This book is full of classic English metaphors. While a rich source of allusions, mystical language, spiritual connections, and, of course, the English professor’s heyday of metaphors, this book proves confusing and a not-enjoyable-at-all-read.
While One Hundred Years of Solitude is destined for a spot in the Canon, readers beware the nature of this novel. Spanning one family’s generations over 100 years, this book begins to break down when you realize that most of the family members are named the same name, and generation gaps do not apply to help you figure out who is doing what when the characters return as ghosts, apparitions, and live for nearly the entire 100 years.
Another turn-off point is the fact that this family’s story does not inspire the reader to connect with their own lives. The setting, time period, and general lack of focus and organization make these people unreal, or part of some alternative reality. I know that some readers enjoy this type of story, but so many times the internal “revelations” of a character-based novel reveal to make the reader repulsed rather than connected to the thinker.
Overall, this novel is terrible, and only read by those who think that because of the heavy requirements of decoding this book is the true pinnacle of English texts. College students beware – this novel is read in nearly every college and university in some class. Do yourself a favor and read the cliff-notes online.
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It is typical of Gabriel García Márquez that it will be many pages before his narrative circles back to the ice, and many chapters before the hero of One Hundred Years of Solitude, Buendía, stands before the firing squad. In between, he recounts such wonders as an entire town struck with insomnia, a woman who ascends to heaven while hanging laundry, and a suicide that defies the laws of physics:
A trickle of blood came out under the door, crossed the living room, went out into the street, continued on in a straight line across the uneven terraces, went down steps and climbed over curbs, passed along the Street of the Turks, turned a corner to the right and another to the left, made a right angle at the Buendía house, went in under the closed door, crossed through the parlor, hugging the walls so as not to stain the rugs, went on to the other living room, made a wide curve to avoid the dining-room table, went along the porch with the begonias, and passed without being seen under Amaranta's chair as she gave an arithmetic lesson to Aureliano José, and went through the pantry and came out in the kitchen, where Úrsula was getting ready to crack thirty-six eggs to make bread.
"Holy Mother of God!" Úrsula shouted.
The story follows 100 years in the life of Macondo, a ...