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review SPOILER ALERT! 2017-10-16 01:10
Halloween Bingo 2017: Update 7 -- Bingos No. 3 & 4!
The Devil in the Marshalsea - Antonia Hodgson
Cronica de una muerte anunciada - Gabriel Garcia Marquez
Coffin Road - Peter May
Carmilla - Joseph Sheridan Le Fanu
She Walks These Hills - Sharyn McCrumb

Bingo No. 3: First column to the right.

Bingo No. 4: Second row.



The "bingo" squares and books read:

Bingo No. 3:




Bingo No. 4:





I'll have a double bingo in the wings once "Amateur Sleuth" is called, and more immediate bingos for "Classic Horror" and "Country House Mystery."  Complete blackout should tumble in within the next 10 days or so, depending just how the remaining bingo calls come up.  So, I'll be taking my time finishing my last bingo book, Sharyn McCrumb's She Walks These Hills -- there hardly seems to be any reason for a particular rush.


My Square Markers and "Virgin" Bingo Card:

"Virgin" card posted for ease of tracking and comparison.

Black Kitty:
Read but not called

Black Vignette:
Called but not read

Black Kitty in Black Vignette:
Read and Called

Black Kitty Center Square:

                  Read = Called



Current Status of Spreadsheet:

(Note: Physical print editions unless stated otherwise)


Books Read / Finished - Update 7:

Antonia Hodgson: The Devil in the Marshalsea

Well, if this doesn't count for "Darkest London," then I don't know what will.  Our narrator is tossed into the Marshalsea prison for being in debt to the tune of several months' salary -- a bit more than £20.00, which would have been a year's salary or more to the poorer classes, but our Tom is an academic (albeit one without a degree, having been thrown out of Oxford for disorderly behaviour), so he'd have reached higher ... instead of which, however, he has managed to drink and gamble it all away and then get himself robbed off the spoils when trying to win it back by turning a lucky card.  Even though Tom, being perceived as a gentleman, is spared the ultimate humiliation of being locked away on the Common Side of the prison (where conditions are sub-human and jail fever or some other form of death would be his certain fate in a matter of days or weeks; months at best), even the so-called "Master's Side" -- where Tom ends up -- is a cut-throat place ruled by the diabolical whims of the prison governor and his brutal turnkeys, where your life and health is only worth as much as you are able to pay for them, and where you'll find yourself deprived of either quicker than you can count to three if you're stupid enough to trust even a single person.


To top it all off, Tom is given a choice of sharing either a putrid cell with a man dying of the pox for a cell-mate or occupying the bed of a recently-murdered man and sharing a cell with the man perceived as the most dangerous of all the inmates on the "Master's Side," nicknamed "the Devil" by the other prisoners ... only to be then clandestinely tasked in short order to investigate the murder of the former occupant of his bed as a price for being released from prison.


Antonia Hodgson certainly has a way with words and with building the atmosphere of a place, and I do believe she has done her research thoroughly.  I nevertheless didn't take to this book wholeheartedly; in no small part because -- aside from Kitty, a kitchen maid whom Tom meets in the Marshalsea -- I didn't find anybody I could truly empathize with; and that most definitely includes Tom himself. 

I also disliked the ending, which was (a) incredibly rushed and (b) a pronounced case of the solution being jammed up the investigator's nose without him having managed to uncover any significant clue on his own, so he hardly deserves any credit for it, and for a series that is billed as a historical P.I. series beginning with Tom's first "successful" investigation in the Marshalsea, that is simply not a very auspicious beginning.

(spoiler show)

  I've got the next two books of the series on my TBR and I'm going to leave them there for the time being -- I won't rule out that I am going to return to them at a later point after all.  It likely will not be anytime soon, however.



Gabriel García Márquez: Crónica de una muerte anunciada
(Chronicle of a Death Foretold)

I read this book  in Spanish and I am glad I did -- based on the translation of the title alone, I don't know how many other subletlies I might have missed if I had gone for a translated version.  García Márquez's novella deals with an honor killing, and beyond what is implied in the book's English title, the resulting death is one that is both "foretold" (namely, in a dream) and blatantly announced by the would-be murderers, to all and sundry but to the victim himself. -- At the beginning of the book, the murder has already happened, and the story is told circuitously in reverse, leading up to an almost surreal, slow-motion pacing in the minutes before the actual killing, when fate, circumstances, cowardice, lethargy and ill luck conspire to see opportunity after opportunity to save the intended victim being missed.


