Innocent Erendira and Other Stories - Gabriel Garcia Marquez

Other than The Incredible and Sad Tale of Innocent Erendira and Her Heartless Grandmother, which runs 60 pages, this is another collection of shorter works of Marquez', written anywhere from the late 1940s to the early 1970s.

Most of Marquez' stories I've read revolve around characters talking while doing otherwise mundane things. Conversations over dinner, or while working, with the art coming in how he approaches them. Usually it seems as though the characters are on entirely different wavelengths. One of them may be speaking obliquely, unwilling to say openly what they mean. Or one of them may be disconnected from reality, not even noticing what the other is saying.

There are a few stories like that here - The Woman Who Came at Six O'Clock most notably - but more of the works are internal. Entire stories that are just monologues of someone's thoughts. At least three of them are involve someone in bed having an existential crisis. Having those three appear consecutively in the book was a mistake, because it gets old by the third one. What, another character just lying in bed freaking out about stuff?

There's also a bit more magic, or blurring the lines of reality, in these stories than I've seen in most of his works. Innocent Erendira involves a young man whose father somehow grows oranges with diamonds inside. Eva is Inside Her Cat involves a woman either disassociating herself from her body entirely, or it collapses under the weight of her troubles until it vanishes beyond a singularity. Another has a man who died as a child but still lives, waiting for his next death. A crappy town on the edge of a lousy sea, where rabbits and entire civilizations exist beneath the waves, somehow.

These characters, in a state of half-sleep in the middle of the night, or only half-awake in the morning, full of worries and doubts. In that state, the troubles become more solid, something they can see or hear or smell (several of the stories describe characters smelling something while in bed as well). A man contemplates his stressful schedule as he shaves and notices his reflection doesn't quite seem to match. That it eventually has a cut he doesn't. Dreamlike, is the best descriptor.

'"Last night I dreamt I was expecting a letter," the grandmother said.

Erendira, who never spoke except when it was unavoidable, asked:

"What day was it in the dream?"

"Thursday."

"Then it was a letter with bad news," Erendira said, "but it will never arrive."'

No One Writes to the Colonel and Other Stories - Gabriel Garcia Marquez

OK, Autumn of the Patriarch was a dud, but that's fine. Nobody bats 1.000. No One Writes to the Colonel is a novella - about sixty pages - about a colonel who keeps waiting. He keeps expecting his pension will show up in the next mail delivery. It doesn't. He has a fighting rooster that belonged to his son that he keeps, even when he and his wife can barely feed themselves, because if they just wait a few more months, until the fights, it will be worth so much. Assuming it wins. But it will win, it has to.

The colonel is a believer, maybe he has to be, to go war for what he believed in. They promised they would pay a pension, so he believes they will. The rooster is something that meant a lot to his son, so he'll keep it ready, even if it means selling everything else in the house that can be sold. 

His wife doesn't seem to have the luxury. She's acutely aware they can't live on promises, and it's a question of whether she can sway him or not. And there's a complication of the interest the entire town has taken in the rooster. I've never lived in a place like that, where everyone knows everyone else's business, and I'm pretty glad about that.

The short stories are a mixed bag. There Are No Thieves in this Town was interesting, for all the things Marquez hints at between Damaso and Ana. The push-and-pull of their relationship, of Damaso's conflicting urges. Marquez is good at that, giving enough to let you make out the picture without belaboring the point. Sometimes. 

Big Mama's Funeral is one where he belabors it far too much, going on and on about all the politicians wanting to attend, and even the Pope has to make his way there and on and on. At one point he's describing all the different "queens" in the procession, the banana girl, the soybean queen, the kidney-bean queen, before say others are omitted 'so as to not make this account interminable.' too late for that. The point seems to be for all this pomp, this dog-and-pony show about how great and beloved Big Mama was, once she's in the ground, all the people that were under her boot for decades are just ecstatic, and she's a footnote. Which is a decent enough point, but not terribly interesting to read.

Like I said, nobody bats 1.000, and there's more hits than misses here.

'For nearly sixty years - since the end of the last civil war - the colonel had done nothing else but wait. October was one of the few things which arrived.'

