And I’m glad to have Aira’s works in my memory bank for that purpose. Which (making a huge but relevant jump here) is more proof that literature is a gift that keeps on giving. Aira, as another example, has a quirkiness to his content (sometimes aggressively so, other times very understatedly) that, years later, makes me think fondly on his works, and on the subsequent discussions we had in class about his works. For example, Chuck Palahnuik’s writing is weird, disturbing, fast-paced, and will probably give you meat-sweats within your nightmares. I think that’s a great way to remind yourself of certain authors (note: I don’t say to think of certain authors). And to be honest, I was half way through Lori’s review, thinking, “What the hell kind of book is this?!”, and then my eyes jumped to the top of the page to double-check who the author was.

At the time I had my opinions about both, but in retrospect-and this surprises me-I actually liked both books very much (four years ago I had a lot of issues with Ghosts, but I was also sleeping erratic, graduate student hours and living off of discounted Cliff Bars and anything cheap vegetable you could sauté and roll into a tortilla, so let’s just assume that I didn’t have enough nutrients in my body to understand). The first time I read César Aira was four years ago: Ghosts and The Literary Conference. The latest addition to our Reviews section is by Lori Feathers on Dinner by César Aira, translated by Katherine Silver and out from New Directions.