One Hundred Years of Solitude (Harper Perennial Modern Classics)

Nietzsche spoke of eternal recurrence; Gabriel García Márquez shows us the eternal present.Magical realism has been defined as a literary genre in which extraordinary events are treated as mundane, while ordinary ones are imbued with the supernatural. "One Hundred Years of Solitude" may not be the first in this genre (I’d suggest Joyce’s "Ulysses"), but it was the first to popularize it and add “magical realism” to the vernacular. While synonymous with Latin American literature, there’s plenty from that part of the world that isn’t magical realism at all, while Salman Rushdie, an Iranian, definitely falls within it.García Márquez employs several tropes that emphasize the circularity and repetition of events in Macondo. From the famous first line, he introduces a person or event in the present or the future, then immediately goes back and relates the past events that brought them to that point. This is his preferred method for introducing new characters or situations. As William Faulkner said, “The past is never dead. It’s not even past.” The repetition of characters’ names across the generations is another example, and readers will find themselves thumbing back to the family tree page repeatedly to make sure they’re following which Arcadio or Aureliano is being referred to.The novel’s scope also widens to take its place in García Márquez’ larger œuvre, at one point bringing in the Eréndira character from his short story "The Incredible and Sad Tale of Innocent Eréndira and Her Heartless Grandmother." He even includes characters from other novelists, mentioning Rocamadour from Julio Cortázar’s "Hopscotch," an appropriate addition given how the novel moves back and forth in time as it progresses relentlessly forward. The energy of the fictional town of Macondo’s beginning, engendered in a murder and a journey across a swamp in search of the sea (although Macondo’s ultimate origin could be said to have arisen out of Sir Francis Drake’s 1586 attack on Riohacha), contrasts with its end in a windstorm after its inhabitants have forgotten the existence of the town’s founders, the Buendía family. This is presaged by an affliction of amnesia at the novel’s beginning, itself preceded by a world “so recent that many things lacked names, and in order to indicate them it was necessary to point.” This is just a sampling; a dissertation could be written (and I’m sure some have) of each example of temporal dislocation.One Hundred Years of Solitude was my introduction to Latin American literature in college, and led me on a quest to read everything I could find by García Márquez, Jorge Luis Borges, Mario Vargas Llosa, Carlos Fuentes, Julio Cortázar, and Jorge Amado, among others. Described as “the first piece of literature since the Book of Genesis that should be required reading for the entire human race,” One Hundred Years of Solitude has finally been filmed as a Netflix mini-series. I can only hope that this exposure will lead others to discover what is already a timeless classic.

Love ! Hauntingly beautiful! A must read!

I first read "One Hundred Years of Solitude" not long after it was first published in English, almost 40 years ago. It was a wonderful, and magically, if you will, introduction to Latin American literature. Subsequently, I've read several other works by Marquez, notably, Love in the Time of Cholera (Vintage International) some 20 years later, but none have quite cast the spell of my first "love," this one, so I figured a re-read was in order. The "magic" of magic realism has lost none of its charm.The story involves six generations of one family, established by Jose Arcadio Buendia and Ursula Iguaran, who also helped found the town of Macondo, in the lowlands of Columbia, though the country is never specifically identified. The in-breeding (and also out-breeding) in this one family is simply astonishing. I can't remember if the original edition had a genealogical chart at the beginning, but this one does, and it provides an invaluable reference in keeping the philanderings, and the subsequent progeny, straight, particularly since numerous individuals over the generations have the same name. What is the "Scarlet Letter" that is prophesized for a family with such a high degree of consanguinity? That a child will be born with a pig's tail.Marquez dazzles the reader with the intensity of his writing; it's as though he had a 1600 page book in him, but is given a 400 page limit. It is the furious sketching of a street artist, making every line count in a portrait. The strengths, follies, and interactions of the men and women are depicted in memorable events. And there seems to be a realistic balance and development of his characters. Marquez is also the master of segue, from one event to the other, and from one generation to another, with his characters moving from swaddling clothes, on to adulthood, and then into their decrepitude.From my first reading, I had remembered Rebeca, with her "shameful" addiction to eating dirt. First time around, I chalked it up to Marquez's "magical realism," since no one really ate dirt. Several years later I learned that it is a wide-spread medical problem, often driven by a mineral deficiency that the person is trying to remediate. The author also describes the disease of insomnia which was spread to Macondo, with an accompanying plague of forgetfulness. Magical realism, or the forgetfulness of the "now" generation that has lost the stories of the past?Establishing the time period comes slowly. Marquez mentions Sir Frances Drake, but he is in the unspecified past. It is only when a family portrait is taken, as a daguerreotype photo, that one realizes it must be in the 1840's-50's, with six generations to go. There are a multitude of themes: since this IS Latin America, Marquez has the obligatory gringos and their banana plantations (alas, all too true); there is endless, senseless war, with the two sides eventually unable to state what they are fighting for, except, of course, the war itself; there are the women who drive men crazy with their beauty, and there is the spitefulness of women to each other (alas, again, the "sisterhood'); there is economic development, and a worker's revolt, and the use of other members of the same class, but in uniform, who repress it; there is the role of the Catholic Church in Latin America, and even a family member who would be Pope and there are unflinching portrayals of the aging process, alas, to the third power.On the re-read, I noticed a portion of the novel that was much further developed in Innocent Erendira: and Other Stories (Perennial Classics). Also nestled in the book was an important reference: "Taken among them were Jose Arcadio Segundo and Lorenzo Gavilan, a colonel in the Mexican revolution, exiled in Macondo, who said that he had been witness to the heroism of his comrade Artemio Cruz." Checking Marquez bio, he has been a long-time friend of Carlos Fuentes, slipped this reference in 100 years, which is an omen for me, since I was considering re-reading Fuentes marvelous The Death of Artemio Cruz: A Novel (FSG Classics) And in terms of omens, redux even, do future travel plans include meeting another character in the book, the Queen of Madagascar?I recently had dinner with a woman who had been Ambassador to one of the Latin American countries. Spanish is her native language, and she still reads some of the Latin American writers in Spanish to "keep her language skills up." As for "100 years," she had read it four times, each time in English. It's a record I am unlikely to repeat, but this novel, which honors the Nobel Prize with its name, could use a third read, if I am granted enough time. It ages well, sans decrepitude, and provided much more meaning the second time around. 6-stars.