The Autumn of the Patriarch - Gabriel Garcia Marquez

Everything I've read by Marquez has been enjoyable at the least, fantastic at the best. This is apparently the exception. 

It's about the death of some incredibly old general that ruled over a Latin American nation for decades after being installed by either the British or the Americans. He seems to have been controlled by his fear for at least part of the time. Fear of being assassinated, which is an understandable fear when you are the sort of person who secretly observes the funeral of your double so you can see who celebrates or speaks ill and then have them killed or imprisoned.

I can't say much more about the story itself because I only got 45 pages in before tapping out. The stylistic approach Marquez takes is horrendous. Every chapter (and the first 45 pages are the first chapter) is just one long paragraph, which is made of ridiculously long sentences. I tried reading one to Alex as an example (the quote below a small part of it) and stopped after a page, because the sentence continues for another 2.5 pages beyond that.

It's not quite a stream-of-consciousness, ala Tristram Shandy or Michael Pera's character in Ant-Man. It isn't a thread being constantly derailed by irrelevant details. There is a method to how the information is related. As though the narrator is trying to tell it in a rush before they are executed. Which they may be, the narrator is another general who was a trusted friend to the deceased, but it's exhausting to read. There's no point that lends itself to taking a break to process any of what we've been told because they just keep talking. Even when there's a conversation going on, it's not really a conversation. It's someone relating what the two characters said to the reader in the worst way possible.

'. . .that I can tell you now that I never loved you as you think but that ever since the day of the filibusters when I had the evil misfortune to chance into your domains I've been praying that you would be killed, in a good way even, so that you would pay me back for this life of an orphan you gave me, first by flattening my feet with tamping hands so they would be those of a sleepwalker like yours, then by piercing my nuts with a shoemaker's awl so I would develop a rupture, then by making me drink turpentine so I would forget how to read and write after all the work it took my mother to teach me. . .'

In Evil Hour - Gabriel Garcia Marquez

Set in an unnamed town along a river, where every morning people wake up and may find a lampoon posted on their door, detailing the gossip of the town about themselves or someone else. The story starts with one man going and killing a young singer the lampoons claim is sleeping with his wife, but it isn't really about who's behind it, or why. It's about how people respond to the whole thing.

The country itself has undergone a shift in government, with likewise shifts in what's considered moral, acceptable, or legal. The mayor, who is just as often referred to as the lieutenant, was sent there to instill order by the current regime, and the town is still considered to be in siege, which grants him certain leeway. And that circumstance gradually emerges over the course of the book. Starting as a background detail and becoming more and more prominent with every comment the mayor makes about wanting to do things legally, while lining his own pockets.

The book doesn't have quite the languid sense of pace I get reading Marquez' other works. Possibly because he jumps between characters often, rather than staying focused on just one or two. It gives a feeling of rushing back and forth across town to make sure we don't miss something important. Which lends a certain suspense, since I wasn't sure at all how this story was going to go.

The mayor and the village priest are the two most prominent characters. Each of them is restless in certain ways. Each of them dismisses the lampoons at first, and later each takes steps to address them that are entirely inadequate and useless. The priest is uselessly focused on trying to make the town appear moral, so that the next priest can get a nice church built, but it would be a surface gleam at best. He's concerned about appearances, rather than what people actually are. The mayor drifts a lot, like he's waiting to be pointed in the right direction. Enjoys casually flexing his power while pretending he's not doing that at all.

By the end, the things people were told they could rely on are of course exposed as useless. The government has not changed - how can it when the man who shot up people's homes is mayor? - and the church is doing nothing other than telling people they shouldn't go to certain movies, or that women shouldn't wear short sleeves. What good does any of that do anyone?

'"That's gossip," the priest said. "you have to legitimize your situations and put yourself out of the range of gossiping tongues."

"Me?" she said. "I don't have to put myself out of the range of anything because I do everything in broad daylight. The proof of it is nobody has wasted his time putting any lampoon on my door, and on the other hand, all the decent people on the square have theirs all papered up."'

