Four Things I Dig About César Aira

Roughly a year ago, I got really fascinated with an Argentinian writer named César Aira and ultimately purchased all of his work that had been translated into English (most of them by New Directions Publishing). After reading his work, listening to interviews from podcasts, and watching subtitled interviews on YouTube, I realized that much of my recent output is heavily inspired by him. In fact, upon some reflection, I can think of four big reasons he has infiltrated my creative process so thoroughly.

1. He uses a style of writing that he refers to as “fuga hacia adelante” (or “fleeing forward”). If you’ve ever been one to have writer’s block, this approach to writing flips the bird to that concept. Because Aira writes one completely clean page of fiction each day, without ever returning to the page again to do future edits, it doesn’t take him long to write himself into a wall. His approach allows him to leap over/dig under/run around/or blow directly through that wall with any fancy his brain comes up with at the moment. This results, oftentimes, in disjointed narratives that many critics argue don’t work. But, oh, when they do! Personally, I’m always curious to see how strange his work can get. That level of freedom from the expectation of others, as well as his commitment to completion of a story at all costs, is at the top of my list of reasons I’m an Aira fan.
2. His books are pretty slim. Aira jokes about how he has lost count of the number of books in his bibliography (some speculate as high has 90!) because some of them are basically pamphlets. In an interview I saw on YouTube, he stated that he liked the idea that a story could be a book unto itself. My Aira stash of books has stories ranging from roughly 90 pages to just under 200, with most of them falling toward the former. As a lover of novellas and novelettes, I find the lengths of his books appealing. While the books are short, the material is dense and requires a greater attention to language. I dig this about him as well.
3. You have to read a lot to really appreciate his writing style. Even by his own admission, Aira has said that you can’t arrive at his work without having read other authors. That, on the surface, might seem like an arrogant statement, but it is true nonetheless. Because his language tilts towards the philosophic, it has to be read in a certain rhythm that can only be attained without distraction. I call it the “Toni Morrison/Double-dutch” style, where you have to line yourself up just right with the text to read it with pure comprehension or else the ropes collapse around you. So if you’ve read Bolaño, Borges, and the like, you should have no problem reading Aira.
4. He loves small presses. I can appreciate this one, as much of what I have been doing over the past year has involved small presses. Even more, he prefers presses that are small and have poor marketing and promotion (his words, not mine). He feels a reader should have to search for a book to find it. I have to admit I am drawn to this romanticized approach to book hunting. In fact, I have had to hunt to find a number of his books. (Yeah, there’s Amazon, but it’s more fun to find the books in the wild.) He doesn’t worry about how large a print run is. He doesn’t care if he’s on every shelf. Basically, he rejoices in what would drive most American writers mad. And, yes, I dig him for that, too.

​Earlier this year, I had the privilege of publishing a tiny novella entitled Work-In-Progress, where I paid homage to César Aira by attempting my own fuga hacia adelante work. My literary partner-in-crime, Sabin Prentis, asked me if this was a new direction (no pun intended) for me or if this was just a one-off. At this point, I’m just following my pen — and my pen tends to bend toward my influences, artists like César Aira.