I really appreciate when the arts media provide useful commentary on prodigious but underexposed writers. Too often, arts editors try to disguise celebrity gossip or falsely celebratory press releases as informed opinion on what’s happening in the world of film, theatre, books, etc.

“Cronenberg does it again! And he’s Canadian!”

“Leonard Cohen has a deep voice! And he’s Canadian!”

“Did you know Michael Bublé is Canadian? And Americans like him!”

“Margaret Atwood [insert anything]“

South of the border, there are still a few publications that take a position of authority on books — meaning, they still pay their writers to craft well-considered pieces for a narrowing demographic of readers interested in thinking critically about the arts scene. Nearing its 90th year, The New Yorker is one of them.

I’ve only recently discovered the work of Chilean novelist Roberto Bolaño (1953-2003) with the publication of 2666. The book’s size is a bit intimidating, but its omnipresence in stores catches my attention. My two failed attempts to work past the half-way point of DeLillo’s Underworld taught me that, when it comes to canonized writers, it’s best to start by dipping your toes into his/her more accessible books. Maybe I should’ve given White Noise a spin first?

Given that, where should I start with Bolaño? Thanks to The New Yorker, I at least have a few recommendations. Check out “In the Labyrinth: A User’s Guide to Bolaño“.

Even though this is just a brief, subjective take on an author’s entire body of work, it demonstrates the magazine’s commitment to being an authority in the arts realm. I’d love to see more content like this in Canadian media — aside from the occasional piece in The Walrus (which helps, but it’s not nearly enough to reverse a trend of shoddy arts coverage). As for 2666, well, there’s this advice:

Avoid “2666” for as long as possible, and for heaven’s sake, don’t start with it. The book is a desert of negative space across which the panting reader will search in vain for the traditional pleasures of the novel: form, character, coherence, meaning.

Maybe I’ll dislike Bolaño’s writing entirely. There’s definitely a good chance of that. But at least I’ll know I’m not the only one trying to dig into something new.