Chronicle of a Death Foretold - Gabriel Garcia Marquez

The novella is what the title says, an investigation into a murder everyone knew was going to happen. Santiago Nasar is murdered by the two brothers of Angela Vicario, stabbed repeatedly against the front door of his home. This happens because Angela's husband brought her back five hours after their marriage because she isn't a virgin, and Angela points the finger at Santiago. The author, a family friend of Nasar's investigating what happened 23 years after the fact, seems certain Santiago is innocent of the act.

The story isn't about the murder itself, since it is made immediately clear who did it and why. It's about everyone's role in it. The Vicario brothers loudly announce to everyone they meet that they intend to murder Santiago Nasar that morning. Yet most of the people do nothing. Some out of apathy (some else will stop them), or because they don't believe the brothers are serious. It does seem like the brothers are being so vocal because they hope someone will stop them. They can say they tried. Other people who try to intervene are just unlucky. They get the news too late, or they miss their chance, turn the wrong direction.

(There are also a lot of people, at least after the fact, who say it was a justified killing to defend the honor of their sister and their family. I have to figure the desire to absolve the brothers of guilt is a desire to do the same for themselves not doing anything.)

I wouldn't call the book my favorite of Marquez' work, but his stuff is always at least good. I was trying to think of a good way to describe his style, and the word that came to mind was "languid". Where the story follows a particular current through whatever twists and eddys it encounters. There's a relaxed flow to it, with how Marquez is fine pausing to spend a few pages on the house that was to be Bayardo and Angela's home. Not only how it was acquired, but later on, what happened to it after everything fell to pieces. I know the story will get where it's going eventually, and I'm content to let it get me there when it's ready.

'Before stepping onto land, they took off their shoes and went barefoot through the streets up to the hilltop in the burning dust of noon, pulling out strands of hair by the roots and wailing loudly with such high-pitched shrieks they seemed to be shouts of joy. I watched them pass from Magdalena Oliver's balcony, and I remember thinking that distress like theirs could only be put on to hide other, greater shames.'

Love and Other Demons - Gabriel Garcia Marquez

Sierva Maria is bitten on the ankle by a rabid dog on her 12th birthday. Nothing seems to come of it for months, until she begins convulsing on the floor one day. Her parents, who have ignored her for her entire life, become convinced she's possessed and take her to an abbey, where she's locked up. The priest meant to perform an exorcism instead falls in love with her, and ultimately ruins his life, while failing to save hers.

Most of the (white) adults in the book fail to understand Sierva. Her parents ignored her to wallow in their own problems, and she was raised by the slaves on the property in their cultures. So they understand her quite well. Unfortunately for Sierva, they aren't the ones in control of the situation, and the people who are just want her to be quiet and docile and conform to their expectations. When that fails to happen, she's possessed. I know, hard to believe the Catholic Church would react to a woman showing independence or defiance with accusations that she's a servant of Satan. Quite possibly the least surprising development in a story in human history.

I haven't read anything of Marquez' since I finished Love in the Time of Cholera 5 years ago, but I remember his work fondly enough that I was looking forward to the times when he goes into detail on a character's backstory. With a lot of other writers, this annoys me, especially if they do so late in the book when I'm eager to find out how it ends. But Marquez has a knack for making it not feel like an unnecessary diversion. It always seems relevant to what's happening in that it usually explains something important about the character. Even if the backstory he's describing isn't anything fanciful or exciting, he writes in a way that it's still interesting. He can write about someone having lived a boring, timid life, and make it the most fascinating couple of pages. Leave you wondering how this person could have lived such a dull life.

He's excellent at giving you a couple of sentences of description of a setting or how a person looks, but leaving enough space you can fill it in with your imagination, which I really appreciate. You can tell enough from what he writes to understand the feeling he's going for, and then you can picture what best conveys that for you.

After the immense disappointment I found Gravity's Rainbow, this was a nice bounce back. It's witty when it needs to be, the characters are distinct and memorable, the specifics of how things play out are a surprise but fit with the overall story.

'A frequent request was that she serve as their intermediary with the devil to ask for impossible favors. Sierva Maria would imitate voices from beyond the grave, voices of those who had been decapitated, voices of the spawn of Satan, and many believed her sly deceptions and attested to their truth in the acta. A band of nuns in disguise attacked the cell one evil night, gagged Sierva Maria, and stripped her of the sacred necklaces. It was an ephemeral victory. As they hurried away, the commander of the raiding party stumbled and fell on the dark stairs and fractured her skull. Her companions did not have a moment's peace until they returned the stolen necklaces to their owner. No one disturbed the nights in her cell again.'

