Surrender All Sense of Reality and Enjoy the Magic

One Hundred Years of Solitude
Gabriel Garcia Marquez

A lot of people have told me that this book is not their favorite. Actually, to be more precise, they have said, "It was impossible to get through."

Well my friends, one reason why some people may find One Hundred Years of Solitude hard to read is because they are applying the same reading methods that they would any other novel, and this novel in particular is like no other; you will need a whole new set of reading techniques.

One Hundred Years of Solitude is not a typical book about boy means girl, nor is it a stereotypical Latin American novel about dictators and oppressed women (although these themes do come up). Gabriel Garcia Marquez does something so magical in this book that the reader will sense an uncannily familiar feeling of deja vu over and over again throughout the novel.

This story isn't told in a fashion familiar to North Americans, that's for sure. It probably isn't familiar to most Latin Americans either. That is because GGM invents his own way of doing things and goes on to master said technique artfully, and this book is just one example from his canon that throws me every time I read it. He is a veritable genius! There is not one book or novella or snippet of his that I have read and have not loved. I mean, Chronicles of a Death Foretold goes down in history for me - he created a genre that only he can employ. Or, The Autumn of the Patriarch, yeah who needs punctuation anyway?

In any case, One Hundred Years of Solitude is confusing, that's for sure. It will make you're head spin and you will often find yourself flipping through past pages to be sure that what you are reading isn't something you have already read or that whatever part you are reading is in fact being read properly. These things can be annoying, but once you get past the fact that a book isn't only read for it's beautiful plot or what not, you might be able to see the beauty in a book that makes you're head hurt from thinking so much. Everything, every little thing, every word, every paragraph break, every punctuation mark is deliberate and thought out. Every little thing is part of a bigger thing. There is beauty in lyricism, and there is beauty in repetition. There is a certain 'je ne sais quoi' in the sadness that overwhelms this story, yet the triumph that underlies it. It's masterful and yet accessible all at the same time. Trust me.

One piece of advice: don't get lost in the nitty gritty. Don't try to figure out who is who and why they all have the same name. Don't try to figure out where they are or where they are going. Don't even try to figure out how the story got to where it is. Like an airline passenger, just sit back and relax and trust that the pilot will get you to your destination... there is nothing you can do that will make the story go any faster, GGM will get you there, and it will be one hell of a ride!

Finger Painting in the Dark

The colors are all here laid out in front of me, beside me, around me, behind me, under me, on top of me… everything everywhere. Blue is forming a little coagulated puddle right over to my left. It slowly creeps toward the yellow- you know what I mean, right? Blue like the sky or blue like water (reflected off the sky). Blue like me. Blue like you! That’s the blue I’m describing. When I fly in airplanes, I see only blue. Actually, I also see airplanes (insert picture of airplanes here - 5 to be precise). There aren’t always five airplanes. Sometimes, there is just one or maybe two. Ok, that’s good for now. Enough with blue.

I dab two fingers in the spot that’s red and I blot and I blot and I blot away! Blot. Blot. Blot. Dot. Dot. Dot. Blot. Dot. Blot. Dot. Speckles and freckles and speckles some more!

One, two three, four. 1, 2, 3, 4. 1 and 2 and 3 and 4.

More red in the tube – I squeeze, squeeze, squeeze out a pinch and let the droppings fall to the floor. Red on the floor! Red on the door! Speckle some more!

My jeans feel tight around my knees. My right leg is going numb. No. It’s already numb. I place my hands on the floor to help lift my weight off the ground. Shake, shake, shake it off. Shake, shake, shake and shake! I look down at the floor to see what I made, but I can’t see. I slide my fingers across my forehead and shake my bangs out of the way. Nope! Still can’t see. Bending at the knees, I kneel closer to take a peek. Nothing. I see nothing.

I reach far. I reach far out. I reach far out in front of me. I reach way far out all the way far in front of me. There it is: yellow. Yellow is a pretty word, but why is it spelled with a ‘w’ at the end? Of all the letters in the alphabet, ‘o’ is the roundest. Yellow should end in ‘o’. Yello. Y-e-l-l-o. The perfect word for the happiest color. Agreed? I wonder what yello smells like. I uncap the tube and pull it in to my face, toward my face, next to my face, onto my face… I smear a smudge under my nose, close my eyes and inhale softly. Just like happiness. It smells just like happiness.

