Wow. I loved this

After reading this book, I understood one thing: we don't need magic, because reality is magical.

We only need eyes to see it.

Can you appreciate a book and dislike it at the same time? This book reminded me of Lincoln at the Bardo, although certainly not in content. Both are written by obviously brilliant writers. Both are inventive, creative. Both stretch the conventional boundaries of the novel (something only great writers try, and something I appreciate in any art form). Both are amazing, and yet, I didn't love either book. Sometimes originality works and sometimes it doesn't, at least for some.

I understood what Marquez was saying: war is senseless, events, like names, repeat throughout history, families are complicated, political parties are all guilty of the same things, the past often blends with the present, progress often has unwanted results, capitalism can be corrupt and on and on. These are all important aspects in the history of Colombia during the 100 year period 1820-1920. I also think the author intentionally wanted the characters to be blurry, for after all, weren't they the same characters through the generations? Only the matriarch was a player with depth. I need to feel something for characters, not necessarily compassion or love, just something.

100 Years of Solitude might have been palatable if I had known the history of Colombia during that time period. But even so, it was repetitious, yawn producing. I often groaned as I picked it back up. It was like being in a fevered dream, bizarre events with moments of clarity.

Am I glad I read it? Yes. Did I enjoy parts, especially the humorous parts? Yes. I'm actually fonder of it the farther I get away from the drudgery of reading it. Did I enjoy the experience? No. I am just thankful Marquez didn't write 200 Years of Solitude!

*** 2023 reread -

In all of world literature there is a division: 1) One Hundred Years of Solitude and 2) all other books.

***

Mystical and captivating.

One Hundred Years of Solitude by Nobel laureate Gabriel García Márquez, first published in 1967 in his native Colombia and then first published in English in 1970, is a unique literary experience, overwhelming in its virtuosity and magnificent in scope.

I recall my review of Tolstoy’s War and Peace, trying to describe a book like it and realizing there are no other books like it; it is practically a genre unto itself. That said, One Hundred Years of Solitude is a masterpiece of narrative ability, and is itself unique as a statement, but reminiscent of many other great books: Pasternak’s Doctor Zhivago, Lowry’s Under the Volcano, Buck’s The Good Earth, and Joyce’s Ulysses were the works that I thought of while reading, but no doubt this is a one of a kind.

Using all of the literary devices I have ever learned and making up many more as he went along, García Márquez established a new epoch of descriptive resonance. Magic realism and hyperbole abound in his fantastic history of the mythical town of Macondo separated by mountains and a swamp road from everything else and of the Buendía family, whose lifeblood was the dramatic heart of the village from inception until the fateful end.

García Márquez employs incestuous and repetitive family situations to emphasize his chronicle and a dynamic characterization that is labyrinthine in its complexity. Dark humor walks the ancient halls of the ancestral mansion home along with the ghosts of those who have come before. Incredibly García Márquez ties it all together into a complete and prophetically sound ending that breathes like poetry to the finish.

Finally I must concede that this review is wholly inadequate. This is a book that must be read.

**** 2018 - I had a conversation about this book recently and I was asked "what was the big deal?why was this so special?" It had been a while since I had read but my response was that after turning the last page I was struck dumb, had to walk the earth metaphorically for a few days to gather my thoughts on what I had read - really more than that, what I had experienced. I read alot of books and a book that smacks me like that deserves some reflection.

Another indicator to me, and this is also subjective - is that I have thought about this book frequently since. I read a book and enjoy it, was entertained and escaped for a while into the writer's world, and then I finish and write a review, slap a 3 star on it and go to the next book. There are some books, years later that I have to refresh my memory: who wrote that? what was it about? Not so with 100 years. Like so many other five star ratings, this one has stayed with me and I think about Macondo sometimes and can see the weeds and vines growing up through the hardwood floors.

This is a special book.

“Era como si Dios hubiera puesto a prueba toda capacidad de asombro, y mantuviera a los habitantes de Macondo en un permanente vaivén entre el alborozo y el desencanto, la duda y la revelación, al extremo de que ya nadie podía saber a ciencia cierta dónde estaban los límites de la realidad.”

