n  n
نفس عميق بقى ويلا نبدأ.
عندما اختار الأصدقاء الحُب في زمن الكوليرا لتكون القراءة الجماعية للعاشر من الشهر، لم أستوعب الأمر


ثم مررت بمراحل الفقد الخمسة، فقد شغف القراءة، أو فقد الثقة في الحياة اصلا
في البداية أنكرت


ثم غضبت واتشالت واتهبدت



ثم ساومت ولفيت ودورت

ثم تألمت فتعلمت فبكيت


ثم أذعنت وقبلت




القصة كلها تقريبا موجودة على غلاف ظهر الرواية، واحد بيحب واحدة اتجوزت غيره، فصاحبنا العاشق ككل صحابه المغفلين اللي فاكرين ومش ناسين وعلى العهد محافظين، بيفضل يحبها للأبد، الفاجر فاكر نفسه رفعت إسماعيل، ولكن على عكس أبو الرفاع، بطلنا كل يوم بيحب واحدة إلى أن يصل العدد لـ622، وكل ده علشان ينسى واحدة، وبعد 51سنة وتسعة أشعر وأربعة أيام، وعشان «ما الحُب إلا للحبيب الأولِ» بيروح لفيرمينيا اللي زوجها لسة واقع على دماغه وسايب الدنيا وماحدش عارفله طريق جُرة ويقولها: مش هنعيد العُمر من الأول بقى ولا إيه يا قمر؟ ده أنا قلبي إليك ميال ومافيش غيرك ع البال. وكلام ما يدخلش ذمة مراهق بجنيه وربع، وبس كده، هي دي القصة، الباقي كله سرد.
وعلى ما يبدو ماركيز بيكتب بمبدأ:





بينما لسان حالي يقول:



ودي كانت اللحظة اللي اكتشفت فيها آخر حاجة ممكن أتصورها، إذ فجأة أدركت إنه


وبدأت الرواية تسيطر عليا ودار حوار وهمي بيني وبين ماركيز







بمعجزة ما لم أدركها بعد، أنهيت الرواية و


أما بالنسبة لكوني لسة مبهدل الراجل فده طيش شباب عادي.

ودول شوية ميمز لمن قرأ الرواية، مافيهاش حرق عشان ماركيز غير قابل للحرق أصلا، الأمر ومافيه أن من قرأ سيفهم أكثر.




ومن موقعي هذا أحب أقول للكراش: لو بتحبي العُمق والرومانسية فأنا قرأت الحُب في زمن الكوليرا ولم أعتبر ماركيز مملا، ولو بتحبي التفاهة فالريڤيو زي ما انتي شايفة كده كله ميمز، ولو بتحبي الاتنين فـأظن واضح جدا إني
i can do both.
n  n

Gabriel Garcia Marquez was on my radar for a long time. Last year I started reading his One Hundred Years of Solitude where I miserably failed. I couldn't go beyond the first couple of chapters and was forced to give up. I thought it might be the mood I was then in, which wasn't ready to grasp Marquez's style. But now, after reading Love in the Time of Cholera and having mixed feelings, I'm quite certain that Gabriel Garcia Marquez is not for me. He is a good writer, no doubt. But unfortunately, his topics of interest don't interest me. And his masculine and my feminine viewpoints are so incompatible that reading the story was a burden than a pleasure.

I was attracted to the story by the premise of a man patiently waiting nearly 51 years to be with the woman he loved who had given him up to marry someone else. A constant heart as such sounded too beautiful not to get to know. Unfortunately, Florentino Ariza disappointed me completely. The love I expected from him was nothing but an obsession, an egoistic need to satisfy his own self-importance because his youthful sweetheart, Fermina Daza, married a wealthy, well-born man. His one great love was nothing but an obsession, the constancy which was limited only to his heart while he enjoyed bodily pleasures through 622 affairs! What was more sickening is one of the affairs he had was with an underage girl of whom he was the guardian! So you can imagine how revolting my feminine heart felt at these revelations.

Apart from this "great love", however, a subplot reveals the story of Fermina Daza with his Doctor husband. Through their story, Garcia addresses the common marital issues such as differences in opinion and ways of living, coming from different backgrounds and gender. Also, Garcia expounds on the theme of time, old age, and death in quite a philosophical manner which gives food for thought. The fictitious port city in Colombia in which the story was set was felt also like a character, changes of which over the years 1880 -1930, added some interest to the story.

