Pfffff thank god for that!
The majority of South American literary-ture that I've read (sans Borges, Marquez and the other obviousers) has been about bohemians dicking about and occasionally having sex, and Hopscotch is no different. It claims to be two books, one which is read left to right until the end of chapter 56, and another which is read in a crazy order all the way up to chapter 155. I read 1 1/2 of those books, and every time I deviated from the normal chapter order, all I found was a page-long quote which was somewhat related to the chapter I'd just read, and not often anything more- seemed to me to be one book with some glorified endnotes!
Also felt locked out of lots of the content too, just because I'm not South American. From Andrés Amorós' introduction exclaiming that Hopscotch is 'even studied in Spain, now!' to the occasional footnote with a layman's biography of Samuel Beckett, I had no doubt that this was targeted at its natural South American audience. And I can imagine that if I was from Argentina, vicariously dicking about in Paris would be quite a seductive prospect :D
Wouldn't recommend this, but 3* -let it be remembered that a book read in a second language is valuable even in spite of its content, so if you ever want to take a chance on a new author, genre etc, do it in another language if you have the possibility :-)
And if you are in the mood for some South American dicking about with a pseudopostmodern flair, you can't go wrong with [a: Bolaño|72039|Roberto Bolaño|https://d202m5krfqbpi5.cloudfront.net/authors/1260522528p2/72039.jpg]! :)