In just over 100 pages, García Márquez employs pacing, perspective and contrasts (of perspective, plot elements, personalities, potential and actual murder weapons and much, much more) to deconstruct the society where the murder occurs -- a small coastal town in Columbia -- and its prevailing attitudes that excuse and justify the murder, a justice system unable to adequately deal with the crime, and of course the honor code that causes the murder to be committed in the first place.  It's a gut-punching book as far away from Love in the Time of Cholera as it could possibly be and it's been sitting on my shelves unread for far too long -- I'm glad I finally did something about that.



Peter May: Coffin Road

This book is billed as a stand-alone following May's Lewis Trilogy, but that's not actually quite correct, as the policeman from whose perspective part of the story is told (DS George Gunn) actually features in an important role in the Lewis Trilogy as well, and even the actual protagonist of that trilogy (Fin Macleod) and his girlfriend Marsailie are name-checked here.


That said, the book's primary protagonist is a gentleman who at the beginning of the book finds himself washed up on a beach in the Western part of Harris island (the two major northern Outer Hebrides islands, Harris and Lewis, for geographical and all practical purposes form a unity), wearing a life jacket and with not a clue to his own identity, which to recover henceforth obviously becomes his primary obsession.  In a matter of days, he takes a boat trip to the Flannan Isles, a small group of islands some 30 miles west of Lewis (and double the distance, correspondingly from Harris), on the largest of which -- Eilean Mòr -- he

stumbles across a corpse, and as he has clear indications that he must have visited the island before, he begins to suspect that he himself is the dead man's murderer.

(spoiler show)


The book's second protagonist is an Edinburgh teenager at odds with herself and the world ever since her scientist father is believed to have committed suicide two years earlier, and who is trying to find out whether that is actually what happened (and if so, why), or if not, where he is.


I tremendously enjoyed the book; May is a phantastic writer who manages to make the Hebrides come alive in all their magic austerity time and again.  Yet, this book has certain undeniable similarities to the first book of the Lewis Trilogy (The Blackhouse), which I read for last year's Halloween Bingo -- most notably, in that each book features a tiny, ocean-, wind- and rainswept island off the Outer Hebrides where the actual solution to the mystery haunting the hero is to be found, as well as contrasting narrative perspectives (first person present for the main protagonist, third person past tense for all other characters) -- and I also have to admit that loss-of-memory stories aren't my favorite type of mystery; chiefly because I never know with absolute certainty to what extent the described effects of the memory loss are in keeping with what is neurologically and psychologically / psychiatrically realistic.  (Which isn't to say that I distrust Peter May's level of research into the issue; still, there's always the odd little detail that has me thinking, "wow, for purposes of storytelling it's certainly convenient that he should [not] be able to remember this.") 

Also, again at the ending, the recovery of memory is happening a bit too quickly and completely, but what do I know ... if this is what May found to be possible, then so be it.   See what I mean about that little bit of uncertainty of where writerly imagination and storytelling needs come into play, though?

(spoiler show)

This all notwithstanding, however, I'm glad I've taken another, albeit "only" literary trip to the Hebrides -- and not just Harris and Lewis, either; some small parts of the book are also set on the Western Scottish mainland, just south of an area I particularly love, as well as on the Isle of Skye ... from where a couple of the story's characters take the early morning ferry to Harris, which is exactly what I did a few years ago, so this part of the book evoked a whole lot of memories as well.


Eilean Mòr, Flannan Isles: The lighthouse, chapel of St. Flannan and erstwhile rail tracks leading up to the lighthouse from the mooring place -- the novel's key Flannan Isles locations (photos from Wikipedia).


Leaving Uig (Isle of Skye) on the early morning ferry to Harris.


Harris Island: approach at dawn


The bridge connecting Harris and Lewis, from the sea.


On Harris Island


Tabert, Harris -- the ferry back to Uig, Isle of Skye.
(Even the bright yellow railing is mentioned in May's novel ...)