However, the book didn't generate positive vibes for me. I didn't form any connection with any of the characters. The story irritated me for most of the part and the rest bored me. It's just sad, but after all this, I don't want to attempt reading Garcia again.

More of my reviews can be found at http://piyangiejay.com/

GGM's writing is as good as ever. It's just that I really do not like the subject. This is not about love but about a crazy obsession and I do not feel myself capable of reading about that right now. I might come back to it but I seriously doubt that.

مرة بيسألوا أبو ماركيز بيقولوا له :انت عمرك ما فكرت تكتب رواية ؟ فرد عليهم وقال:الفكرة الوحيدة اللي امتلكها علشان اكتب عنها رواية كانت قصة حبي لزوجتي،لكن غابو سبقني وكتب الرواية دي،يعني أمام قصة غرام أسطورية في المطلق لكن ماتزال بذرتها حقيقية 100%،فهي قصة حب والد ماركيز ووالدته.

أبو تمام كان بيقول : نقّل فؤادك حيث شئت من الهوى ... ما الحب إلا للحبيب الأول.

عمل تقليدي جدًا , بسيط جدا , بديع جدًا.
العمل عن قصة حب ولكن ليست كأي قصة , فهي قصة اليائس فى حبه الآمل منه في نفس الوقت .

قصة من عاش حياته كلها لملذاته ولشهوته ولكنه مازا�� يربط قلبه بحبل دقيق تركه واثقًا في العودة إلى الحب الأولِ.

تناول مذهل للعواطف الإنسانية مع عمق نفسي رائع يضعك مكان شخصياته , بل وكأنه يحكي عن مواقف تعرضت أنت لها من فرط دقته وروعة وصفه.

قصة الحب التقليدية التي استمرت عقود تحت النار إلى أن نُجت ومنحت الحياة لتؤجج مشاعر أطرافها , قدمها لك الكاتب متكاملة لم يغفل تفصيلة واحدة منها.

اللحظة اللي (فيرمينا داثا ) نظرت فيها إلى فلورينتينو وقالت له :
لا , أرجوك ,انس كل شئ
هي لحظة الرفض الأكثر كلاسيكية ومتعة قرأتها في حياتي . لحظة رفض الخيال والحلم المثالي عندما يصطدم بواقع دونه .
عمل رومانسي عظيم

Un libro sobre amor, vejez y tradiciones.

En realidad 4,6

En Colombia, Gabriel García Márquez es sinónimo de genialidad, y no solo por ganar un Premio Nobel, sino porque gracias a figuras públicas como Gabo, el mundo ha dejado poco a poco de catalogar exclusivamente a nuestro país como un sitio de narcotraficantes, prostitución, delincuencia y guerrilla. No hay que engañar a nadie, todos estos problemas siguen ocurriendo, pero Colombia no es solo eso: Colombia también es talento, genialidad, recursividad, pragmatismo, alegría, etc. Es por ello, que no suelo leer libros o ver películas que revelan la «realidad del país» porque en mi opinión esos contenidos no sirven sino para recalcar la imagen negativa que el mundo tiene de nosotros; contenidos, que nos siguen presentando como drogadictos, delincuentes, sicarios, y a las mujeres como prostitutas: No todos somos así, no hay que generalizar. Por lo tanto, como colombiano, me siento muy orgulloso de aquellos compatriotas —como artistas, deportistas y cantantes— que triunfan en el exterior y muestran la verdadera esencia de la que estamos hechos los colombianos. Es un privilegio que Gabo represente a Colombia, y es un honor poder disfrutar de sus historias. Para ayudar a entender la importancia que Gabo tiene en Colombia, mencionaré que incluso su imagen aparece en el billete de cincuenta mil pesos, billete que es el segundo con más valor en nuestro país.

Recuerdo que mi primer acercamiento a Gabo fue a los nueve años cuando cursaba quinto de primaria. En aquel 2002, donde Google aún no era tan conocido, tener una computadora era una excentricidad, por lo que llegar a clase de tecnología significaba ser feliz por dos horas porque por lo menos podía tocar y usar este dispositivo tan novedoso y atractivo. Y como estaba aprendiendo a usar el teclado y el mouse, los talleres consistían exclusivamente en transcribir en Wordpad cuentos, fragmentos o noticias de periódicos. ¡Qué feliz me sentía! Fue allí, en alguna de esas ocasiones, que conocí por medio de una columna de un periódico a un tal Gabriel García Márquez. Años más adelante leería dos de sus obras: Crónica de una muerte anunciada y La hojarasca. Aquellas obras me gustaron mucho y me hicieron comprender —desde ese entonces— que la originalidad de Gabo para escribir era impresionante.