Esa frase de Gabriel García Márquez, ese gigante literario que nos regaló Colombia, resume perfectamente la perfección que este libro contiene. De eso se trata ese realismo mágico que transforma lo fantástico e inverosímil en algo vulgar y cotidiano. "Cien años de soledad” fue, junto con “El maestro y Margarita” y “Stoner” lo más maravilloso que leí en ese 2016.
Es impresionante y muy difícil de superar el despliegue narrativo perpetrado por Gabo en la novela. Apabullante y frondoso, genialmente desproporcionado, interminablemente descriptivo, con un desfile eterno de imágenes y visualmente tan efectivo que acobarda y deslumbra y que hace que por primera vez me cueste elaborar una reseña acorde a semejante monumento literario.
Por eso y un poco en honor a este genio único puedo simplemente enumerar a través de las casi quinientas páginas que leí y que comienza con la prehistoria fundacional de Macondo, un auténtico universo en sí mismo, gracias a la expedición de José Arcadio Buendía y Ursula Iguarán que termina en los fatídicos tiempos heredados por Aureliano Babilonia, he transitado un viaje centenario y especial, plagado de increíbles personajes, inmersos dentro de una casa maravillosa y mágica, tan única como bendita y condenada, habitada por hombres y mujeres inigualables, atormentados de pasiones desproporcionadas, locuras utópicas, incestos no prohibidos, amores que perduran entre metros y metros de sábanas húmedas de pasión y hastío, más de una treintena de revoluciones perdidas y decenas de pescaditos de oro, mujeres perseguidas por mariposas amarillas, indígenas que escriben pergaminos en sánscrito, delgados ríos de sangre que recorren geométricamente metros y metros de ciudad, sacerdotes que levitan por obra y gracia de Dios, mujeres que de tanta belleza se elevan a los cielos para no volver, un muerto que vuelve para quedarse amarrado al castaño del patio por decisión propia, una ciega que camina su casa a despreocupada displicencia y ojos bien cerrados, gemelos tan parecidos y tan distintos que se someten al voluptuoso y sensual cuerpo de una mujer que no se preocupa en diferenciarlos, pelotones de fusilamientos devenidos en cómplices de guerra, amigos leales que persiguen excentricidades literarias, batallas revolucionarias para defender causas perdidas, sangrientos bailes de carnaval de proporciones pantagruélicas, chicas que se acuestan por hambre, masacres a plena hora del día que transforman la tarde en vagones repletos de muertos, animales fantásticos de un zoo infernal, hormigas que trabajan día a día para devastar una mansión indefensa, otrora empapelada de billetes, pianolas que regalan música a pies inexpertos, suicidios atribulados por amores no correspondidos con desidia innecesaria, señoritas que comen tierra y cal de las paredes, damitas viajeras que ofician de embajadoras macondianas, diecisiete hermanos unidos por la premonitoria y fatídica marca de ceniza de una cruz en la frente, mujeres que se recluyen sólo para morir en una casa abandonada a la destrucción, lluvias interminables que duran cuatro años, ocho meses y dos días, sequías que alcanzan una década exacta de duración, santos enterrados con cientos de monedas de oro y que sólo un elegido podrá desenterrar, despilfarros, parrandas, baños de champán, desenfrenadas orgías sexuales de dos personas, criadas destinadas a parir descendientes que se asemejan entre sí, batallones de José Arcadios y Arcadios José, de Aurelianos, Úrsulas y Amarantas, Rebecas, Remedios y tantos otros, sumergidos en esta parafernalia que los arrastra a un destino único e inevitable, y que como narra Gabo en el párrafo final del libro “todo lo escrito en ellos era irrepetible desde siempre y para siempre porque las estirpes condenadas a cien años de soledad no tenían una segunda oportunidad sobre la tierra."

Probably the most impressive and emotionally memorable book, in the form of a family chronicle, I have ever read. An amazing achievement and the basis of my favourite genre: magic realism. It would be worth learning Spanish just to be able to read it in the original.

