One Hundred Years Of Solitude
(Gabriel Garcia Marquez)
Man is not alone if he has someone to share and account for the adventures of his life. One Hundred Years of Solitude is written as a historical novel. It is an account of time past, time passed, time in passing, of what passes with time; and in being so, it is perhaps an attempt to preserve that time in memory in the form of narrative from immanent loss. Who accounts for the lives of Buendias? It is Marquez. But he seems to do it with a sense of reverence laced with disgust of the very characters he creates. They are rough and gruff, cruel and vindictive, the very first settlers, like Adam and Eve and their true brood, primitive to the core. Marquez seems to recast the anxiety of exile into the form of a consciousness that pervades the entire novel. Humanity is trying to find a place to belong. The author asks whether such a place exists, and wonders what might be the ideal conditions for a successful and fruitful relocation of life. Is relocation and resettlement possible? Given the restless precondition of man, such seems to be in the realm of the difficult, almost the impossible. He takes the question from the material world and posits it as a metaphysical query. Was man located and settled even before he was exiled?
Marquez creates an organic multilayered mosaic of life lived to its fullest and experienced in all its marvelous and terrifying colors. The story carries the strength and is compelled forward as though it were myth. The romantic idealism and innocence are stripped down to its basic primitive self and strutted about before the reader in its naked fiber. This nakedness is the true nature of such ideals, Marquez seems to say. His realism is raw like the battered flesh of the red earth from which it springs. He blatantly exposes the social and political infrastructure of the community with its apparent and absent set of morality rules, and his attitude towards something that should be set before a tribunal is nothing but nonchalant. Marquez does not seem to think that ideals and religion can save a man. He does not seem to think anything can. The novel is a testimonial of humanity that does not even struggle for grace.