El amor en los tiempos del cólera es un libro que me ha hecho reflexionar seriamente sobre muchos temas. Me ha hecho pensar en la vejez y los dolores que sentiré años más adelante en mi cuerpo; en la contaminación que la tecnología y las nuevas profesiones pueden causar al medio ambiente; en lo especial que era para aquellas personas tomarse una foto; en los beneficios que tenemos actualmente el poder informarnos sobre la sexualidad; en las diferentes reglas que manejaban los colegios en ese entonces; en el honor; en la apariencia; etc. Esa época era tan diferente a nuestra vida actual, que leer este libro es un deleite para aquellas personas que les encanta la ficción histórica. Es un libro que inmerge en las costumbres, pensamientos y sentimientos reprimidos que vivieron nuestros antepasados del siglo XIX e inicios del siglo XX. Y lo que hace especial este libro no son los temas que trata, es la forma como Gabo escribe sobre ellos. Por ejemplo, diariamente recibimos decenas de correos, mensajes de Whatsapp, Facebook, etc., y al principio sentimos satisfacción, pero al volverse frecuente encontrar mensajes por doquier, entonces llega un punto en que el exceso de información nos hace catalogar aquellas notificaciones como «una más», o simplemente como spam. En cambio, en aquella época, una carta significaba mucho. Leer los pensamientos o sentimientos de otra persona causaba una verdadera intriga, adrenalina y ansiedad, para el destinatario que estaba a punto de abrir el sobre. Era tan privado, tan bonito y especial, que sin importar la edad que se tuviera, en ese momento las personas se comportaban como adolescentes. Escondían la carta, sentían miedo e incluso pánico por lo que pudieran encontrar, y leían varias veces el contenido buscando descubrir frases e ideas nuevas, que en su frenética primera lectura no lograron observar. En aquella época en que se ocultaban tanto los sentimientos, una carta era la medicina para calmar la necesidad de expresar los verdaderos pensamientos de las personas.

Cuando recién finalicé el libro, mi primera impresión fue pensar que este libro no trataba sobre el amor sino sobre la vejez, pero ahora que he organizado mis ideas, debo expresar que este libro es una genialidad y es completamente recomendado para cualquier persona que quiera aprender sobre el amor; ya que Gabo, usando a sus dos personajes principales (Fermina Daza y Florentino Ariza), nos muestra las diferentes fases del amor que podemos vivir como seres humanos. Con este libro podremos recordar nuestro primer enamoramiento, cálido e inocente, que todos hemos vivido en nuestra infancia o inicio de la adolescencia; comprenderemos el por qué el miedo a la soledad conlleva a que las personas tengan decenas de relaciones sexuales con diferentes personas; observaremos cómo una boda convenida se convertía en un reto de convivencia, fortaleza y resignación para los involucrados, hasta que finalmente resultaban encontrando una razón para «amar» a su pareja; y obviamente, descubriremos que el amor en la vejez no es significado de pasión, sino de compañía. Sinceramente es un recorrido increíble el que nos ofrece el autor.

Leer la parte inicial fue muy difícil y necesité mucha concentración. Esto, porque el autor cambiaba inesperadamente de tema en cualquier momento y fue imposible predecir lo que venía a continuación. Aunque, incluso aquellas páginas, estaban atiborradas de informaciones interesantes sobre los años posteriores de la Independencia de Colombia. Sobre la prosa realmente no tengo queja alguna, el autor juega con las palabras ilimitadamente, parece que imprimiera sobre cada una de ellas magia, y tiene un vocabulario exquisito que cautiva a cualquier lector. Personalmente estoy acostumbrado a realizar pausas solo cuando finalizo un capítulo, pero aquí no es recomendable ni necesario. Cada capítulo tiene casi cien páginas —de hecho, el libro solo tiene seis capítulos— pero podemos pausar en cualquier párrafo sin tener inconvenientes para retomar la lectura más adelante.

