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I’m not sure why I chose to pick up One Hundred Years of Solitude this year. I’ve 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 ‘to read’ list for years.

Often, when I read classic lit, I end up finishing it out of obligation. I appreciate the art 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 an 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. You feel like you’ve been wandering, exploring the whole time, 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. It’s 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 the common threads in these characters, 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.

As an aside, I went to check Goodreads after finishing the book and was shocked to discover that there are almost 40,000 one-star reviews of what I consider to be a work of pure genius. Of course, there are many, many more glowing reviews, but this little exercise brought home the reality that not everything is for everyone. We have a need for diverse artistic expression because people have different ways of seeing the world, and of perceiving or taking in new ideas.

Anyway, read this book. It’s incredible.

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

I agree with many of the authors' conclusions and political positions, but this book is mostly a facile argument for "abundance". It's best feature is the articulation of an "abundance" (as opposed to scarcity) political theory. But the chapters arguing that it is right rely on anecdote and suffer from severe survivorship bias (the logical fallacy that examining winners reveals how to succeed). As I noted in a comment, they also subject degrowth to a pretty withering critique that they do not subject their own theory to: degrowth is a political dead end because it includes policies like vegetarianism that are political non-starters. Nowhere in the book do they talk about how one of their core positions, subsidize things you want like heck, is a really hard sell because it means giving a lot more money to people who have money. Another of their core positions is that liberals value too many things, and because of that don't do any of them, especially building stuff, particularly well. But they do not really articulate what goals liberals should give up in favor of building things. Is it the environment? Is it equitable distribution of wealth? Is it diversity? About the only thing they are clear that should be given up is lengthy process. And I kind of agree with them on that, but process is what ensures those other goals are considered. If not process to accomplish goals, what is the alternate way to achieve those goals. If that's not figured out, we give up all those other goals, just so we can build some shit.

And as a side note, the authors are very positive about "AI" in the book, and that's another thing they may not have wrestled with to the extent they should. But I'll critique that if they ever write a book where the main topic is AI.

This sf novella centers on Damira, a conservationist who fought back (sometimes violently) against poachers, and whose mind was put into a mammoth's to help them relearn old behaviors and live again in the wild. It's a story about human greed, vengeance, memories, and identity.

I really enjoyed the writing here, but the more I reflected on this story after reading it, the more hollow it felt. It's hard not to cheer along with the book against different types of human greed, and the storytelling was enjoyable; at the end, I don't know that I came away with much more than that.

It's also unfair to critique a book by juxtaposing it with another, but I'm going to do it anyway. Having already read Lee Mandelo's Feed Them Silence it's impossible not to feel like that book tremendously overshadows this one, especially thematically. I think I would have enjoyed Tusks of Extinction more had I read them in the opposite order.

After Davi becomes Dark Lord, she leaves her horde in the hands of Mari and heads to the Kingdom to see if she can broker a peace between the wilders and humans. Humans in power don't really want peace though. And neither do most of the wilders Davi has left behind. And behind all of it is the question as to why she kept being reborn whenever she died, with the same mission to save humans every time.

A fun plot and the characters are still fun. Wexler intersperses the story with lots of bawdy, footnoted asides. But not as good as the first book, sadly. I think that's because the first book didn't need to answer the questions. The final book kind of needs to, and those answers are too convoluted, and only hold together if I didn't think too hard about them. Still fun, so it gets a bunch of stars.