Shifty shmook shmallenge.

The Savage Detectives, Roberto Bolaño. This is a book that I wish I had enjoyed more. On a sentence-to-sentence level, yes, the writing (or partly the translation, I guess) was extraordinary. But I suspect that if, like me, you know not even the first thing about the Mexican literary scene circa 1976-96, then much of this story will be lost on you. Once again Latin American fiction leaves me cold, dammit! Recommended if you have ever been south of the border. James Wood's rave in the NYT here; Slate review here.