One Hundred Years Of Solitude
(Gabriel Garcia Marquez)
Macondo comes to each one of us at some time in our life. The town depicted by Gabriel García Márquez in his book ?One hundred years of solitude? follows the rhythm and passions of the Buendía family. If the beginning is brisk and lively and full of human deeds, the last years of the city and the family are full of remembrances, of karma paid in full, of summer prophecies fulfilled in an empty winter.
Macondo lives within its own borders. External events are just passing ships, passing shadows, travelers that will never come back and revolutions that will never triumph. Self-fulfilling, Macondo slowly loses its color and its flavor and spends the rest of the time wondering if things were really meant that way, if solitude was really the final station. Like a middle-aged man which asks himself if that is all that life has to offer: flying children, divorced wives, distant friends? everything and everyone passed by like ships or shadows and sometime every middle-aged man sits down and wonders if solitude was the final station since the beginning.
Not all sad, of course. In García Márquez? book, all those years of solitude bring forth magical characters and situations as Buendía men and women weave passions and feats, building dreams with adobe bricks. But all those passions and dreams never make it out of Macondo, never get to grow in other places and solitude becomes a way of living even as the Buendía family try to stay in intermediate stations. Those are stations we have visited before: the strong founder of the family, the bold revolutionary, the magical bearer of yellow butterflies, the keeper of a treasure? we have been all of them and fear to end our life helplessly being carried away by ants, the first and the last beings of our own dynasty. Somewhere in time we all realize that García Márquez did not write a book about a city, or about a family; he wrote a book about men that try, that battle, that create and that dream within their own borders just to discover, at the end of the book, that they lived one hundred years of solitude.