A guy is charged with protecting two women in a remote house with a whole lot of windows.
Anyway, these women had two dogs, a big one and a little one. And I never knew which dog belonged to which woman.
(from The New Yorker, Feb. 8. 2010)
This a weird story. The narrator contradicts himself without blinking and the whole thing is told in a dreamlike fog, where you are told about things you can’t picture, where the characters are strangely accepting of the strangeness.
Read it here.
It was nightmarish. I actually loved it. It’s only the second story by Roberto Bolaño I have read (The first one I read several years ago, also in The New Yorker)