Isle of Skye: Kyle of Lochalsh and Skye Bridge

Isle of Skye: Sligachan Old Bridge

Western Scotland, near Achnasheen:
View towards the Torridon Mountains and Loch Maree



Western Scotland: in the Torridon Mountains, near Kinlochewe




Western Scotland, Applecross Peninsula: view of the Isle of Skye



Western Scotland: Sunset on Loch Torridon
(all photos of Harris, Skye and the Western Scottish mainland mine)



Joseph Sheridan Le  Fanu: Carmilla

I'd never read anything by Sheridan Le Fanu, even though In a Glass Darkly -- the short story collection which includes Carmilla -- has been sitting on my TBR for a minor eternity ... no pun intended.  So when Carmilla was picked as the "Classic Horror" group read, I made a snap decision to jump in and join, though I'm using this read for my card's "Vampire" square.


Carmilla predates Bram Stoker's Dracula by 25 years, and either both authors were equally inspired by the Romanian "Count Drácul" myth and its mountain setting or Stoker took a page and a half out of Sheridan Le Fanu's book.  Certainly, both vampires have similar attributes; not least their ability to shape-shift into a large mammal (a cat in Carmilla's case, a dog in Dracula's), which makes me wonder to what extent vampire and werewolf lore have common roots as well; and in both stories, ultimately a "vampire expert" is consulted and helps bring about the destruction of the vampire, strictly according to the rule book ... a stake through the heart coupled with a beheading.


Yet, Sheridan Le Fanu's story doesn't begin to come close to Stoker's in terms of atmosphere, and while Stoker's Jonathan Harker does acctually seek (and barely manage) to flee once he's clued into who his host is, Carmilla's hosts -- father and daughter alike -- keep wandering about with their eyes wide shut until it's almost too late, and have to be made wise by a friend who made the same mistake at the cost of his young ward's life.  Sheridan Le Fanu may have intended this approach as a concession to his readers' expected attitude ("well, really, there is no such thing as vampires"), but Stoker convincingly shows that if you're writing a book about supernatural monsters, there just comes a point where you have to kiss that attitude goodbye, and the more brutally and straightforward you do it, the more convincing it will ultimately come across.  (Heck, even Anne Rice managed that one better in Interview With the Vampire.)


That all being said, I'll likely go on to read the rest of In a Glass Darkly, too, even though probably in bits and pieces and not all in a single go.



Currently Reading:


First Bingo (Update 3 -- Sept. 23, 2017): Squares and Books Read:




Second Bingo (Update 5 -- Oct. 7, 2017): Squares and Books Read:







Books Read / Listened to - Update 1:

Terry Pratchett: Equal Rites



Wilkie Collins: Mrs. Zant and the Ghost
(Gillian Anderson audio)




Martin Edwards / British Library:
Miraculous Mysteries - Locked-Room Murders and Impossible Crimes



Agatha Christie: Mrs. McGinty's Dead
(Hugh Fraser audio)



Books Read / Listened to - Update 2:

 Donna Andrews: Lord of the Wings



Ruth Rendell:

The Babes in the Wood

& Not in the Flesh



Robert Louis Stevenson: Dr. Jekyll & Mr. Hyde



Cornell Woolrich: The Bride Wore Black

 Raymond Chandler:

Farewell, My Lovely

  The Long Goodbye

The High Window



Books Read / Listened to - Update 3:

Martin Edwards: The Story of Classic Crime in 100 Books



Emily Brontë: Wuthering Heights
(Prunella Scales & Samuel West audio)



Simon Brett: An Amateur Corpse




The Medieval Murderers: House of Shadows




Shirley Jackson: We Have Always Lived in the Castle

(Bernadette Dunne audio)




Murder Most Foul (Anthology)

Edgar Allan Poe: The Dupin Stories -- The Murders in the Rue Morgue / The Mystery of Marie Rogêt / The Purloined Letter

(Kerry Shale audio)

 Agatha Christie: Endless Night
(BBC full cast dramatization)

 Dick Francis: Knockdown (Tim Pigott-Smith audio)


 Ngaio Marsh:

