Rayuela / Hopscotch

By Julio Cortazar

Playing Hopscotch with Cortázar: A Buenos Aires-Parisian Labyrinth of Love, Lunacy, and Lost Chapters

If you’ve ever found yourself lost in a labyrinth of your own thoughts, Rayuela (Hopscotch ) by Julio Cortázar is the literary equivalent of that experience—except with more existential crises, and the occasional French phrase thrown in for good measure. This is not a book you simply read; it’s a game you play, a puzzle you (mostly) fail to solve, and a journey that leaves you both enlightened and utterly bewildered. As someone who took Cortázar’s advice and hopped through the chapters like a grasshopper, I can confirm that this novel is as chaotic as it is brilliant. And yes, I’m still not entirely sure what happened!

Summary:

The novel follows Horacio Oliveira, an Argentine intellectual who’s the human equivalent of a tango—dramatic, brooding, and prone to sudden, inexplicable movements. In Paris, he’s part of a bohemian circle called the Club de la Serpiente, where they debate philosophy, art, and the meaning of life while probably drinking too much wine. At the centre of it all is La Maga, a woman who’s as enigmatic as she is enchanting. When Oliveira returns to Buenos Aires, things get even more fragmented, as if Cortázar is saying, “You think Paris was confusing? Esperá, che, I’ll show you confusing.”

Personal Anecdote

I decided to read Rayuela because I was studying Spanish with an Argentine, and dancing Argentine Tango. I just came back from a holiday to Argentina. And I thought I should start reading Argentine literature. Long before I knew of Cortázar’s novel, I had fallen in love with Osvaldo Pugliese’s tango La Rayuela, a piece that has always resonated with me for its emotional intensity and intricate rhythm. And also GoTan Project made a song called Rayuela which was inspired by the themes of Cortázar’s book. See below.

I do not own rights to this video, it’s from YouTube. Rayuela by GoTan Project.

Analysis and Themes:

Structure: A Literary Rayuela
Cortázar doesn’t just write a novel; he invents a game. You can read Rayuela the traditional way (Chapters 1–56) or follow his “Table of Instructions” and hop through 155 chapters 🦗. I chose the latter, because why not make life harder? The result was a kaleidoscope of moments that felt like trying to assemble a jigsaw puzzle while blindfolded. But here’s the thing: even when you’re lost, Cortázar’s prose is so hypnotic, so full of duende (soul), that you don’t even care.

I felt the flipping of pages lent a physical structure to the route the book was taking, turning the act of reading into a personal search with the very real possibility of getting completely lost. And isn’t that the point? Life, after all, is a bit of a lío (mess).

Existentialism: The Art of Overthinking (and Overdrinking)
Oliveira is the kind of guy who could turn a simple café con leche into a three-hour monologue about the futility of existence. He’s hilarious and exhausting, like that one friend who always ruins the party by asking, “But what does it all mean?” Yet, there’s something deeply relatable about his struggle to find meaning in a world that feels increasingly absurd.

Love and La Maga: A Romance for the Ages (or at Least for a Few Chapters)
La Maga is the heart of the novel, a woman who embodies everything Oliveira admires but can never quite grasp. Their relationship is tender, frustrating, and ultimately tragic. Cortázar captures the beauty and chaos of love with a rawness that’s heartbreaking.

And let’s not forget Talita, Oliveira’s almost-love in Buenos Aires, who becomes a bridge between him and his best friend, Traveler. In one of the novel’s most absurdly brilliant scenes, Oliveira and Traveler build a rickety bridge between their apartments to pass a mate and some nails, risking life and limb for what could have been a simple trip downstairs. It’s a metaphor for communication itself: clumsy, precarious, and utterly human.

Cultural Fusion: Paris, Buenos Aires, and Beyond
The novel is a melting pot of cultures, languages, and ideas. From the porteño slang of Buenos Aires to the bohemian cafés of Paris, Cortázar creates a world that feels both familiar and foreign. As someone learning Spanish, I appreciated the cultural nuances—though I’ll admit, some of the lunfardo (Argentine slang) went over my head. And let’s not forget the French, which Cortázar sprinkles in like herbes de Provence on a baguette. C’est la vie, mon ami.

Personal Reflection:

Let’s be honest: I got lost. Not just a little lost, but completely lost. There were moments when I wondered if I’d accidentally skipped a chapter or if Cortázar was just messing with me (probably both). Yet, despite the confusion, I wanted to finish the story. To know what happens. There’s something hypnotic about Cortázar’s prose, a rhythm that pulls you in even when you have no idea what’s going on.

It’s like listening to a bandoneón—you might not understand every note, but you can’t help but sway to the music.

My aim is my Spanish level to be good enough, I can read it in the original and I’ll read it front to back, and see how that changes the experience.

Conclusions

Rayuela is not for the faint of heart. Its experimental structure and philosophical musings can sometimes feel pretentious. If you’re looking for a straightforward narrative, this isn’t it. But if you’re willing to embrace the chaos, beneath it all lies a profound exploration of what it means to connect—with others, with art, and with ourselves.

It’s a love story, a philosophical treatise, and a literary experiment all rolled into one. It’s also, at times, completely maddening. And I say again, isn’t that the point? Life, after all, is a bit of a mess. Cortázar captures that beautifully. Whether you read it front to back or hopscotch through the chapters, this is a novel that will stay with you long after you’ve turned the last page. Or, in my case, the 155th page, then the 56th, then the 23rd… Dios mío!