Gabriel Garcia Marquez

Gabriel Garcia Marquez died last week. I only read about it last night. It hadn't occurred to me he might even be close to passing, though I'm sure on some level I recognized he wasn't a young man (he was 86).

I obviously didn't know Marquez personally; I only know him through his work, and I only discovered that in the last few years, when I happened across a copy of One Hundred Years of Solitude in the library here in the boonies. After that it was The General in His Labyrinth, and last year Love in the Time of Cholera.

I'm probably more focused on plot when I read than I should be. If the story is interesting to me, then I want to see how it ends, and digressions from that can irritate. Marquez, though, had this ability to constantly introduce new characters, even taking a page or two to detail their lives up to then, and keep me enthralled. He was still doing that 400 pages into Love in the Time of Cholera, and I was eager to see what he'd cooked up for each one. Maybe it was because he made every character's life seem fascinating in its own way. I think even if he had a described a character living what we'd call an "ordinary" life, he would still have made that character interesting, if only for the novelty of having lived such a life.

Maybe it's because Marquez seemed so adept at capturing those little quirks that make up human nature. The resilience in the face of long odds, the conflict between what a person knows is best, and what they want. That was what I found most  intriguing about his portrayal of Simon Bolivar in The General in His Labyrinth. Bolivar knew that for democracy to flourish in South America, they had to learn to lead themselves. They couldn't keep turning to him, and so it was good they had finally roundly declined to even nominate him for the presidency. Even so, it hurt his pride a little. He had grown used to being the savior, the hero, and he wanted to be asked, just one more time, so he could decline it. He knows the way things worked out is for the best, but it doesn't eliminate that desire to be wanted. I think it was that ability to write characters I enjoyed the most.

Love In The Time Of Cholera - Gabriel Garcia Marquez

It's been a few years since I read any Gabriel Garcia Marquez, but I do recall this one receiving strong recommendations.

The book begins with the final day of one Dr. Juvenal Urbino, who dies falling off a ladder while making a grab for a parrot (In the odd way these things often work, his day began with the death of a dear friend). Later that night, as Fermina Daza, the new widow, tries to face the life ahead of her, Florentino Ariza approaches. He reminds her that he loves as much as he did 51 years, 9 months, and 4 days ago, when she sent him away. Which is exactly what she does here, with a few invectives added for good measure.

From there, Marquez takes us through their lives, starting roughly the day Florentino first saw her. Through their budding courtship, her father's attempts to halt it (which succeeds, though not in the manner he might have expected), and on from there. Fermina meets Dr. Urbino, eventually marries him, and gradually adapts to the challenges married life presents - the in-laws, the concessions to another's desires, the fact she came from a lower social class, which means dealing with a lot of snobbery - while the memory of Ariza gradually fades. Florentino, however, does not move on. Oh, it might appear that he does, as he moves his way up from a telegraph office to eventually, decades later, control of a riverboat company, all while engaging in hundreds of relationships. Some are brief, names and faces barely known. Others last for years, the fire starting whenever the opportunity arises.

Even so, Ariza considers these relations completely separate of his feelings for Fermina Daza. They are physical love, or even "love without love" on some occasions. It might be physical love, spiritual love, or even both, but as far as he's concerned, he's simply biding time, waiting for Dr. Urbino to die, so that he can profess his love to Fermina Daza once again.

Eventually the book catches back up to the present, and at that point, I had no idea how it might go. Any number of possibilities seemed viable, and I wasn't sure which I was hoping for. I'm satisfied with the one Marquez opted for, with one minor exception. There's a supporting character who reacts very strongly to learning of Florentino's love for Fermina, and takes drastic action. It's briefly mentioned, then dismissed as quickly as stating that Florentino put it out of his memory.