إنها لَمدعاة إلى الدهشة... حقاً!!!
ظننت في البداية بأن الموضوع عبارة عن اختلاف في الآراء و الأذواق...
و لكنه الآن بات جلياً واضحاً... إنه حتماً ليس كذلك!!!
***************
المسألة و ما فيها أنني كلما اخترت كتاباً حائزاً على جائزة خرافية لأقرأه... أتفاجأ بأنه لا يرقى حتى لمستوى النشر!!!
ما هذا التناقض الجبّار؟؟!!
في البداية "لا أحد يعرف ما أريده" و الآن "مئة عام من العزلة" ...
كتب حصدت جوائز قيمة... الأخيرة منهما حصلت على أرقى الجوائز الأدبية التي من الممكن أن تُحصد في هذا العالم... جائزة نوبل للآداب!!!
أعزيت ذلك في البداية إلى أن هذه الكتب ليست من النمط الذي أحبّذه... و لكن و كما بات واضحاً لجميع أصدقائي و زملائي... فإن تلكما الكتابان لم يلقيا إقبلاً بينكم... إذا أنا لست الوحيد!!!
و إذاً... فهو قرار بالإجماع!!!
و لكن السؤال المحير هنا... كيف حصدت تلك الكتب تلك الجوائز؟!
و كما قلت في البداية... إنها ليست مسألة ذوق أو رأي... فالاجماع يضحد هذه النظرية... ... ما هو الجواب إذاً؟؟؟!!!
هل هنالك شي ما خفي... استطاع أعضاء لجنات التحكيم أن تجده و تفهمه و تستوعبه... و لم نستطع نحن؟
إنني أقف حائراً أمام هذا التناقض الرهيب... أمام هذه الأُعجوبة.
**************
بالنسبة لــ" مئة عام... إلخ" حتى العنوان طويل!!!
بغض النظر عن الشذوذ النفسي و الجنسي و الأخلاقي المستفز و المُتعمد من الكاتب...
ذلك الكتاب لم يشدني... إنه أمامي هنالك ملقىً على المنضدة... عقلي يطلب مني أن أنهيه... و لكّن هواي يرفض ذلك... و كيف لا يرفضه هواي... و أنا عالق في منتصفها تماماً... أعلم أن أمامي نصف رواية... أي ما يعدل 250 صفحة من الملل و الأسماء المتشابهة المزعجة و الحوادث السخيفة التي لا تشد... ناهيك عن غياب عقدة رئيسية و عنصر تشويق... بل هي عقيدات صغيرة ما تفتأ أن تُعقد حتى تُحل من فورها... أو يحرقها الكاتب مباشرة عند عقدها!!!
شخصيات و شخصيات و شخصيات تدخل الرواية في كل صفحة... لا هدف لها و لا ماضي... سرد وسرد وسرد... و لا حوار... تباً لك يا ماركيز!!!
قد يكون السبب هو الترجمة... و لكنني قرأت كتاب "الأرض الطيبة" و هو رواية على نفس نمط "مئة... إلخ" و قد كان رائعاً... شد انتباهي و جذب يدي و عيناي إليه... ... لا... لا أظن أن للترجمة أيضاً دوراً ما هنا...
على كلٍ أنا لم و لن اصدر حكمي النهائي عن هذا الكتاب... هذا لا يجوز... فأنا لم أقرأها كاملة...
لــــكم أتمنى أن أكملها و أكتب رأي الكامل عنها... و لكن هيهات
لا... بل سأدعها معلّقة في خانة "أقرأه حالياً" متجمدة في منتصفها تماماً... في الصفحة 250 ... و ذلك لتذكرني بهذه الأُعجوبة!!!
أعجوبة "كتاب حائز على جائزة لا يروق للقراء" !!!


عذراً على الإطالة و تقبلّو رأي...
يمكن لو ماركييز قرأ اللي أنا كاتبو رح يقلي: " لقد حُزت نوبل و هذا الذي يهم... مُت بغيظك"
^ــــــــــــــــــ^
هنيئاً لك نوبل... و هنيئاً لنا عقولنا...

Oh. Thank. God.! I thought I was the only one who couldn't finish reading this book because it was SO bizarre! I thought I should try reading it again because it's supposed to be a great novel; however, I believe that with so many good books out there waiting to be read, why should I waste precious time trying (again!) to tackle this one? Such a disappointment, considering that I enjoyed Marquez's Love in the Time of Cholera.

