Don’t want to take away a unique moral or unique meaning from One Hundred Years of Solitude. Because it is plural and contains all the senses and all the morals. Your stage of knowledge, your state of mind, your dominant beliefs and ideas will set the tone for what you perceive, what you withdraw. It is in the microcosm called Macondo that the saga of the Buendía-Iguarán is unraveled. A sequence by José Arcadios and Aurelianos follows in profusion, covering a symptomatic period of 100 years. I even think that the family tree of this mythical family is impossible to assemble, as required by a work representative of fantastic realism. But that is of no importance. Rather, it is one more charm of this work that is so charming, for these and others.
Macondo, the setting where the events take place, is a small world, “a village of 20 houses made of mud and bamboo, built on the banks of a river of clear waters that rushed through a bed of polished stones, white and huge as eggs. prehistoric”. Speaking of prehistoric egg, this novel is a kind of egg of reality that, with the strength of symbols, manages to represent us, not only the Caribbean, not only Colombia, not only Latin America, not only the present moment, but the whole world at all times with its contradictions, with its pains, with its unfulfilled desires, finally, with the monumental loneliness that weighs on the shoulders of the Buendía-Iguarán. Which, by the way, weighs on the shoulders of every human being, in the condition of mortal and orphan of hope itself. I think that even if we undergo radical changes in our physical and mental structure, even if we reach other levels of cognition, even if we come to inhabit other planets in other galaxies, loneliness will still be our most evident mark, which nothing can erase. That’s why “One Hundred Years of Solitude” is to be read everywhere and forever.
The musicality of “One Hundred Years of Solitude” is extraordinary, something to lull the spirit, a majestic symphony made up of literary phrases. In fact, the musicality is so delicious that if the text were written in the strange language of the feverish possessed, so that the reader could not understand a single word, it would still be worth reading, just for the sound. And that sound doesn’t just appear once in a while, in more whimsical moments, no. Wherever you open the book, there will be a stretch of great melodic arrangement. See the opening sentence: “Many years later, in front of the firing squad, Colonel Aurélio Buendía would remember that remote afternoon when his father took him to see the ice”.
But forget the sound for a moment. Just look at the paradox of life enclosed in that first sentence. There is no more dramatic situation than finding yourself standing as a target in front of a firing squad. And there is no greater tenderness than a father taking his son to see something extra but ordinary, something extraordinary, like ice in a tropical world without refrigerators. In addition to divine musicality, the phrase contains drama and tenderness, in a painful, intense formula, but without lamentation.
In fact, “One Hundred Years of Solitude” would have everything to be a sad and mournful novel, because it speaks of the misery of the human condition in the most visceral way. But, not being corny or joking, the author tells us a story on a razor’s edge, in which grace levitates over pain, which is nothing but the very essence of life, in its most distilled and pure form, in its mystery compositions.
At a time when critics around the world were imagining the death of the novel at the crossroads of the Nouveau Roman, Gabriel García Márquez, like a magician in costume and top hat, arrived opening a new and broad horizon to the literary genre. This genre is consecrated by another Spanish-speaking author: Miguel de Cervantes, with his priceless Don Quixote.