distant star

In the final chapter of my novel, "e;Nazi Literature in America,"e; I adopted a simplified narrative (no more than twenty pages) of the story of Lieutenant Ramirez Hoffman of the Chilean Air Force. This story was told to me by my fellow countryman, Arturo P., a veteran of the Florida suicide wars in Africa, who was dissatisfied with the final outcome. This final chapter on Nazi literature offered a contrasting perspective and perhaps reflected the pinnacle of the literary ugliness that preceded it. Arturo wanted a longer story, one that wasn't a mirror image or a rehash of other narratives, but a story in its own right. So, for a month and a half, we confined ourselves to my house in Planes, with the final chapter in our hands, dictating its dreams and nightmares to me, until we finally produced the novel the reader now holds. My role was limited to preparing drinks, consulting books, discussing the chapter and the ever-present specter of Pierre Menard, and debating the validity of many of the repetitive passages.