One Hundred Years of Solitude
One Hundred Years of Solitude by Gabriel García Márquez
Translated from the Spanish by Gregory Rabassa
I can safely say that I have never read anything like this book before. I thought that I understood the genre of magic realism prior to reading this, but it turns out that wasn’t quite true. Had I the task of explaining the traits of the genre to someone who hadn’t heard of it before, I should rather hand them a copy of this book.
To summarize the story would actually be quite simple. The book tells the of the Buendía family’s history in the town of Macondo. But to summarize the uniqueness and appeal of this book is much harder.
Is it possible to explain something that you can’t put into words? I feel that the only way that I can convey my appreciation for the book is by lifting three images from the book itself that have made a distinct impression on my memory.
1. Before them, surrounded by ferns and palm trees, white and powdery in the silent morning light, was an enormous Spanish galleon. Tilted slightly to the starboard, it had hanging from its intact masts the dirty rags of its sails in the midst of its rigging, which was adorned with orchids. The hull, covered with an armor of petrified barnacles and soft moss, was firmly fastened into a surface of stones. The whole structure seemed to occupy its own space, one of solitude and oblivion, protected from the vices of time and the habits of the birds. Inside, where the expeditionaries explored with careful intent, there was nothing but a thick forest of flowers. (11-12)
2. A short time later, when the carpenter was taking measurements for the coffin, through the window they saw a light rain of tiny yellow flowers falling. They fell on the town all through the night in a silent storm, and they covered the roof and blocked the doors and smothered the animals who slept outdoors. So many flowers fell from the sky that in the morning the streets were carpeted with a compact cushion and they had to clear them away with shovels and rakes so the funeral procession could pass by. (140)
3. The yellow butterflies would invade the house at dusk. (I would expand on this, but I don’t want to give away important plot points!)
In addition to these kinds of images that run throughout the narrative, I feel that another unique aspect of this book is its structure. At one point in the story, the character Ursula “shudder[s] with the evidence that time was not passing, as she had just admitted, but that it was turning in a circle” (335). This statement gives a good idea of the overall narrative style. García Márquz often reveals the outcome of a situation long before the reader is aware of the circumstances or relevance of this disclosure, and it often isn’t until much later that the story circles around to explain these circumstances. In this way, the novel gives the impression of moving linearly through the family history of the Buendía family while simultaneously drifting backwards and forwards through time.
I definitely recommend this one.