I thought maybe that was a point Marquez was making about Florentino, he was so focused on Fermina that he ignored to wreckage of lives he left in the wake of his 600+ affairs.  That or the old saying about life being what happens while you make other plans. Ultimately, though, I think it's about love, and the idea that it comes in many forms, and one of those isn't necessarily better than another. Ariza experienced lots of kinds of love, some platonic, and there's no sense of judgment in the writing about that. There is some sense of it in how he goes about, that he's actively seeking women (Ariza's referred to as "hunting", or "his days of falconry", and the women as "little birds"), but the physical acts, not so much. Fermina is in no way hassled for rejecting Florentino, except by some part of her that pities him, and didn't like causing him pain. Her love for Urbino is something different from what Ariza feels for her, but it's legitimate. There are several of the side characters, women Ariza slept with, who regularly sleep with several men, and the book doesn't judge them for that, either. Oh, there's mention of certain people in the city who disapprove, but that feels perfunctory, an acknowledgement that there are going to be people like that, who feel others' personal business is also their business. Otherwise, the book is open to the idea people are going to love who they love, when they love them, and that's fine (It's perhaps a little too open for me, when Ariza in his 70s, begins sleeping with a teenager he's supposed to acting as guardian for.)

When I discussed The Unpossessed City last week, I talked about how Fasman seemed invested in fleshing out his characters, often to the detriment of plot development. Before that, there was The Long Midnight, where Alan White kept the story moving at such a brisk pace, he had to stop periodically to try and force in some added character backstory. Maruqez demonstrated the gap between himself and both of them. There are numerous digressions from the main plot, usually to describe the life of some character we've just heard of. This is also usually someone Ariza is screwing, but not always.

The skill Marquez has is these are so well written, I never begrudge him the diversion. Normally, I'd get annoyed by such things taking place right up to the end of the book, but Marquez is descriptive without being overly long, so effective at giving us an understanding of the character's importance, that I love reading them. Every character has a distinct history, something unique that they did, said, or experienced that makes them stand out. I actually look forward to them because I know there's going to be something good in there.

I can't recommend Love In The Time of Cholera highly enough.

'He was still too young to know the heart's memory eliminates the bad and magnifies the good, and that thanks to this artifice we manage to endure the burden of the past. But when he stood at the railing of the ship and the saw the white promontory of the colonial district again, the motionless buzzards on the roof, the washing of the poor hung out to dry on the balconies, only then did he understand to what extent he had been an easy victim to the charitable deceptions of nostalgia.'

There Is One Way Out Of The Labyrinth

Gabriel Garcia Marquez' The General in His Labyrinth is a partially historical, partially fictional recounting of Simon Bolivar's (most frequently referred to in the book as either "The General" or The Liberator") last months alive in 1830. The book also details some of his earlier adventures, using the pretext of the General having visited a particular place previously, or meeting with an old ally who shared in that adventure. Marquez did conduct considerable historical research with the aid of several historians and the memoirs of Daniel Florencio O'Leary, Bolivar's aide-de-camp. Even so, Marquez fabricates certain things since, for instance, there are no records of what the General said over his last 14 days.

One of the best things I can say about this book is it makes Bolivar feel like a real person, full of contradictions. I didn't feel there were easy answers to explain his actions. At the start, the General has announced he will not continue in the Presidency. The Admirable Congress goes on to elect Joaquin Mosquera President of Colombia in his place. Bolivar is presented as disappointed that no one voted for him to remain president, even thought he said he no longer wanted to fulfill that role. What to make of it? 

It feels to me that Bolivar grows tired of everything being on him, as this isn't the first time he's tried to surrender power*. However, it's also possible that he recognizes a system which must have him in charge to remain stable, is not viable. There are multiple occasions in the book where an old subordinate of his tells the General they have 2,000 men (or however many) ready to follow him if he wishes to overthrow the new government, and for a while Bolivar keeps sending them away, stating he has no power, or is already dead. Maybe he's tired, or maybe he just wants these men to show some initiative, do what they think is right without first getting his approval.

At the same time, he has an ego, which is understandable considering all his victories, and what he tried to accomplish (trying to unify all the lands in Latin America he helped free from Spanish control into one nation). But now the people in Bogota have turned on him, with hurtful slogans scrawled across walls throughout town. The General takes every insult personally, so maybe he just wanted to know the people still wanted him. Or he perhaps, when he agrees to support Urdaneta's assumption of power, he figures this is important enough that if he's the only one who can hold it together that's what he'll do (even then, he refuses to assume command, preferring to lead troops). Or perhaps he was simply having a bad day. The General's mood shifts with his health. He has days where he feels strong and dances, goes on long walks, talks animatedly about politics, and demonstrates a good appetite. There are days he can barely move, when his skin goes from green to yellow, when he sees a woman in the house they're staying in, but no one can find a trace of her**.

