Daily Archives: August 15, 2016

Rereading ‘One Hundred Years of Solitude’

WARNING: This contains spoilers!

  1. Things have a life of their own… it’s simply a matter of waking up their souls. (2)
  2. I find the above cover for this edition of One Hundred Years of Solitude hysterical. When in the book exactly does this moment occur? At what point does one of the female characters have a blue macaw perched upon their shoulders? There’s a reference to macaws during the epic journey to found Macondo, specifically to their “harsh and musky taste.” I guess that cover as it is looks sufficiently “exotic” or whatever. But I suppose the cover from the childhood edition I was familiar with isn’t much better? At least with that one I can vaguely say what scene it’s reflecting! Bah, I like the one for my Spanish edition (which I can’t find online) the best.
  3. I first read this book in Spanish in senior year of high school, something we all looked forward to very much as it felt like a proper initiation–we were finally one of the “older kids”; we would join the club of having read the book we’d spent our entire lives hearing about.
  4. Our teacher had us write little descriptions under the name of each family member in the family tree. So José Arcadio Buendía became el patriarca, José Arcadio of the second generation became el gitano, Arcadio of the third generation became el dictador, and so forth. It was very helpful.
  5. As a project for Art Class, my sister made a diorama of the book, with cartoon drawings of the characters. I liked her one of Rebeca eating dirt the best. I think Rebeca is my favorite character…
  6. Along with spending an entire semester reading this book, senior year (or was it 11th grade? I’m starting to doubt myself… God, my memory) was also the time when we took a class about Colombian history. COLMUNDO. God, so many timelines we had to memorize, so many treaties. Colombian history is intense and fascinating and I wish I’d learned more about it in my youth in a way that didn’t primarily emphasize memorizing dates :/
  7. In terms of vivid writing techniques, García Márquez does a great job of using smells in this book, most memorably with Pilar Ternera’s smell of smoke under her armpits.
  8. There’s lots of little moments in this book that I love in general, like when José Arcadio is stumbling around, looking for Pilar Ternera’s sleeping figure, and he bumps against a man who turns in his sleep and says, “It was Wednesday.” (27).
  9. Or when Úrsula thinks her love-struck sons have worms, and she feeds them a paste till they poop out some rose-colored parasites.
  10. The word “shit” comes up frequently in this book–most memorably near the end, when Úrsula shouts out, “Shit!” and Amaranta looks up in alarm, thinking it’s a scorpion. “Where’s the bug?” Amaranta asks, and Úrsula points at her heart and says, “Here.” :(
  11. The frequency of the word “shit” reminds me of the final sentence of Nobody writes to the colonel. Or the way intestines and shit are emphasized throughout Crónica de una muerte anunciada. In both those books, the frequent references to shit functions as a way to condemn the community’s lack of accountability, of the basic shittiness and lack of justice in the world. I wonder if it’s doing the same thing here.
  12. Reading this book makes me feel hot and sleepy. Like I was in a stuffy room without a fan. But in a good way? García Márquez must have based this feeling on the afternoons of his childhood–I definitely feel like I’m living in a sleepy slow town while reading this.
  13. “The host dust that made everything old and clogged up, and the drowsiness caused by lunchtime meatballs in the unbearable heat of siesta time.” (352)
  14. Who has the saddest fate in this book? Meme, with her shaved head and silence in the Cracow hospital? Paralyzed Mauricio Babilonia? José Arcadio Segundo, traumatized by his survival of the massacre? Kiddie raper/aspiring Pope José Arcadio of the fifth generation, psychologically destroyed by Amaranta’s molestations? Rebeca in her “A Rose for Emily”-like self-imposed solitude?
  15. The characters seem most unique in their deaths, in contrast to their names and lives…
  16. I think reading it this time round, the fate of José Arcadio Buendía (el patriarca) hit me surprisingly hard. Passages like the one below reminded me of the accounts of kidnapping victims I’ve read, in which it’s the passage of time, the blurriness of the identical days, that becomes the most hellish thing to deal with:
  17. “What day is it today?” Aureliano told him that it was Tuesday. “I was thinking the same thing,” José Arcadio Buendía said, “but suddenly I realized that it’s still Monday, like yesterday. Look at the sky, look at the walls, look at the begonias. Today is Monday too.” Used to his manias, Aureliano paid no attention to him. On the next day, Wednesday, José Arcadio went back to the workshop. “This is a disaster,” he said. “Look at the air, listen to the buzzing of the sun, the same as yesterday and the day before. Today is Monday too.” … On Thursday he appeared in the workshop again with the painful look of plowed ground. “The time machine has broken,” he almost sobbed… He spent six hours examining things, trying to find a difference… in the hope of discovering in them some change that would reveal the passage of time.
  18. Santa Sofía de la Piedad is definitely a character who manages to exist without existing (if that makes sense)–she doesn’t get a POV moment until the end, when she departs. At least the author lets her escape Macondo before its destruction, a small gesture of grace towards her sacrifices. This must have been one of the trickiest things about writing this book (among the MANY, many tricky things)–stating the fates of peripheral characters, so that they wouldn’t just disappear.
  19. Is Fernanda with her close-minded ways the book’s biggest villain? Mr. Brown the gringo who brings the banana plantation?
  20. Is the downfall of Macondo due to the treatment of Úrsula as an irrelevant plaything by the children? The death of Pilar Ternera, the oldest character in the book, whose last name sounds like the Spanish word for “tenderness”? Obviously the banana plantation massacre is a key turning point…
  21. “What did you expect?” he murmured. “Time passes.” “That’s how it goes,” Ursula said, “but not so much.” (341)
  22. I found the final hundred pages of the book deeply intriguing, as they’re the ones I never remember quite as well as the others. I’d forgotten that the characters Gabriel and Mercedes represent the author himself and his wife, for instance–they leave Macondo for Paris, and Gabriel is last seen in the imagination of Aureliano Babilonia, writing by night in a room that smelled of boiled cauliflower (those smells again!!).
  23. And I’d completely forgotten about how much time is spent discussing the bookshop owner from Catalonia, and the time spent there by Aureliano Babilonia and his friends. Is this the one form of redemption offered to Macondo? The fact that a few of its residents were able to escape via literature, via the mad energy of their Savage Detectives-like youthful impulses?
  24. Another big theme of the book that sunk in for me is the pointlessness of violence, and the damaging effects of war, seen most clearly through the Colonel, who basically becomes a walking corpse. His actual death feels so cruel (I’ve never understood why it follows the carnival scene). Such a withered husk of a man.
  25. The way this book depicts old age, illness, and decay is also commendable.
  26. Additionally, the way García Márquez writes sex scenes was very interesting to me, specifically how he depicts the passion without ever specifically saying what’s exactly going on in terms of, you know, what body part is where…
  27. I love how the chapter in which the ascencison of Remedios the Beauty occurs is also the chapter about the arrival of the cinema to Macondo. Which is more miraculous?
  28. I also love the unexpected parallels that I’d never noticed before in previous readings, the little mirroring moments of which there are surely many (how many are deliberate and how many emerged unconsciously during the writing?). Like José Arcadio Bunedía’s discovery of the skeleton in armor and the galleon beached inland, and then his son’s discovery during his gypsy travels of the preserved armour of a Crusader within the belly of a sea dragon. Two reminders of never-ending cycles of war and violence. This is the kind of book that makes you an active reader: you don’t just react to the text, you remember it while you read it.
  29. I want to give the insomnia plague passage to my students in order to provoke a discussion about the connection between words and their meanings. Isn’t it interesting how insomnia ties in to the end, in which everyone forgets the massacre, the wars, the Buendías themselves? Is the insomnia plague a subtle political metaphor for the erasure of memories and stories?
  30. I read an essay which García Márquez wrote early on in his career, about how the documentary impulse that characterized many of the early novels about Colombia’s la violencia period was fundamentally misguided, as they become so gory and obsessed with describing the massacres, the wounds, the desecrated bodies, that they cease to be novels at all. What would García Márquez have made of Part 4 in 2666, with its infamous catalog of corpses?
  31. Speaking of Bolaño, there’s an interesting essay to be written about García Márquez’s use of mirrors and history vs. Bolaño’s…
  32. I could go on to 100, but that would be way too cheesy, so I’ll just stop here :) I’ll save it for the next reread…
Advertisements

Leave a comment

Filed under books, colombia, Gabriel Garcia Marquez, review