This book contains three short stories by Colombian born Nobel Prize winning author, Gabriel Garcia Marquez. Gabriel had said, “I feel that all my writing has been about experiences of the time I spent with my grandparents.”
This is clear after reading this book. I give the book 3-stars (out of 5) but who is to say I am right to gip it out of two extra stars. To each his own opinion. After all, the author has been referred to as a master storyteller who, as the New York Review of Books once said, “forces upon us at every page the wonder and extravagance of life.”
The three novellas in this book were rather depressing but he does paint a picture with his words, taking you to the small, dusty impoverished towns. Frankly, a lot of it was boring. I visited the UNESCO town of Zacatecas, Mexico back in August 2017 and the settings of his stories reminded me of this town. I actually love Zacatecas . It’s like going back in time and that’s exactly what these novellas succeed in doing. Anyway, I doubt I will be seeking out more writings from Garcia Marquez (but I may be willing to see the 2007 film, LOVE IN THE TIME OF CHOLERA which is based on his novel. I’d much rather re-read the classic A DEATH IN THE SANCHEZ FAMILY by Oscar Lewis.
It’s clear that I liked Novella 2 best (NO ONE WRITES TO THE COLONEL) as it seemed to have more profound words to dwell on and the dialogue was rather compelling.
Novella 1: LEAF STORM: This story centered on the funeral of a doctor who was loathed in town as he hid from others and refused to help people given his obvious medical expertise. Lines I found interesting:
“You’ll wallow in your bed like a pig in its sty.”
She planted a grapevine beside the branches and hung a clump of sabita and a loaf of bread by the street door to protect herself against evil thoughts.
When something moves you can tell that time has passed.
He had the dreamy and fatigued expression of a man who doesn’t know what his life will be from one minute to the next and hasn’t got the least interest in finding out.
I heard his voice, deep, convincing, gentle: “Count seven stars and you’ll dream about me.”
Father Angel doesn’t seem to have any other satisfaction except savoring the preserving indigestion of meatballs every day during his siesta.
Novella 2: NO ONE WRITES TO THE COLONEL: This story centered on a lowly couple trying to make ends meet as they hold hope from the rooster in their home. The husband kept hoping for a pension check in the mail that would never come. Lines I found interesting:
“It’s winter,” the woman replied, “Since it began raining I’ve been telling you to sleep with your socks on.”
He had been converted into a man with no other occupation than waiting for the mail every Friday.
“Humanity doesn’t progress without paying a price.”
“To the Europeans, South America is a man with a mustache, a guitar, and a gun,” the doctor said, laughing over his newspaper.
“That’s the way it is,” he said, “Human ingratitude knows no limits.”
“You haven’t the slightest sense for business,” she said. “When you go to sell something, you have to put on the same face as when you go to buy.”
Novella 3: CHRONICLE OF A DEATH FORETOLD: With quite a cast of characters this story eventually guided the reader into a murder by twin brothers who were out for revenge on the man who attacked their sister. Lines I found interesting:
“Any dream about birds means good health.”
“My mother taught me never to talk about money in front of other people.”
“When you sacrifice a steer you don’t dare look into its eyes.” One of them told me that he couldn’t eat the flesh of an animal he had butchered. Another said that he wouldn’t be capable of sacrificing a cow if he’d known it before, much less if he’d drunk its milk.
She’d always felt that only children are capable of everything.
They married among themselves, imported their wheat, raised lambs in their yards, and grew oregano and eggplants, and playing cards was their only driving passion.
She then discovered that hate and love are reciprocal passions.
The whole family slept until twelve o’clock…”that’s why Flora Miguel, who wasn’t that young anymore, was preserved like a rose.”