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Week 8 – Garcia Marquez, “One Hundred Years of Solitude” II

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Extending from last week, Gabriel Garcia Marquez’s One Hundred Years of Solitude was a fabulous read that brilliantly sewed together fantasy, abstraction, philosophy, and reality. Engaging in the latter half of the book, what stood out to me most was the cyclical nature of time and the inherent connection between people (civilization) and their environment. Using magical realism almost as a literary tool in depicting the events of Macondo, the book raised thoughts and questions about the notion of ‘solitude’ in both an individual and societal scale. Lastly, engaging with the ending, the closure of the book felt cataclysmic. While there were certain parts throughout the book that perhaps mildly foreshadowed Macondo’s fall, the ending was still quite shocking for me because it felt sudden and unexpected; it left me with a feeling of emptiness, perhaps something close to ‘solitude’.

Undoubtedly, magical realism was central to the novel, effectively blurring the line between reality and fantasy. The novel was filled with impossible events, such as a woman who ascends to heaven. While the theme of magical realism still feels abstract and sometimes daunting, the use of magical realism made this novel more accessible and enjoyable, and it also made it more profound. For me, it was a way to explore the larger—and perhaps ‘heavier’—themes of the novel, such as the nature of time (e.g., everything comes to an end) and the mutual relationship between a civilization and its environment. While ‘magical’ imagery like Remedios the Beauty’s flight to heaven gave the book a more fantasy-like feeling, the book also balanced this playfulness with a philosophical point—as reflected in a quote that resonated with me, “the secret of a good old age is simply an honorable pact with solitude” (216). This constant negotiation and renegotiation between fantasy and reality was at first confusing, but going back to the book, this is what truly made this book a masterpiece. In this sense I totally agreed with Professor Gerald Martin when he stated—in the conversation video—he “didn’t know what to say about the book” (3:28). The book was certainly a master of play, “playing with time” as described by Professor Beasley-Murray and “playing with the fact that we’re reading the book[,]” as Professor Martin had put it (9:10; 10:00).

Question: Who was your favourite character from the book, and why? Please specify as there are a lot of repetitive names.

Lastly, I would like to end by reflecting on solitude. Apart from the earlier direct quotation, one other quote touched upon solitude: “He [Melquiades] really had been through death, but he had returned because he could not bear the solitude” (53). Growing up as an only child, I thought I understood what solitude meant. However, at the same time, I still don’t understand what it is and how to properly cope with it.

Question: What does solitude mean to you? For you, is solitude good or bad, pleasant or unpleasant?

Week 3 – Campobello, “Cartucho”

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Nellie Campobello’s Cartucho was an intriguing yet fascinating read.

Firstly, the content of the book was interesting as it depicted a unique perspective on the Mexican Revolution. Going away from the more conventional “victor’s narrative” of the Revolution, it provided a detailed firsthand account of the brutalities and violence that were experienced by those who suffered. These accounts were not just limited to physical sufferings—ex. torture or death—but also included psychological sufferings—mainly in the form of mourning. The extremely detailed and sensual narrative content made me question why the author decided to depict the Revolution in a rather unconventional way. However, this quote from the lecture, that “[w]hat counts is what sticks in the mind” answered this question (2). As much as outcomes are important (ex. who won or lost which battle), the everyday lives and trauma experienced by the population are equally as important to record. Perhaps Campobello’s Cartucho was a way in which agency was given back to those who suffered—or died. Perhaps, those that were kept silent were finally given a voice through this book.

Secondly, Campobello’s use of a child narrator for this story was confusing and disturbing at times but also beneficial at other times. First of all, I wondered why the author decided to use a child narrator for a book that deals with a topic as heavy as the Mexican Revolution—containing diverse ideologies, politics, and gruesome imageries. The whole part of “General Sobarzo’s Guts” was particularly disturbing because the imagery was quite gruesome. The most disturbing quote was probably when the child narrator and some others said “Guts! How nice! Whose are they?” While on one part the use of a child narrator felt odd, it also seems like the extremely detailed portrayals and unfiltered depictions were only made possible because it was told by a child narrator—who seemed to driven by affect more than any internal political considerations of the war.

Lastly, the lack of a chronological or logical continuity made it difficult to get used to the narrative style of the book. However, the conversation video cleared things up. A key point that I was able to develop from watching the video was questioning the necessity to make sense of a ‘non-linear’ narrative. Do we have to make sense of a narrative in a chronological or logical continuity? Or would this, in itself, be a form of bias/ presumption? While there is a seductive effort to make sense of what happened, for both us (as readers) and those that suffered from the war (trying to make sense of what the war entailed), reality proves different; in reality, there were lots of senselessness—especially in war. Perhaps making sense with some kind of a happy ending was damaging—or misrepresenting—what happened in reality.

Question: Isn’t Campobello’s use of a “child narrator” a form of play-acting? Do you think Campobello successfully portrayed the war in a “child narrator’s perspective”, despite writing the book as an adult?