En cuanto a los personajes estuvieron muy bien desarrollados, fue sencillo identificarlos y posiblemente estuvieron basados en personas reales que vivieron en aquellos tiempos. Son personajes que aunque crecieron con otras costumbres y son muy diferentes a nosotros en todos los sentidos, en el fondo buscan lo mismo que cualquier persona de cualquier época: Encontrar su destino e intentar sobrevivir. Eso sí, a pesar del gran trabajo del autor, no logré simpatizar con ningún personaje; esto, aunque su inocencia en la etapa de la adolescencia nos exhibe una bonita historia de amor. Mi desagrado hacia ellos fue porque se convirtieron en personajes muy tóxicos, vacíos y urgidos de compañía cuando crecieron. Claramente las personas cambian, pero cuando eres feliz con ciertas personas y notas en ellas luz, afecto y amor, pero luego de un tiempo sientes que han desaparecido esas características, entonces empiezas a percibir un rechazo natural hacia ellos porque sabes que estás ante un desconocido, y no ante el ser por el cual sentiste en el pasado cariño. Aclaro, no me simpatizaron los personajes, pero están muy bien desarrollados.

Otra contradicción que sentí con esta lectura, es que creí que el argumento sería distinto. Por el nombre de la nóvela, imaginaba una historia de amor dramática y dolorosa entre dos enfermos de cólera que sufrían por su condición y sabían que morirían, pero a pesar de su estado intentaban ser felices por todos los medios: Lo sé, esperaba una historia quizás apasionada y muy cursi. Sin embargo, después de finalizar me alegra que el libro no haya tratado sobre lo que suponía, y por cierto, este título, es el mejor que pudo tener esta novela porque el cólera no hace referencia al estado de los protagonistas, hace referencia a la época en donde históricamente se sitúa esta aventura. Hasta el título fue muy bien pensado.

¿Por qué no le doy las cinco estrellas? Muy sencillo, por culpa del final. En pocas palabras, no me gustó.  En mi opinión, el único final adecuado era la muerte de Fermina y Florentino. Eso de abandonarlo todo para permanecer en un viaje errante y sin retorno, me pareció ilógico e incoherente. Si Fermina no quería que nadie la descubriera en su romance con Florentino, ¿no sería hasta más indicado fugarse a una tierra desconocida como dos adolescentes? Obviamente ese viaje eterno tendría que finalizar en algún momento, y en vez de ocultar el romance, lo que causaría sería una mayor propagación de murmuraciones sobre este evento.  Respeto la decisión de Gabo, pero no estoy de acuerdo con el desenlace que nos presentó.

En resumen, un libro denso pero fácil de leer, que me ha gustado muchísimo por la prosa del autor y por la diversidad de temas en que Gabo me ha hecho pensar y reflexionar. Es una obra que permanecerá en mi memoria y que recodaré muy seguramente cada vez que —espero— viva una historia de amor. Libro muy recomendado.

ما از یه داستان عاشقانه همیشه گریه هاشو داریم و فداکاری هاشو، مهربونی ها و غصه هاشو. کمتر شاهد این هستیم که نویسنده ای، عشق رو همون طور که هست، همون قدر واقعی و قابل لمس، به همراه تمام زشتی ها و ناملایماتش به تصویر بکشه

دوست داشتم وصف اون همه احساسات متفاوتی رو که این کتاب به خواننده القا میکرد ^^ . اینکه "مارکز" هیچ تلاشی برای صرفا قابل قبول کردن و دوست داشتنی جلوه دادن شخصیت هاش انجام نمی داد و اونا رو همون طور که واقعا بودن، همون قدر زشت و کریه، همون قدر بدبخت و مصیبت زده و همون قدر رک و راست و انسان وار ترسیم می کرد، بدون اینکه بخواد چیزی رو در مورد اونا و تمام کارهای شایسته و ناشایسته شون موجه جلوه بده

با تمام این اوصاف کل کتاب رو می شد تو 200 صفحه جمع و جور کرد و هیچی رو هم جا ننداخت، اگر فقط "مارکز" عزیز این همه اصرار برای تعریف کردن سرگذشت تک تک شخصیت های مربوط و نامربوط نداشت
:))

When glistening drops of dew swivelled across the leaves,
When hazy films of sun lifted their candid veils;
When morning spring walked the aisle of the autumn road,
I saw a face whose reflection, since years, I have behold.

In envious vanity, she swayed her hair,
In rapturous youth, she erred everywhere;
But stoic her nod was to my pure passion
Which sent me blazing waves of heartburn.

