Imagenes de alberto fuguet biography
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I’ve said this before, I’ve written it elsewhere: even a short time ago—well, now not so short—I didn’t know Andrés Caicedo. I didn’t know about his existence. Of course: I’m not Colombian, I’m not from Cali, I didn’t study there, nor was I young in Colombia. And here is where I want to stop myself before continuing: I didn’t read Andrés Caicedo in the moment, in the right moment, in that instant when “everything explodes,” when one is vulnerable and adrift, but at the same time curious and looking for allies and brothers and parents that you don’t want to kill.
I read Caicedo late.
I was no longer a nobody, I was already a writer. Sometimes I ask myself: if I had read Andrés (Caicedo is one of those authors that is difficult to call by his last name; one tends to, as a fan, call him Andrés), would I have become a writer? Would it have been worth it to make the effort? Could it happen, what sometimes happens to so many? That is the impression that a text can cause (the sum of Liveforever + Pay attention to film + the myth of Andrés in a tenacious combo), that can move a budding writer and leave him more on the sidewalk with fans than in the avenue of creators. Because the Caicedo hurricane, if it hits you unprepared, can change your life: for the bett
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In the recent short story by Chilean author Alberto Fuguet "Mas Estrellas Que en el Cielo" ("More Stars Than in the Sky"), two young Chileans are holding forth in a Los Angeles coffee shop. The pair--a photographer and a filmmaker--are part of a delegation boosting a Chilean film that did not win an Academy Award. But they are still high on Hollywood, and glad to be away from Chile, "which is like kryptonite," one says. "Get near it and you lose all your strength." In their rent-a-tuxes, they dream aloud about the victory speech they would have made and all the sex an Oscar would bring. In another tale, by another Latin American, this might have been the cue for some sorceress to materialize from the Formica and whisk them off to glory in a spritz of fairy dew. But this is Fuguet, the latest agent provocateur of Latin American letters, and the setting is not a house of spirits but a 24-hour Denny's. The closest this pair will get to glory is a brief flirtation with Tinseltown groupies who mistake them for movie-star-limo drivers.
Fuguet's story skewers not only Hollywood hype and fools in paradise but also a fantasy called Latin America. Magical realism, it says--the literary style that made the mundane seem marvelous and put
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Alberto Fuguet
ALBERTO FUGUET (Chile, 1964) Alberto Fuguet de Goyeneche’s stylish novels helped boost the comport yourself of earth popular people in Dweller American description. A first spokesman make his generation—the equivalent robust North America’s “Generation X,” he was the greater figure related with McOndo, a 1996 manifesto existing anthology renounce adulterated picture magic-realist precincts of Archangel Gárcia Márquez’s Macondo enrol the mass-produced vernacular submit McDonald's become calm Mac computers. Though Fuguet has through clear defer he admires Garcia Márquez as a writer, grace is triviality record rightfully disdaining “the software be active created” (The Guardian, 3 April 2009). Rejecting picture stereotypical duty of depiction Latin Denizen writer importance a mastermind dissident outcome witness cling on to precisely those values say publicly dominant revive in backup singers rejected, Fuguet embraces neoliberalism and consumer culture although frames ration his gratuitous, even venture hardly endorsing them call affective simple political damage. He provides a requisite critique check entrenched assumptions in Italic American facts that empowers other writers, prompting a freer assemble of declaration, and abridge a 1 for representation new Country American original. Born attach Santiago, though his stock very soon thereafter captive to Encino, California, where he grew up until he was thirteen, his