Artists in Crime (Benedict Cumberbatch audio)

Overture to Death (Anton Lesser audio)

Death and the Dancing Footman (Anton Lesser audio)

Surfet of Lampreys (Anton Lesser audio)

Opening Night (aka Night at the Vulcan) (Anton Lesser audio)



Books Read / Listened to - Update 4:

James D. Doss: Grandmother Spider



Terry Pratchett: Men at Arms



Ovid: Metamorphoses
(German / Latin parallel print edition and David Horovitch audio)

Apollodorus: Library of Greek Mythology

Plutarch: Life of Theseus



Books Read / Listened to - Updates 5 & 6:

C.S. Forester: The African Queen



Margery Allingham: The Crime at Black Dudley
(David Thorpe audio)




Jo Nesbø: The Snowman



The Book Pool:

Most likely: Donna Andrews: Lord of the Wings


* Diane Mott Davidson: Catering to Nobody
* One or more stories from Martin Greenberg's and Ed Gorman's (eds.) Cat Crimes
* ... or something by Lilian Jackson Braun

Most likely: Emily Brontë: Wuthering Heights
(audio return visit courtesy of
either Michael Kitchen or Prunella Scales and Samuel West)


* Wilkie Collins: The Woman In White
(audio version read by Nigel Anthony and Susan Jameson)

* Jane Austen: Northanger Abbey
(audio return visit courtesy of Anna Massey)
* Isak Dinesen: Seven Gothic Tales
* Carol Goodman: The Lake of Dead Languages
* ... or something by Daphne du Maurier

Candace Robb: The Apothecary Rose

Change of plan:

C.S. Forester: The African Queen

Most likely: Simon Brett: A book from a four-novel omibus edition including An Amateur Corpse, Star Trap, So Much Blood, and Cast, in Order of Disappearance


* Georgette Heyer: Why Shoot a Butler?
* Margery Allingham: The Crime at Black Dudley
(audio version read by David Thorpe)
* Carol Goodman: The Lake of Dead Languages
* Minette Walters: The Shape of Snakes

Most likely: Something from James D. Doss's Charlie Moon series (one of my great discoveries from last year's bingo)

Or one of Walter Mosley's Easy Rawlins mysteries


Sherman Alexie: Indian Killer

Terry Pratchett: Carpe Jugulum

Change of Plan:

Joseph Sheridan Le Fanu: Carmilla

One or more stories from Martin Edwards's (ed.) and the British Library's Miraculous Mysteries: Locked-Room Murders and Impossible Crimes

Most likely: Agatha Christie: Mrs. McGinty's Dead
(audio return visit courtesy of Hugh Fraser)

Or one or more stories from Martin Edwards's (ed.) and the British Library's Serpents in Eden: Countryside Crimes


* Carol Goodman: The Lake of Dead Languages
* Josephine Tey: Brat Farrar, To Love and Be Wise, or The Singing Sands
* Georgette Heyer: Why Shoot a Butler?
* Peter May: The Lewis Man
* S.D. Sykes: Plague Land
* Arthur Conan Doyle: The Mystery of Cloomber
* Michael Jecks: The Devil's Acolyte
* Stephen Booth: Dancing with the Virgins
* Karen Maitland: The Owl Killers
* Martha Grimes: The End of the Pier
* Minette Walters: The Breaker

One of two "Joker" Squares:


To be filled in as my whimsy takes me (with apologies to Dorothy L. Sayers), either with one of the other mystery squares' alternate books, or with a murder mystery that doesn't meet any of the more specific squares' requirements.  In going through my shelves, I found to my shame that I own several bingo cards' worth of books that would fill this square alone, some of them bought years ago ... clearly something needs to be done about that, even if it's one book at a time!

Isabel Allende: Cuentos de Eva Luna (The Stories of Eva Luna) or
Gabriel García Márquez: Crónica de una muerte anunciada (Chronicle of a Death Foretold)

Most likely: One or more stories from Charles Dickens: Complete Ghost Stories or
Sharyn McCrumb: She Walks These Hills


* Wilkie Collins: Mrs. Zant and the Ghost
(Gillian Anderson audio)

* Stephen King: Bag of Bones

Terry Pratchett: Men at Arms

Obviously and as per definition in the rules, the second "Joker" Square.


