Roberto Bolaño’s now-famous praise of the writer Andrés Neuman, who must have been no older than 23 when it was written, is remarkable not only for its epic pronouncements (“the literature of the 21st century will belong to Neuman and a few of his blood brothers”), but also for its fearfulness. “When I come across these young writers it makes me want to cry,” Bolaño writes. “I don’t know what the future holds for them.”
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