تستحق فعلا جائزة نوبل للادب

بالرغم من تداخل الاشخاص فى الرواية و اعادة الاسماء فتلك السلالة الطويلة .. يسمى فيها الابناء باسمين اما اورليانو او خوسيه
و تتعدد الاجيال و تمر السنين و يتسم ابناء هذه السلالة بالعزلة

و لكن تلك العزلة تختلف
فلا يجد فيها ملل بلا على عكس فيها حياة

اول السلالة كانت نهايته تحت شجرة الكستناء و اخر السلالة انتهى فى الغابة عن طريق النمل

اتعجب من ماركيز كيف استطاع ان ينهى تلك الرواية بتلك النهاية المثالية
فلم اكن اتوقع ابداً النهاية و لم اتوقع ابداً ان تلك الرقائق التى كتبها ملكيادس كانت تاريخ هذه السلالة !

و كيف بدت نهاية السلالة

حيث يبدأ باحداث كتيرة متداخلة و يعيدها فى النهاية مرة اخرى بلا ترتيب و لا نظام
اتعجب ايضاً
أكان ماركيز يحفظ تلك الاحداث و تلك الشخصيات و تأثيرها ام كان يكتبها !!

من الصعب ان تجد كاتب يبدع بكل ذلك الابداع و تلك الافكار الفياضة و الاحداث المثيرة .. فكأنه يعرف النهاية قبل ان يكتب بداية الرواية

نجد فى الرواية من تعاقب الاجيال ومرور السنين و ما تغير ع البلدة حيث اكتشف الجد الاكبر ماكندو و كيف بدأت تلك البلدة تبدو هادئة فى البداية مريحة للبشر

ثم الحرب و الاحرار و المحافظين و تتوالى الاحداث

و شركة الموز التى احالت البلدة بخرابها و تبديد ثرواتها

حتى تلك الامطار و كأنها توضح غضبها من اهل البلدة لما افسدوا الارض و تلك الحفلات الصاخبة و التبذير للثورات من اجل الترف و فقط الترف

حتى تأتى تلك العاصفة فى النهاية لتبيد الارض مع انتهاء اخر افراد السلالة
فكأن الارض تعود كما كانت و تنطفئ بانتهاء هذه السلالة

I must admit that this is the book I have spent the most time reading in, forever - nearly three months - and I have been deeply moved, filled with a sense of heaviness, and unable to put it down. I know that I am not well-read, and writing notes for such a novel may seem a bit presumptuous, but not writing would be a disservice to myself for reading such a good book. Fortunately, notes are just personal notes. Those who like this book will read it and move on, and those who haven't read it and are not interested, please stop here for now.

First of all, I am used to reading a book from the preface. If I remember correctly, this is the second book I have read without a preface. No preface means no guidance from the author, and you have to rely on your own understanding to understand the novel. I felt a little bizarre, but for the sake of the name of the novel, I decided to give it a try.

Many critics say that this is a magnum opus, an epitome of Latin America's century-long history. A magnum opus? That's for sure. An epitome? I don't know much about Latin American history, except that some of the development history can be compared, but more is not so tragic, right? The first 50 pages - I almost read them over and over again, the similar names of the Buendía family made me dizzy. It took me almost a whole day to read the first 50 pages. Many times, I had to go back and forth to see who this person was, and more often than not, I had to go back to the previous pages to figure it out. However, the suffocating plot did not allow me to relax my emotions in the slightest.

Guess what, this is what concluded from my reading: The first member of the family was tied to a tree, and the last was eaten by ants. Yes, that is it.

So how should we view the Buendia family? They had some really smart and talented people. They were brave, hardworking, and good-looking. They were strong and didn't give up easily. They could charm anyone.

But even though they were great, they only lasted a little over 100 years. Then they were gone, like the wind. It's strange, but I don't feel sad about it.

The next question is how should we approach this novel One Hundred Years of Solitude? I didn't feel super excited or sad while reading it. It was like watching water flow. The story jumped around a lot, and it was hard to follow sometimes. But I just kept reading. It was like a nap. I didn't do anything, just read.

But it was weird because I felt happy while reading this sad story. It's like knowing you will get old and die, but still smiling.

