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.'
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