through the book are no necessarily the most upstanding people, who is Balano to judge them, as he sits on the edge of oblivion himself?
Balano the author’s portrayal of himself in the book is also telling. He’s not a snob or too thuggish, but he still presents himself in a full light you would expect of a protagonist. His most common emotion is likely tenderness, which comes out in his mention of his child and ex-girlfriend. These stories are somber and feel they take up a special place in the heart of the book (which is ultimately about the art and the artist). They make the book feel like a living creature, something which was also present in 2666; a book with a heart. Balano also takes us back over to the other extreme. One of the final scenes in the book have him committing murder (via knife) in the Juarez desert (2666’s location). These extremes are in contrast to the majority of the book’s detached, confused, and creative Balano.
In Mexico City, this last week, I finished Savage Detectives. I’m not sure if I feel more connected to Mexico City via the book, or the book via Mexico City, nor do I think I understand anything much better, but perhaps this is the point. Savage Detectives is a chronicle of the lusty, unrestful life that Balano and many Latin Americans experience in Mexico City and similar places. To be rooted in a place like Mexico City seems to me like utter confusion. I can imagine a dusty book store off Insurgentes might contain more to make a person’s head spin than any Los Angeles dispensary. And the world is large, but Mexico City might be larger. But, moving beyond Mexico City and into life in general, I think Balano presents Mexico City here as his needle’s eye, black hole, eye of the storm, etcetera. We’re not Balano, but we might understand our own confusion in terms of his. Maybe writing Savage Detectives is vanity, but Balano doesn’t try to explain it all away for us. Instead, we’re left challenged by his essence to find meaning in what his life cut short could not.