![]() ![]() Without doing much (or any) literary analysis, I’d say that Macondo, as is the case with lots of imaginary places, is the town where you live, maybe the town you grew up in regardless of your specific geography. You cannot read this book and be indifferent about the passion of human relations. Or the storm which sweeps it all away as the ancient alchemist stands by watching. Or the birth of a baby with the curly pig’s tail. Or Remedios, la bella, whose smell drove mean crazy. ![]() I can still see Ursula trying to keep here crazy, scheming husband from melting down their life savings. I was completely flummoxed by a book that started with the phrase, “many years later, while standing in front of a firing squad, Colonel Aureliano Buendía was to remember that afternoon when his father took him to see ice.” Almost as good as Cervantes’ “In a place in La Mancha whose name I don’t care to remember.” You remember the books that change your life. It wasn’t the first book I read in Spanish, but it was one of those experiences that completely changed my life. ![]()
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