I am deeply unimpressed with THE SAVAGE DETECTIVES. If you ignore the fact that the book is about wannabe poets and therefore somehow tickles the interest of literary types, it's just a book about a bunch of youngsters who imagine they are a counterculture doing all the usual banal things kids who imagine they are rebelling do. There's a lot of aimless hanging around, a lot of drinking, hooking up, some doping, more groping, a lot of big talk. Yeah, so it's like a Latino Kerouac. Big deal. Halfway through the narrative seems to be actively arranged to be hostile to the reader with its oral history style leaps from one narrator to another. Frankly, I would side with the passage quoted by ions, side with the only character here who is explicitly portrayed as insane, and go re-read THE MAGIC MOUNTAIN again. Really. This wasted several hours of a life that I happen to value. Fah.