This book is about being alone, but it's also about love. Everyone in the book is trying to not be lonely. They do different things, but they all want the same thing.

People often say they feel lonely in big cities. But we are always alone. We are alone when we are born, and we are alone when we die. We are alone with our thoughts and feelings.

But being alone doesn't have to be bad. It can help us understand ourselves better. It can make us stronger. It can help us appreciate the good things in life.

So, we should not fight loneliness. We need to accept it. It's part of life. And maybe, just maybe, it can help us live a better life.

4.2 / 5 stars

So I know that I'm supposed to like this book because it is a classic and by the same author who wrote Love in the Time of Cholera. Unfortunately, I just think it is unbelievably boring with a jagged plot that seems interminable. Sure, the language is interesting and the first line is the stuff of University English courses. Sometimes I think books get tagged with the "classic" label because some academics read them and didn't understand and so they hailed these books as genius. These same academics then make a sport of looking down their noses at readers who don't like these books for the very same reasons. (If this all sounds too specific, yes I had this conversation with a professor of mine).

I know that other people love this book and more power to them, I've tried to read it all the way through three different times and never made it past 250 pages before I get so bored keeping up with all the births, deaths, magical events and mythical legends. I'll put it this way, I don't like this book for the same reason that I never took up smoking. If I have to force myself to like it, what's the point. When I start coughing and hacking on the first cigarette, that is my body telling me this isn't good for me and I should quit right there. When I start nodding off on the second page of One Hundred Years of Solitude that is my mind trying to tell me I should find a better way to pass my time.

"The book picks up not too far after Genesis left off." And this fictitious chronicle of the Buendia household in the etherial town of Macondo somewhere in Latin America does just that. Rightly hailed as a masterpiece of the 20th century, Garcia Marquez's "One Hundred Years of Solitude" will remain on the reading list of every pretentious college kid, every under-employed author, every field-worker in Latin America, and indeed should be "required reading for the entire human race," as one reviewer put it a few decades back.

No review, however laconic or ponderous, can do justice to this true piece of art. Perhaps I can only hint at a few of the striking features of the work that are so novel, so insightful, and which make it such a success in my opinion.

By far and away the most inspiring element of the work is the author's tone. He reportedly self-conscioulsy wrote in the style that his grandmother back in Columbia used to tell him stories. Thus there is a conversational, meandering, but indeed succinct and perfect narrative voice to whisk the reader through the years of Macondo's fantastical history.

Not unrelatedly, the tone has ample visual imagery, with superb attention to detail (and just the right quantity and nature of the detail that surrounds everyday life) to help prod the story along. The dolls of the child-bride treasured by the mother-in-law and heroine Ursula. The paranormal and mundane contrivences of the gypsies that are celebrated in the opening pages and which close the book. The tree to which the mad genius who founded the town and Buendia line is tied and dies in. The pretentious suitcases of the returning emigre. The goldfishes that are the relicts of a disillusioned but celebrated warrior. And the ubiquitous ants. All these objects have their proper place among the daily going abouts of the Buendia family, and serve to weave into the story a sense of BOTH the ordinary and the surreal.

There is ample space in this world of Macondo and the Buendias for a sad commentary on that world South of the Rio Grande. Incessant, pointless civil wars. A rigid political and ecclesiastical hierarchy shoved down the throats of decent folk. The rampant exploitation of the tropics by outsiders, both foreign and domesitc. And perhaps most significantly, the strangely marginal and uncomfortable space occupied by technology in daily life in the Latino world. I am surely not alone in uncovering some facet of the work that speaks so boldly and loudly to me. This rich yet surprisingly elegant novel has, it seems, on every page the germinating seeds of an exciting conversation that speaks directly to an observation and experience everybody, and especially those coming to or from Latin America (or any underdeveloped nation), has had.

And of course there are the brilliant characters, and the sense one gets of how they are affected by, and in turn affect, their setting. The story is aided by a pedigree one keeps referring to in the beginning of the book, as its immense scope (yes, 100 years) and maddening array of characters demand of the reader to conjure up visualizations of what exactly is going on. It is no wonder that this work is celebrated for being almost biblical in scope.

Yes, my review can be condensed into three words: READ THIS BOOK!!!