Running behind her, became my moral;
Worshipping her being, was a religion;
In those auburn eyes, my heart would lie still
And yet it would flutter, like about to begin.

A feeling so full, like a maniac I would cling,
It reduced to nothingness, every other thing;
Exquisitely wrapped, as beautiful as one can be
Convinced I was, she was born for me.

Alas! Confession lost breath in a wave of condescension;
But my knees found strength even in that repudiation;
For I never lost my heart as per a plan,
For I never sang a song as a sound man.

Delusional, I wandered into many seductive doors;
Recluse, I made love, with artifice galore.
She glided in the sea of my eyes, like a white swan
Even though she fell into another man’s arm.

Awareness of her otherness came to my ears
Like a winter breeze, cold enough to bear.
So I let it freeze, a corner of my world
And see it melt again in my ardent words;
The words that I blew like clouds in the light,
The words that I hid in the blanket at night,
The words which stood at the threshold of age,
The words that could soon be a magical adage.

In another world, she continued to sew;
Stitching pieces which kept falling due;
She held her resolve, all through though,
Loyalty was her brightest bow.

Seasons dropped, and soared again
Leaving behind many a spring and rain;
Each saying goodbye never without
Her fragrant memory kissing my mouth.

One fine day, I sampled my hands, and pulled the skin off my face;
They succumbed to my pull; the mirror flagged the twilight of my race.
Hastily I knocked at my heart, placing a trembling hand in thrill;
A lovely cooing filled my senses; the bird of love was singing still.

I stepped on that trail again, there was no time to lose;
The ache within was poised to be smeared in love, profuse.
She had, at last, taken the path that had led her to me;
She had, at last, taken the baton to set her heart free.

The ship which carried her, stood wavering near the dock;
As if even that inanimate was drunk under her lock.
Time had robbed her of some shine and gifted her some fatigue too;
In the folds of her sagging skin but, I finally found I was who.

The twinkle from her eyes aimed for my heart;
And joined it with hers while tearing it apart.
Most of the sailors and the marine men stood chuckling at the sight
Of the passionate embrace of two old people, holding on so tight.
But only few eyes could detect a current so resplendent
That bound the two vagabonds into a promise, to be kept.

Only 348 pages, but a very long and taxing read with a lot of gibberish, practically nothing about the cholera epidemic, and one of the worst romance (I use that word lightly) novels I have ever read. Most of the characters are unlikeable with the exception of Dr. Juvenal Urbino who unfortunately dies early in the book and even he had his flaws, but I really don't have the words to express my feelings about Florentino Ariza. This book was just not for me.

1. آقای جادوگر:
اگر قرار باشد داستان "عشق سال های وبا" را برای کسی تعریف کنید، او با داستانی مبتذل و پیش پاافتاده مواجه می شود.
واقعیتش هم همین است...
اما آنچه که از دل این داستان، اثری یگانه بیرون می کشد، چوب جادویی آقای جادوگر است.
مارکز در مسیر روایت سرراست خود، با شخصیت های پیچیده و به یادماندنی و خرده روایت های متنوعی که با گشاده دستی در سرتاسر کتاب پخش شده اند، چنان داستان را در طول روایت، در عرض گسترش می دهد که از "عشق سال های وبا" اثری پرکشش و شاخص ساخته است.

2. مسأله زمان:
در اینجا هم مثل "صد سال تنهایی"، مارکز و شخصیت هایش با مساله زمان درگیر هستند و رودخانه ی ماگدالنا می شود استعاره ای از آن.
در حالی که در "صد سال..." گردونه ی زمان، ماکوندو و ساکنينش را در خود می بلعد، در این جا، فلورنتينو و فرمينا انگار که با رفت و آمد بی وقفه در طول رودخانه، راهی برای فرار از زمان می یابند.

"باز هم با حیرت فراوان پرسید:
تا چه زمانی می توانیم به این آمدن و رفتن ادامه بدهیم؟
فلورنتينو آريزا پاسخ آن پرسش را از پنجاه و سه سال و نه ماه و چهارده روز پیش می دانست.
گفت: تا ابد!..."

3.
مارکز در این کتاب به سراغ رئالیسم جادویی نرفته است(بجز یک مورد)، و این از هوشمندی "گابو"ست که سعی نمی کند عناصری از رئالیسم جادویی را به زور در حلق هر داستان بچپاند، و هرجایی که کارکردی برای این عناصر یافت، از آن ها استفاده می کند.

