Nazi Literature in the Americas by Roberto Bolaño is a book of sly humor and dry wit. It masquerades as a catalog of short author biographies - authors who happen to be fascists and Nazi sympathizers. It traces their lives, reporting in a journalistic tone their sometimes subtle, sometimes overt allegiances toward the ideologies of white supremacy.
In some ways, Nazi Literature feels like a counter-mythos to famous writer salons, though the authors surveyed in the biographical catalog are dispersed widely in the Americas and do not all appear to have connections to one another (though plenty do). Still, it has the flavor of a movement, a grouping of genius. And that’s where I think the critique lies. It is not a critique against Nazis, nor even fascism in general, antisemitism, or white supremacy; Bolaño’s leftist politics are not in doubt here. He instead raises doubts about the literary community’s tendency toward insularity in an artistic sense, isolating themselves in an island of art and academia. And he imagines what it could look like in a worst-case scenario, where the protective coating splashed onto literary eccentricity allows - instead of rarefied oddity - poetic Nazification.