The General in the story has been with many women since the death of his rarely mentioned wife, but apparently loved none enough to stay with them. Most seem to understand this, even Manuela Saenz, who saved him from an assassination, and after his departure, wages a battle in Bogota against those who would besmirch the general's name. She cares for him, and he probably cares for her to some extent, but she recognizes he can't be held down, and he won't permit her to travel with him. That's how it goes. The General is always off on another campaign, fighting to free this land, or quell that civil war. The story of his life seemed to be that as soon as he left to calm things in one half of the continent, the other would fall apart again. Which could fuel both the sense he's indispensable, and the sense that something has to happen so the country can survive without him.

Still, the General, even as his health fades, is a charmer. He might not be able to read things given to him because of his farsightedness, or hear speeches directed to him due to a coughing fit, but he still knows just what to say to make people feel he was paying rapt attention, and that he truly cares. Which is interesting, because some of his friends became enemies because of things he said in speeches he had time to prepare. Declaring one person his greatest general, to the exclusion of another, or declaring one place in the country to be where he loved it most, or felt the most support, drawing the ire of another region. All of which brings more people against him, which leaves him feeling hurt by their invective. It's not so different from today, when people aren't happy with their current elected officials, so they get them ousted, but then they aren't happy with the ones who replace them, and there's an air of "What have you done for me lately?" over the whole thing.

What it comes down to is, the General can't find peace for himself, and he can't find peace for the lands he's fought for. One large country won't seem to work, but will multiple small ones, and thus weaker and more vulnerable to Europe and the United States, be any better? The General doesn't want to stay where he feels despised, but he isn't sure he wants to leave when things are unsettled. There is no answer.

I was surprised how quickly the book read***. Things move along, and the flashbacks to The Liberator's earlier years don't feel gratuitous. They add to the picture of who he is, and it isn't some idealized saint, but a man who fund great dreams, then learned what a struggle it can be to make them happen.

* In 1825, the Congress of Peru refused to accept his renunciation, and he ended up accepting the presidency with unlimited powers. He tried to renounce the Presidency of Colombia in 1927, and the Congress of Bogota also refused to accept.

** That's never returned to, so I wonder about it's meaning. Was it a vision of his long deceased wife, the memory of whom Bolivar buries deeply so he can survive without her? Does she represent death, or some ideal Bolivar was never able to achieve, which the others can't even comprehend?

*** The story is about 265 pages, with a bit about Marquez and who helped him research for the book, and a handy timeline of Bolivar's life. I'd suggest reading the timeline first, then referring to it during the reminiscences to keep things clear.

As The Family Goes, So Too, The Town

There are great works of literature I've read, that for one reason or another were a chore to read. The subject matter or themes didn't interest me, or the writing style was not appealing to me*. Gabriel Garcia Marquez' One Hundred Years of Solitude is not one of those books. It took longer for me to read than a book its length normally would, but I attribute that to the density of the story. It pays to stop more frequently than I normally would, to keep everything that's happened straight in my mind.

The extremely simple plot description: This is story of the village of Macondo, stretching from its establishment until its destruction, with a focus on the Buendia family, who were critical in its founding, and present throughout its existence. That doesn't even being to describe the book, but I don't want this to turn into a plot summary, which wouldn't do the book justice.