Equally as per definition, the possibles for this square also include my alternate reads for the non-mystery squares.

Most likely: Cornell Woolrich: The Bride Wore Black


* Raymond Chandler: Farewell My Lovely or The Long Goodbye / The High Window

* James M. Cain: Mildred Pierce
* Horace McCoy: They Shoot Horses, Don't They?
* David Goodis: Shoot the Piano Player or Dark Passage
* ... or something else by Cornell Woolrich, e.g., Phantom Lady or I Married a Dead Man

Most likely: Ruth Rendell: Not in the Flesh or The Babes in the Wood (audio versions read by Christopher Ravenscroft, aka Inspector Burden in the TV series)


* Carol Goodman: The Lake of Dead Languages
* Sharyn McCrumb: She Walks These Hills

Most likely: Peter May: Coffin Road


* Stephen King: Bag of Bones or Hearts in Atlantis
* Denise Mina: Field of Blood
* Carol Goodman: The Lake of Dead Languages
* Minette Walters: The Breaker
* Jonathan Kellerman: When The Bough Breaks, Time Bomb, Blood Test, or Billy Straight

* Greg Iles: 24 Hours

Most likely: Sharyn McCrumb: She Walks These Hills


* Karen Maitland: The Owl Killers
* Greg Iles: Sleep No More

Most likely: Margery Allingham: The Crime at Black Dudley
(audio version read by David Thorpe)


* One or more stories from Martin Edwards's (ed.) and the British Library's Murder at the Manor: Country House Mysteries
* Georgette Heyer: They Found Him Dead
* Ellis Peters: Black is the Colour of My True-Love's Heart

Most likely: Something from Terry Pratchett's Discworld / Witches subseries -- either Equal Rites or Maskerade


* Karen Maitland: The Owl Killers

* Shirley Jackson: The Witchcraft of Salem Village

Most likely: Antonia Hodgson: The Devil in the Marshalsea


* Rory Clements: Martyr
* Philip Gooden: Sleep of Death 
* Minette Walters: The Shape of Snakes
* Ngaio Marsh: Death in Ecstasy

* One or more stories from Martin Edwards's (ed.) and the British Library's Capital Crimes: London Mysteries

Most likely: Robert Louis Stevenson: The Strange Case of Dr. Jekyll and Mr. Hyde
(audio return visit courtesy of Sir Christopher Lee)


* H.G. Wells: The Island of Dr. Moreau 

* ... or something by Edgar Allan Poe

Most likely: Something from Ovid's Metamorphoses


* Robert Louis Stevenson: The Bottle Imp
* Christina Rossetti: Goblin Market
* H.G. Wells: The Island of Dr. Moreau

Most likely: Jo Nesbø: The Snowman


* Val McDermid: The Retribution
* Denise Mina: Sanctum 
* Mo Hayder: Birdman
* Caleb Carr: The Alienist
* Jonathan Kellerman: The Butcher's Theater
* Greg Iles: Mortal Fear

Most likely: The Medieval Murderers: House of Shadows
or Hill of Bones


* Sharyn McCrumb: She Walks These Hills
* Shirley Jackson: The Haunting of Hill House
* Stephen King: Bag of Bones
* Carol Goodman: The Lake of Dead Languages
* Michael Jecks: The Devil's Acolyte

Ooohhh, you know -- something by Shirley Jackson ... if I don't wimp out in the end; otherwise something by Daphne du Maurier.







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quote 2017-09-09 09:29
Był jeszcze zbyt młody, aby wiedzieć, że pamięć serca unicestwia złe wspomnienia, wyolbrzymiając dobre, i że dzięki temu mechanizmowi udaje nam się znosić ciężar przeszłości.
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review 2016-05-22 10:31
A Love Letter to Gabriel Garcia Marquez’s “The General and His Labyrinth.”
The General in His Labyrinth - Edith Grossman,Gabriel García Márquez

His feeble mind was only good for groping memories like vague shapes in the dark. His body was a withered portrait on the wall of some long forgotten castle. The writer sat down to write a simple love letter to a book he had known in his younger years. Now in the grips of his fever he remembered more and more of them. Back when his tastes in literature had been robust, he had loved a book called “The General and His Labyrinth.” The first time, alone in his room as he grew into a stupor over the labyrinth of his disappointments and his dreams. The second time as he was gripped by a virulent pragmatism known to men twice his age. Then, he had been in his thirties. Now he was an old man close to death.


