As it turns out - and, I suppose, as should have been obvious - liveblogging a book doesn't make much of any sense. Especially one as intertwined and nuanced as 2666. I'm still at a relative loss to summarize it, let alone analyze it. Left thinking about: the five sections, all somewhat distinctive stylistically, that just end; how we learn everything about the life and nothing about the work of the fictional author that motivates much of this tale; the characters all searching for clues - to the whereabouts of a lost writer, to the murderer(s) of hundreds of young women in northern Mexico, to their sexual and romantic needs and desires, to how to escape squalor and grief, to the importance of identity, to the symbolism of their dreams - which, in many cases, they find and lead to nothing.