Bolaño was the writer of my teenage years. I was absolutely obsessed with everything he wrote. Every few years, it seems, another previously untranslated novel comes out of the woodwork, and I get to relive the delicious angst of (my) adolescence. This novel is very clearly a draft form of The Savage Detectives and I wouldn’t say it’s necessary reading for the Bolaño enthusiast. But if you’re like me and you just want to revisit an old friend, have at it.