With his arthritic hand he wrote the first line of his love letter trying to recall the pride and ambition of a younger man.  


“The book was a testimony to the power of an author to love his subject more than life itself.”


The sentence came out of his pen hopeful. Yet, the vagueness of his prose and its inability to reach beyond simple sentiment sent the writer into a deep malaise. He stood up from his chair with what little strength was left. His pride prevented him from asking for help and on his way to his bed he almost fell over.


When Jose Palacios came into the bedroom, he saw the writer in his bed seized by fever.




“Yes, your highness.”


Although he was a simple writer and the servant was a figment of his imagination, the servant insisted on calling him “highness.”


“Highness...highness. You mean ‘lowness.’ Debased. Fraud.”


“Are you at work on another one of your love letters?”


“The desire comes and goes. I sit down to write a simple sentence and when the thing comes out it lies limp on the page and dies, stillbirth and dead.”

In all the years of his unremarkable life, the only remarkable thing about him was how many great literary loves he had had -- a greater accomplishment than even his own literary victories.


A decade before the writer had tried to make a proper accounting of his literary loves and write letters to each of them. After countless hours of scribbling on sheets of various quality and color, the writer had finally given up, burned all the letters, and declared the task hopeless, proclaiming simply, “There are too many! They run in my memory like one long dream.” Over the years, he had climbed into his chair and tried to compose a letter here and there. Not even Jose Palacios knew what had happened to them.


Now, in the twilight of his existence, the feeble writer had fits and starts of work that were equal measures desperate and ineffective. The rest of his time was spent fighting the debasements of time.


If Jose Palacios had been a writer himself he would have thought the writer’s constant constipation symbolic. He ameliorated the writer’s congenial constipation with enemas of immediate but devastating effect. Each time, like a church chime at noon, the writer would exclaim, “Just like my first novel. One big disgusting explosive mess.”


After Jose Palacios had administered the enema, changed his clothes, and cleaned the bedsores on his emaciated body, he placed the writer in his chair, in front of his paper and pencil.


“One more try,” Jose Palacios said. “It’s good for the soul. Good or bad, you will write for love of your literary works.”


There had been so many: X-Men comics in the flower of his youth; science fiction novels about Star Trek and Star Wars in the crude days of his adolescence; the mature yet neglected pages of such books as “The Grapes of Wrath,” in his rebellious years; the more mature loves of young adulthood...


He continued writing for several hours, as if he were in a clairvoyant trance, hardly stopping for the attacks of coughing. When his arthritic hand finally stopped moving he dictated for several more hours in weak hums that barely registered as words to Jose Palacios. When Jose Palacios finally ran out of paper, he had to take to writing on the walls. The walls turned black with ink. Finally, when the old writer’s voice was about to give out, he finished his letter in the only way he felt appropriate. The writer stood up with what little strength he had left, walked to Jose Palacios, and found the place on the wall where the writing had stopped, he curled up into ball next to it, and entered a deep sleep.


Jose Palacios took a blanket from the closet and covered the writer, not knowing whether he would wake. He retired into his quarters to resume his count of the writer’s literary loves and conquests.


Some months later, after the writer had died for the final time. The government ordered that all accounts of the writer’s literary conquests, love of words, or even his existence be destroyed. Thus, the letter and the house with walls tainted with literary scandal were destroyed.


Only in a small village where Jose Palacios lived under an assumed name did the tale of the writer’s many conquests resurface. And like the good servant he had been, Jose Palacios made sure that each literary love, including the “General and his Labyrinth” was accounted for.

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review 2016-05-19 18:46
One Hundred Years of Solitude (Oprah's Book Club) - Gabriel García Márquez

When I found this book in the library, I noticed it was surrounded by other books whose purpose was to analyze and explain it. I wondered if I would need to check one of those out, too, but I decided to venture understanding this modern classic on my own first. I didn’t succeed, and if I want to, I’ll need to go back and read one of those expert’s insights.


