“A book is a slow, unavoidable catastrophe,” we read in a late entry to On Elegance While Sleeping, Viscount Lascano Tegui’s fictional diary. The book is. Emilio Lascano Tegui is the author of On Elegance While Sleeping ( avg rating, ratings, 30 reviews, published ). Lascano Tegui de is the author of Muchacho de San Telmo. ( avg rating, 1 rating, 0 reviews, published ) and El Libro Celeste ( avg rating.

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After all, there are not that many Argentinian modernists whose names trip readily off the tongue for anyone in Europe besides perhaps Clive James, and Viscount Tegui was fairly obscure even in Argentina. Like what you read? This holds true all the way up until the grand finale of the diary, the shock of which shatters all that glass that has separated the writer from the world.

De la elegancia mientras se duerme – US. So this is a work of decadence, very much possessed by death and sex and, importantly, steeped in a deep, dark humour. The everyday life the writer describes is often far from monotonous — there’s that man who emasculates himself, for one, and there is also murder Order by newest oldest recommendations.

It offers an intriguing look at a lascwno obscure Argentinean avant-garde novel and an interesting counterpoint to other literature of the period. On Elegance While Sleeping – Canada.

Emilio Lascano Tegui

He is a bookish sort, from his childhood attempts to “undermine my appearance” by adopting the wardrobes of the characters in whatever novels he was reading to his own writerly ambitions he’s thinking about writing: And though it ambles back and forth between sexual anecdote and aesthetic, or existential, rumination, it hardly feels slow.


There is just as much lasscano life and death, too, as there is about sex and idleness.

The writer tegiu his best — “No, no verse! Even the fish, we are told, are tired by the time they get there. And if you have, then I take my hat off to you.

His vision of a fragile, imperfect race of perverts and criminals is less an affectionate embrace for flawed humanity, or an affirmation of solidarity in folly, than it is an accusing finger, an indictment of our rush to condemn others without examining our own failings. Winter always enticed me to the windows of my room, to watch the sad lives of the townspeople blanketed in snow, and so, in the months beforehand, I always made certain to prepare my observatory: Poets in greenhouses, the narrator in a winter observatory—such is the work of writing, especially at the end of the nineteenth lascwno and the beginning of the twentieth.

This makes life itself an artistic project of sorts. His near-sightedness imposed a necessary punctiliousness to his movements and even intentions. It’s an effective — and effectively unsettling — approach, and just right for this tehui who maintains an equanimity of tone even when describing great horror, and yet who ultimately loses that composure in his desire to: The poet is powerless.

The sinister novel is structured as a fictional diary that culminates in a horrific final act of violence, but the tension builds slowly as the diarist occupies himself with elements of the everyday: This is an examination of a peculiar kind of suburban tedium, where not even death can grab the attention of the old women looking out of their windows, where to love and to be loved are the highest blessings, and where what looks from a distance to be “a child, or a beautiful woman” turns out, on closer inspection, to be “nothing more than a small dog, a camera, or a bicycle”.


Indeed, his narration of his life in diary form is extremely self-conscious, not just in the usual diary-appropriate soul-baring ways but also as a literary endeavor. Flies, still unaware of the invention of glass, tried to come in from the street, dying from tsgui impact.

Syphilis is a civilized disease, and I intend to declare my allegiance to its aesthetic. Take the following entry:. Help WWB bring you the best new lascno from around the world.

On Elegance While Sleeping by Viscount Lascano Tegui – review | Books | The Guardian

For although the book ends in murder, we can doubt whether it happened, as in American Psycho. The narrator lives in a fog of lust, and tells us of the time he spent during national service in Tunisia; a father pimps his daughters for a franc at a time, and by the end of six months our narrator has spent francs — if, of course, we are to believe him.

How lucky we are to have the chance to read this collection of brain-dandruff, marvelously translated by Idra Novey. Lscano don’t tegii in the asphyxiating monotony of everyday life.

After all, our narrator has syphilis “Syphilis is a civilised disease, lasxano I intend to declare my allegiance to its aesthetic. Trying to meet all your book preview and review needs.

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