ððð I wipe off the yellow from above my lip and fill my hands with happiness. I stamp my hand down- five fingers spread out- the palm of my hand is the sun and my fingers the rays. Sunshine and happinessððð

I sit back down on the floor, but I don’t just plop down. I have to be careful because all of the colors are everywhere. I push aside all that is beneath me, above me, near me, before me… and voilà! I sit down. I sit smack splat down on the green. I love green!

Green, green, green, green, green, green, green, green, green. It doesn’t even look like green anymore. How does it feel though? It feels large. Immense. Vast. Green is enormous, immeasurable, limitless. It’s everywhere. And ladies and gentlemen, isn’t she lovely?! I clench the tube in my fist tight, tight, tight. I choke out all that is left of it and flick it all away from me. I flick and flick and flick until it’s all gone. “Green, green go away, come back soon every other day!” Ta-Da! And, TRA LA LA! That song works every time! All that remains now is a fine layer of green between me and my hands N. My hands N and me. Me and my hands N. My hands N and me. “Um, I think I’ll take ‘my hands and me’, for 200, Alex.”  Ding, ding, ding! I made 200 beans. Easy-peasy. NNNNN HIGH-FIVE! FIVE-ALIVE!

Is there someone at the door? ‘Knock, knock.’

“Who’s there?” I asked.

“Who’s there?” I asked again.

Gotcha! It was a joke. I gotcha good, though. You really thought someone was there. But it was a joke all along. I just can’t remember the punch line now. I am supposed to say “knock, knock,” then you have to ask “who is there?” and then I say… Hmmm… Then I say… Oh! I remember. Ok, ok, let’s start again.

I think there is someone at the door. Can you hear that? ‘Knock, knock,’ I knock the floor with my knuckles two times.

“Who’s there?”

“Orange.”

“Orange who?” (I asked suspiciously, because quite honestly, I don’t know anyone named Orange, do you?)

“Orange-you gonna let me in? It’s cold out here!”

I love that one! It gets me laughing every time. HA! HA! I am so happy I remembered it. For your sake and mine. Didn’t it brighten up your day? But, come on. For a second there you really thought someone might have been at the door. I mean, even after you knew it was joke you thought ‘hmmm, maybe there is someone actually out there.’ I knew all along that it was a set-up for a joke. You know the ol’ saying- I set ‘em up, and then I knock ‘em down! Oooooh! Gets me every time. Not every time as in ‘time’ like a clock  or something big and smart like that. I mean every occasion. Time = occasion. In this context at least.  You get that, right?

I lean forward in concentration. Enough with the jokes- no more silliness. I furrow my eyebrows because that means business. I’m serious now. What color is missing? I did blue before you came. Then we did one, two, red and four, then the new and improved yello and of course, the hugest of all: green. Orange just got here.

Purple! Purple! Purple! One of my six favorite colors! Or ‘colour’ in some parts of the world. Everyone wants to be different. But really, we’re all the same. If I say ‘color’ and you say ‘colour’ we’re both saying the same thing and we most certainly understand each other no matter which way we spell it, right? Strange how this colorful world works (note: spelled colorful and not ‘colourful’ – see how that works? One point for color). The only thing better about ‘colour’ is that it has six letters. Cough, cough, hint, hint, nudge, nudge, ping, ping…

C O L O U R

– one letter for each one of my favorite colo(u)rs!

Isn’t that amazing? So, there was one point for color, but there were ten points for colour! I think we found our winner!

The color purple. Purple is on its way, but I think it’s too late.

There is no time for purple today. Thank goodness for yesterday!

I’m finished playing with my colors now. I need to put all six back in the box q: ⑥. Oops! I put them in a circle J. That happens to me sometimes. I put stuff in a circle m instead of a box q. At least I didn’t shove them into a triangle ∆! I’ll just leave them in the circle. They might fit snug, but at least they fit, see: ⑥. Nice!

I’m all done. I approach the map that will help me get home. These signs are easy for me to read, because it’s just the same finger pointing at things, but turned in different directions.

Look:  ☞ ☜ ☝ ☟. So, first I go right, then left, then up and then down. If I follow the finger, I’ll surely get home. Thanks for coming!

I’m out. Peace out.