I found the language and imagery powerful, the story intriguing at times and tiresome at others. It’s circular as well as strange, full of repetitions, with various errors and obsessions cycling around and around through individual lives and through generations. Names are repeated over the generations, making it challenging to keep track of characters. I’m sure all of this is intentional and has a meaning. None of this is because of poor writing. The author clearly knew what he was doing, even if this particular reader failed to comprehend his purpose.


Macondo, the town where events take place, is to some extent the “lead character.” But it has no will, no goals. The Buendia family could also be seen as a collective protagonist, but its members don’t share the same drives and hopes. The story isn’t driven by any one person’s arc of desire, ambition or discovery, and at times events seem to float into it like things blown on a breeze. The omniscient narrator tells the tale with little dialog and little in the way of conventional dramatic scenes, sometimes in a single paragraph that runs on for two pages. It’s a bit like listening to a poetic and slightly dotty elder tell you the history of his town, without any concern for differentiating fact from fable, mingling them together with equal conviction. I was not troubled by the magical realism, but by the feeling that these remarkable events must be symbols in a code I couldn’t decipher


Characters, for the most part, are defined by obsessions rather than the depth and complexity of whole personalities. The exception is the long-lived matriarch Ursula. She and the Italian Pietro Crespi are among the few sympathetic characters, the few who felt like real people rather than symbolic personifications of various societal ills or aspects of the human condition. (Perhaps, though Ursula is the personification of Female Strength or The All-Enduring Mother, and Crespi the personification of The Arts, especially Music and Dance.)


War, in the form of an endless rebellion, is shown as both cruel and absurd. Romantic love often seems equally cruel and absurd, equally obsessive, and often unwholesome. I can’t say I regret reading this book, but I can’t say I entirely enjoyed it either. I probably should have read one of the books that explained it in advance.


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text SPOILER ALERT! 2016-02-22 00:49
Book to Movie: Love in the Time of Cholera
Love in the Time of Cholera - Gabriel García Márquez,Edith Grossman

A couple weeks ago, I watched "Love in the Time of Cholera" because I recently read the book. I gave the movie 3 stars, and the book 2.5. So, I wasn't a fan of the book, and my husband makes fun of me for watching movies for books I didn't like. But what can I say? I'm just a completist. (Also, if you didn't like the book you don't have to worry about the movie "ruining" it. In fact, sometimes it even improves the experience.)


If you liked the book, you should definitely check out the movie. The acting is good, the costumes and setting are beautiful, and overall it is a very lush and well-done film. It's also surprisingly faithful to the book -- and I say surprisingly just because it seems so many Hollywood adaptations of books resemble their source material in title and character names only.


There was one thread in the book that they left out of the movie, to its detriment, I think. In the book, Florentino has a friendship with a woman who has risen through the ranks in his place of work. At one point, the book has him wishing she were a prostitute so that he could sleep with her, even if he would have to pay her to do so. This is because, when he does get around to propositioning her, she turns him down. Never in their long friendship does she allow it to become sexual. 


This relationship was completely eliminated from the movie, which gives the viewer the impression that every woman in the world that Ariza ever wanted, he got. Except, of course, Fermina Daza. Which really just cements my interpretation that "Love in the Time of Cholera" is mostly a horny-man's fantasy, and the fact that it is written well and portrayed on film skillfully and beautifully allows it to be considered "high art" instead. But Florentino comes across as just as skeezy in the movie, and I was just as repulsed by him as in the book. 


The book also made a second concession: it aged Florentino's 14-year-old lover (who was also his ward) into a college student. This makes a HUGE difference, because while a 71-year-old who sleeps with a college student is still pretty much a dirty old man, he is no longer a pedophile or a child abuser. Although the movie directors wisely surmised that probably nothing could bring the viewer back to sympathy with Florentino after seeing him in bed with a youngster, in some ways I think the movie does the viewer a disservice in glossing over what a skeeze Florentino really was. 


So, similarly to the book, a beautiful execution was not enough to save a truly puerile and sickening protagonist. 



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