LET ME EXPLAIN, GUYS.

Okay. I like Marquez. I think his writing is beautiful, his settings are evocative and masterfully portrayed, and yes, his books are pretty romantic, and I always enjoy magical realism (this one could have used more of that last bit, though). The last twenty pages of the book even manged to suck me into the romance of the story, and I found myself finally really invested in this love story instead of being vaguely creeped out (we'll get there). Look, I even found a really nice passage to quote:

"It was as if they had leapt over the arduous calvary of conjugal life and gone straight to the heart of love. They were together in silence like an old married couple wary of life, beyond the pitfalls of passion, beyond the brutal mockery of hope and the phantoms of disillusion: beyond love. For they had lived together long enough to know that love was always love, anytime and anyplace, but it was more solid the closer it came to death."

See? That's fucking beautiful, and even if I didn't like the story itself, I still liked the writing. So call off the dogs, Marquez apologists, and let's get to the ranting portion of the review.

Fair warning to all who proceed past this point: I am preparing to don my Feminist Rage hat and shout about rape culture. Those who plan to leave mean comments calling me an idiot or telling me that I misunderstood the book, remember that you were warned. BEWARE, FOR HERE BE DRAGONS AND ANGRY FEMINISTS.

Here's something I learned about myself while reading this: I have absolutely no patience for books about obsession disguised as love. I hated it in Twilight, I hated it in Wuthering Heights, I hated it in The Phantom of the Opera, and I hated it here. It would be one thing, I decided, if Fermina Daza felt as passionately about Florentino Ariza as he felt about her. But she didn't love him. For her, their romance was a brief fling in her teens, and she stopped loving him when she returned from her trip. She continued not loving him, until he wears her down (after writing her letters constantly despite her explicitly telling him to fuck off out of her life) and she basically shrugs her shoulders and says, fine, might as well.

The lesson men can take from this book is that if a woman says "no" (as Fermina frequently and clearly says to Florentino), she really means, "make me change my mind." NOPE. NOPE NOPE NOPE. THIS PHILOSOPHY IS NOT OKAY AND IT IS WHY RAPE CULTURE EXISTS. NO MEANS FUCKING NO, EVERYBODY. IF A WOMAN TELLS YOU TO LEAVE HER ALONE, YOU LEAVE HER THE FUCK ALONE. IT IS NOT ROMANTIC TO OBSESS ABOUT HER FOR FIFTY YEARS, IT IS CREEPY.

And OF COURSE Florentino still fucks anything that moves while claiming to be in love with Fermina, because he is a man and that's just how it works. Which leads me to my next ranting point: this book romanticizes rape.

(you can still get out, guys - it's only going to get worse from here)

First there was the intensely unsettling way Florentino loses his virginity: while traveling on a ship, a woman drags him into her cabin and forces him to have sex with her. Then Florentino falls in love with her. Because of course he does. I was willing to chalk this scene up to the common misconception that men cannot be sexually assaulted because men are horny dogs who are always up for sex no matter what - fine, whatever, I'll let it go. But then later, a minor female character describes the time she got raped, and I'm going to let you guys read this while I do yoga breaths in the corner and count to ten slowly:

"When she was still very young, a strong, able man whose face she never saw took her by surprise, threw her down on the jetty, ripped her clothes off, and made instantaneous and frenetic love to her. Lying there on the rocks, her body covered with cuts and bruises, she had wanted that man to stay forever so she could die of love in his arms."

...

Once more with feeling: NOPE.

AND THEN, as the creepy pedophilic cherry on top of this rape sundae, Florentino's last affair is with a child. When he is in his sixties. The best part is that he doesn't even use the classic pedophile's defense of "yes, she's young, but she ACTS like a grown woman!" No, Florentino sees that this child is going to be smoking hot when she grows up, and decides that he can't wait that long. Then this passage happens:

"She was still a child in every sense of the word, with braces on her teeth and the scrapes of elementary school on her knees, but he saw right away the kind of woman she was soon going to be, and he cultivated her during a slow year of Saturdays at the circus, Sundays in the park with ice cream, childish late afternoons, and he won her confidence, he won her affection, he led her by the hand, with the gentle astuteness of a kind grandfather, toward his secret slaughterhouse."

