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Reid Malenfant has a plan to go to the stars, and it's very Musk-like even before Musk was a thing. OK fine. Most of the first 12% of this book (which is where I pressed the eject button) is taken up by a sophist discussion of the chances of human survival. So here's the argument: either human population grows exponentially/polynomially, it levels off at a sustainable level, or it crashes. Following so far? The fact that you are alive means that the most likely outcome is the third. Here's the logic: In the first two scenarios, the vast majority of all humans will live in the future. So if you picked someone (you) randomly, you'd most likely be in the far future! Because you are here, the most likely outcome is that humans die off soon. In the story, within 240 years at the most.

First of all, this is not a plot. Or characters. Or poetic language. Or description. Or ... any of a hundred other things that would be interesting. This is someone smoking too much pot and explaining their pot-infused philosophy to you. If an author wants to set up a coming apocalypse there's so many better ways to do it than this "clever" thought experiment.

Second of all, this therefore means that if humanity does survive into the far future, they have sent a message back in time to us with instructions on how to survive. That whole sophistry just sets up Reid Malenfant's purpose to be to look for the message from the future. This whole first part of the book is just to set that up. That makes no sense and I had to read it all for that reason? Give me a break!

At this point I searched for reviews of the book to see if anyone said the later parts of the book are worth it. And the top review of Manifold: Time that Google referred me to is one from Kirkus. It's fairly spoilery, so if the above BS is actually intriguing to you, don't click the review. Anyway, I've no interest in reading the schmoz that's described there.

DNF at 12%.

After a string of less than enjoyable Reacher novels, this was one I liked. As frequently happens, Reacher stumbles into a town based on its name ("Mother's Rest"). Turns out there's crime happening there, and Reacher is a one man A-Team. Reacher and former FBI Michelle Chang form a duo looking for her partner, Keever who stumbled on something happening and then disappeared. Reacher and Chang go from Mother's Rest to Oklahoma City to Chicago to Colorado Springs to Los Angeles to Phoenix to Menlo Park and finally back to Mother's Rest mostly because the actual criminals in Mother's Rest are very Keystone so Lee Child has to introduce lots of other elements to fill out the book. Which is all acceptable to me… except that the Menlo Park dude is someone building a super secret search engine for the "Deep Web" which Child explains is the Tor project. Searching Tor project web sites is not hard. Anyway, as long as I don't know how something works it's easy enough for me to suspend disbelief and enjoy it! And I did, other than the stupid "search the Deep Web" parts.

This plot-driven scifi book about the power of memory felt better suited to be a beach thriller or a movie (which apparently it might be). Largely, the character arcs feel flat and other than a neat core idea, I'm not sure that the plot machinations hold up that well for me.

Some minor negatives: the time loop-esque conceit of future selves saving past selves, which always falls flat. It's also hard for me to suspend my disbelief about the idea of perfect memory, when it is always intermediated and misremembered. I also give a huge side-eye to this British author using Australian Aboriginals and their mythos as context for some plot elements.

On the positive front, for a story about memory, I appreciate that it is structured as a frame story where one person forces somebody else to recount their own memory of events, in which the story can nest further into other memories. I also appreciate the foreshadowing of the pick up artist who asks enough people out through persistence until somebody says yes. There's also a few good SCP-esque lines in the Lazarus Institute that made me laugh. But all of this was not enough to carry it for me.

I'm not sure why I chose to pick up One Hundred Years of Solitude this year. I've got a running list of classic literature that I incorporate into my regular reading. Primarily to compensate for my lack of education, but also because I enjoy understanding cultural references in art that have had an impact on society and culture. Marquez's novel, widely considered one of the most important works of the 20th century and a preeminent example of the Latin American Boom, definitely qualifies as impactful, and it's been on my 'classics to read' list for years.

Often, when I read "great" books, I'll end up finishing out of obligation. I appreciate the form and recognize that literature isn't necessarily made for "the masses" to enjoy. So, even though I'm comfortable not finishing contemporary or genre fiction that doesn't spark my interest, I'll push through on the classics because it's more about self-educating than entertainment for me. That said, when I actually do come across a piece of classic literary fiction that grabs hold of me, capturing my imagination and my heart, it's nothing short of an epiphany. Such is my experience reading One Hundred Years of Solitude.

I'll start by saying that I did no preparatory reading and went into it completely ignorant of the plot, style, and meaning. Just picked it up like any ordinary, everyday rube and started reading. Almost immediately, the words cast a spell.

I quickly discovered that it is filled with so much sensual detail you get sucked into it without any effort. It's exactly like a dream - surreal, and even though you know it's not actually happening, you're experiencing it as if you're there. So caught up do you become in the details that you don't realize until the very end that this is not a dream, but a vision. It's a whole knowing that you arrive at without any idea that this is where you were headed the whole time. You feel like you've been wandering, exploring, only to discover that the conductor of the train has been taking you to a particular place.

The story follows the Buendía family through several generations in their hometown of Macondo. During this time, we see the march of 'progress' and the impact of colonialism, technology, and modernity in a South American context. The novel is written in the style of magical realism, treating time as a circular and malleable entity, giving the reader a profound sense of déjà vu throughout. Additionally, the names of the characters are reused in each generation, which adds a delicious layer of disorientation to the narrative. As the years pass, we see repeated symbolism and imagery that fire the imagination and tell another story beyond words, between the lines.

While all the characters were fascinating, the one who captured my heart was the matriarch, Ursula, who is the common thread through each generation of Buendías. This is her story, because this is her family. She sets the terms of belonging, enforces or expands boundaries, and keeps everything running for a century while those around her rise and fall. Marquez has managed to produce the most powerful portrait of womanhood I've read in years: a mother willing to compromise almost anything to survive and support her family.

Honestly, I'm overwhelmed. It's beyond any hype I've ever heard. It ensnares you before you realize how deep you are into it. Every word, every detail feels important, because it is. Because it's about what it means to exist, and also, to not. This book is an actual masterpiece. I not only love it, I've fallen in love with it, and consider it one of the best books I've ever read. It has changed my perception of writing and storytelling in general. What a gift.

There is so much to this novel that I found it helpful to watch the following online commentary after finishing: "How to Read One Hundred Years of Solitude by Gabriel Garcia Marquez" by Benjamin McEvoy.