One of the keys of the book is the sense of time repeating itself. The Buendias tend to reuse names for their children, and those with the same names tend to share the same characteristics. For example, the patriarch is Jose Arcadio Buendia, whose eldest son is Jose Arcadio. His son is Arcadio, and one of his sons is Jose Arcadio Segundo. Jose Arcadio Segundo's twin brother, Aureliano Segundo, has a son named Jose Arcadio**. Aureliano is similarly a oft-used name. The Aurelianos tend to be distant, cold, and frequently obsess over a single thing. The Arcadios are more gregarious, more loud, more prone to flights of fancy. The exceptions are the Segundo twins, but there's a catch. The matriarch, Ursula Iguarian, knows the boys used to switch the bracelets bearing their names and pretend to be each other, and she suspects at some point the boys forgot which of them was which. So Aureliano Segundo, who would shift his focus repeatedly from being a good husband, to devoted father, to a good provider, to a wild party boy, was actually Jose Arcadio Segundo, and Jose Arcadio Segundo, withdrawn, rarely seen, obsessed with the writings of the dead gypsy Melquiades, was really Aureliano Segundo. ultimately, the two die simultaneously, and are confused by the pallbearers, who bury them in each other's graves. If Ursula was correct, this would simply be a correction of the mistake they'd been making for decades.

The repetition of names and traits goes along with the idea that with time repeating itself, the people keep making the same mistakes. The villagers are repeatedly involved in struggles lead by a member of the Buendia family, who is often not involved for the best of reasons. Many of those people die, though the Buendia usually survives long enough to see their struggle rendered meaningless. A generation of two later, it will happen again. The details may be changed, but the results are the same. Given this, it isn't surprising that people in the story tend to have spotty memories, and not only during the insomnia plague which lead to mass amnesia. If a character shuts themselves off from the others, they are usually forgotten until someone stumbles across them, or hears their name mentioned by someone else who stumbled across them. This may seem strange, but this is a town where people share their name with several ancestors, ancestors who may still be roaming the town as ghosts, clearly visible. Confronted so often with people who ought to be left in the past, it makes more sense how one can forget about the actual living.

I mentioned the ghosts, so I have to try and discuss "magical realism". That's the term I see applied to the story repeatedly online. Basically, things which seem like magic are presented as perfectly normal parts of life, no more unusual than things we take for granted. Early in the story, gypsy troops will pass through Macondo, bringing various items they've learned of, or harnessed. In this, flying carpets are presented as no more or less strange than magnets, or a magnifying glass. This was one of the things I had the most trouble growing comfortable with. I kept thinking the magic was meant to refer to something else, that the carpets weren't really flying. What helped was while reading the "About the Author" section Marquez describes how as a child he grew up with his grandparents, and in their stories, all events were presented the same, no matter how fantastic or mundane they might sound. It seems Marquez adopted this technique for the story. This means the time Jose Arcadio Buendia took his sons to see ice is presented as equally extraordinary to Melquiades returning from the dead. This helps to make all the disparate events feel as though they do take place in the same world. So as a reader, I came to accept not only are there ghosts, but those ghosts age like the living, that people can turn into snakes and back again, or vanish a puff of smoke. Having accepted all that, the idea that people can be so easily forgotten, or that time would seem to be repeating itself comes easily.

The story's written from a third-person perspective, but it moves residence from one character's mind to the other. This means we have an opportunity to gain every character's perspective, to learn their motivations, fears, passions. The end result is that even with characters I don't particularly like (Fernanda, for example), I understand where they're coming from and at least sympathize with them. It also serves to demonstrate how certain drives or follies keep determining the course of events, that looping of time again.

I've barely scratched the surface of everything that's in this book. It's an engaging read, and I think you'd find it goes quickly. It's not a story for slapstick, where the misfortunes of the family are played for jokes, as there's more a sense of grim inevitability to their destruction, but there are light moments. Aureliano Segundo has an amusing response to his wife's daylong diatribe about her treatment by his family, and Ursula's coping with Jose Arcadio Buendia is amusing as well. The strongest recommendation I can make is that now I want to go to the library and read the other of Marquez' works they had there, The General In His Labyrinth.

* Victorian literature, which from my experience is extremely wordy, is an example of a style I didn't enjoy. Too much dithering about, rather than getting to the point. The dangers of authors being paid per page or word.

** This may all sound confusing, but there are two mitigating factors. One, Marquez always refers to them the way I've written the names above. "Jose Arcadio" always refers to the son of Jose Arcadio Buendia, until the second Jose Arcadio, who isn't born until long after the first Jose Arcadio is dead. Also, right next to the first page of the story is a family tree laying out all the Buendias and how they're related, again, using the names they are referred to in the story.