The hero of Love in the Time of Cholera, ladies and gentlemen. Let's give him a round of applause.

If anyone wants to join me in the corner, I will be staying here for the rest of the week.

Ditching his trademark magic realism for something more along the lines of psychological realism, Gabriel Garcia Marquez's 1985 novel is by far and away the best book I have read by him.
With gorgeous, lucent writing, full of brilliant majestic whirls, splendour and humour, and a final few lines that finish off the novel almost perfectly, the Colombian simply excels as a writer, and doesn't drive the reader around the bend with a bucket load of long-winded names like those featured in 'One Hundred Years of Solitude'.

Set mostly in an unnamed coastal Caribbean city, and spanning half a century sometime between 1880 and 1930, the novel is simply about love. A love told through all its ages. Garcia Marquez is said to have fashioned his romantic love triangle on the courtship of his parents, though these years correspond more to the lives of his grandparents. Love in the Time of Cholera shows a decidedly modern sensibility, an urban rather than a rural society, and shows it with less mysticism and more social detail than was deployed in the earlier works, that simply adds up to a novel that is easier to relate to. Gone are the ghosts, the voodoo, and the strange happenings, replaced by an arrow crammed full of love, aimed with pinpoint precision at the heart.

One thing is for sure, Garcia Marquez simply loves his characters, but writes about them with a full understanding of their limitations. In his propensity to write passionately, and even beautifully, about the inner life of a character he ultimately dislikes, his insistence on never sentimentalising his protagonists in such a way as to exceed their place in the world, he is a Marxist, but also a catholic in his conception of what is universal and inherent in character, and in his belief in the human soul. These two convictions fight it out through the narrative, and like everything else in Garcia Marquez, they fight strongly, giving the characters' public and interior lives a deeply-textured, rigid, and precise brilliance.

He writes with much passion about the daily bonds and tensile strength of a marriage. And throughout his novel the question of - ‘but is it love?’ hovers and floats over the meaning of a husband and his wife. The three central characters of Florentino Ariza, Fermina Daza, and Dr Juvenal Urbino are all certainly memorable ones, and Garcia Marquez spends as long as it takes to get across his main theme, writing for nearly a hundred pages about extravagant, innocent, high-pitched, poetic, romantic love, as Florentino Ariza falls head over heels for Fermina Daza one day.
Fermina, the lonely, forlorn girl does becomes a woman of the world. She turns into the bourgeois great lady her father wanted her to be, but its Dr. Juvenal Urbino who takes her hand, whilst Florentino Ariza simply waits, with great patience, spanning year on year on year, for her husband to die, and reclaim the one and only true love of his life.

Out of sheer agony, Florentino becomes a womaniser, saving his all his pure love for Fermina.
He manages to find distraction in an endless series of sordid affairs, great and small, with widows, with a woman who sucks a pacifier, and even with a child that is in his custody. Garcia Marquez and his communal voice judge the single-minded pursuit of love harshly, and his judgement extends to a literature which handles the subject superbly well, without the need to get all soppy. Themes of poverty and of riches run strongly, and he tells us a great deal about the internalised longings born of class inequality, and throws in sub plots, both traditional and idiosyncratic, from the most predictable to the sublime, but they only really flutter around the central characters, giving them the greater importance.

The pace of the narrative works beautifully, and only ever gathered speed as Fermina's father takes her on a long journey to try and make her forget Florentino. During her absence Florentino takes to diving on sunken galleons as a way to take his mine off her. It is Florentino’s fate to wait for love, and to make the most out of waiting.

The real magic of the novel for me lies in the fact that Garcia Marquez sets up a predictable plot, gets a little fun out of it, before twisting it around, and letting it fall away softly. It is not so much a story of boy meets girl, boy loses girl, boy gets girl back (in this case the girl is now a much older woman) as Garcia Marquez is always stubbornly committed to the voice of the community: individual happiness is not considered an absolute good. So although, in the end, Florentino may seem victorious in old age, his life of devotion was not lived without cost.

Definitivamente no fue lo mismo para mi leerlo a los 18 años que algunos años después.
¡Que hermoso escribía Don Gabriel García Márquez! Tan profundo, poético, seductor, con una manera maravillosa de perfilar sus personajes, una capacidad asombrosa de meterse en la psicología femenina , con frases muy sabias expresadas en un lenguaje sencillo . Un final perfecto.
Que hermosa novela ❤