Book Review: 100 Years of Solitude
In his seminal work of Magic Realism, One Hundred Years of Solitude, Gabriel Garcia Marquez documents the tragic genealogy of the Buendia family – a family in which the strengths and flaws of each generation are repeated, magnified, twisted, and reinterpreted by the next. The story traces the family from the founding of the town of Macondo by Jose Arcadio Buendia and his wife Ursula Iguaran until the death of the last of the Buendias, Aureliano Babilonia. Along the way, Marquez plays with the concepts of time and memory, as characters repeat, remember, and forecast the tribulations and triumphs of other members of the family history. Marquez achieves his twist on time through his narrative strategy as well. He makes an otherwise linear narrative seem cyclical by framing the story around several key moments and characters in the long history of the family’s genealogy.
Marquez uses some key scenes in his long narrative to achieve a few very important effects. These scenes serve to orient the reader by grounding the many occurrences that occur over the course of one hundred years. They also act as lenses through which to see the narrative, providing for the reader a way to interpret the rest of the many scenes in the novel. Finally, they act as pivot points through which Marquez creates the cycle of blessings, curses, super-human achievements, failures, and all the ancestral baggage that could ever be dreamed. A key example of one of how Marquez uses these important scenes is that of the combination of the attempted execution of Colonel Aureliano Buendia and the “discovery” of ice. The execution scene, from a linear standpoint, occurs nearly half way through the history of the Buendias, but the reader is introduced to the scene on the first page. The scene of the discovery of ice occurs much earlier, but is connected to the execution throughout the novel. The first line of the novel begins with this flash forward: “Many years later, as he faced the firing squad, Colonel Aureliano Buendia was to remember that distant afternoon when his father took him to discover ice” (Marquez 1). The firing squad scene (and the scene detailing the discovery of ice) is referenced many times throughout the narrative, notably on pages 107, 132, 272, and 333. Marquez comes back to the scenes time and again to keep the reader oriented, to provide a lens for interpretation (that time is a fragmented cycle), and to create a pivot point for the cycle of time.
Another device that Marquez uses to create the sense of a cyclical narrative is to use repetition of names and events that echo each other from generation to generation. The names of the characters are repeated, with key variations, over and over. Each generation has its own sets of Jose Arcadios and Aurelianos. Each name has a set of associated traits, so that with each new generation, the new Jose Arcadios and Aurelianos are bound to repeat the failures of their predecessors. Grandsons are even mistaken for their own grandparents. When Pilar Ternera first sees the last Aureliano (son of Aureliano), the narrator notes that she “felt that time was turning back to its earliest origins…she was seeing Colonel Aureliano Buendia once more as she had seen him in the light of a lamp long before the wars” (Marquez 400-401). This is the kind of occurrence that happens regularly in the world that Marquez has created. He uses this technique to create a sense of repetition, of fate, and of a family circling the drain of tragedy.
The cyclical nature of the narrative is clearly not a matter of happenstance. Marquez uses great care in creating the sense of a family history spiraling toward destruction over the course of the one hundred years. This is no small matter, for the themes of the novel are closely bound up in this pattern. Ursula, the most wise and aged of the Buendias, notes this herself in observing the family history as it passes before her. Midway through the story, she hears of Jose Arcadio Buendia’s plan to build a railroad from their village of Macondo to “civilization,” which reminds her of her husband’s earlier plan to blaze a trail to “civilization.” The narrator then adds that “Ursula confirmed her impression that time was going in a circle” (Marquez 226). Later, in yet another repetition, Aureliano Segundo attempts to build a canal from “civilization” to Macondo. Still further in the novel, Ursula has a perplexing conversation with Jose Arcadio Segundo in which she herself commits a repetition by saying something to him that her son (Colonel Aureliano Buendia) once said to her. She recognizes the pattern and the narrator comments that “once again she shuddered with the evidence that time was not passing, as she had just admitted, but that it was turning in a circle” (Marquez 341). Finally, near the end of the novel, Aureliano Segundo and Jose Arcadio Segundo meet the spirit of Jose Arcadio Buendia and after speaking with him, “they understood that Jose Arcadio Buendia was not as crazy as the family said, but that he was the only one who had enough lucidity to sense the truth of the fact that time also stumbled and had accidents and could therefore splinter and leave an eternalized fragment in a room” (Marquez 355). All of this repetition of names and events, and the awareness of the characters that they are living in a fragmented circle of time, gives the narrative a cyclical feel that can be simultaneously dizzying, humorous, and foreboding.
One constant throughout the entire unsettling history of the Buendia family is the character of Melquiades, who is not a Buendia at all, but rather a family advisor. He is present on the first page and on the last, and is instrumental throughout the novel. In fact, one could argue that Melquiades, as the timekeeper of the story, is the primary actor in the plot. He introduces ideas and technologies (from ice to astrolabe to the tools of alchemy) that pave the way for the Buendias’ fates. He begins as a kindly teacher, then grows into a wise sage (back from the dead), then dies and becomes a guiding ghost, and finally turns out to be the author of the Buendia story. The translation of his mysterious parchments have provided a decades-long challenge to the men of the Buendia family, but in the last scene, Aureliano Babilonia (the last of the Buendia line) finishes the task. As he does, he realizes that “it was the history of the family, written by Melquiades, down to the most trivial details, one hundred years ahead of time…Melquiades has not put events in the order of man’s conventional time, but had concentrated a century of daily episodes in such a way that they coexisted in one instant” (Marquez 421). Thus, Melquiades has written the Buendia fate that could only be achieved by the Buendia family trying to decipher what, in fact, he had written. Melquiades has set the time for the demise of the family and, as time keeper, has orchestrated the cycle of destruction that is the frame of the narrative.
By employing these “timely” techniques, Marquez is able to achieve a cyclical effect for the reader that mirrors the fate of the Buendias. He uses repetition, forecasting, flashback, and confusion of the past and present to reinforce this effect. In achieving this effect, Marquez not only achieves a powerful comment on the nature of time and its effects on memory and solitude, but he also shows of is impressive mastery over the elements of time in storytelling.
Book Review: Everything is Illuminated
Reading Jonathan Safran Foer’s debut novel, Everything is Illuminated, can be a bit disorienting for the casual reader. Foer manages to cover over 200 years of history (and fantasy) through the eyes of dual narrators (one writing in mostly broken English), with four distinct narrative modes alternating and interacting with one another. Through all of these narrative gymnastics, though, Foer manages to tell a compelling story. In fact, it is the interchange between these narrative modes that gives the novel its depth and richness of meaning.
The novel is comprised of two intimately connected story lines. The first is the history of the shtetl of Trachimbrod, a Jewish village in the Ukraine. This story line is fanciful, yet tragic, and spans the 151 years from the naming of the village (through a mysterious disaster in the river) to the destruction of the village (through the disaster of Nazi bombs which drove the villagers back into the river). The story is told by Jonathan Safran Foer, the author’s eponymous narrator. Within the novel, Jonathan (the character) sends sections of this story (as a novel-in-progress) to Alexander Perchov (Alex), a Ukranian travel guide who is learning English. It is Alex who (using an apparently outdated dictionary) is writing the second story line. His story is the story of Jonathan (the character) and his search for Augustine, a woman Jonathan believes helped save his grandfather from the Nazis in the last days of Trachimbrod. In reply to Jonathan’s letters, Alex mails his novel back, chapter by chapter. This interaction results in four distinct narrative modes: Jonathan’s narration of the history of Trachimbrod, Alex’s narration of Jonathan’s search for Trachimbrod, Alex’s letters to Jonathan explaining his narrative (meta-narrative), and Jonathan’s letters to Alex critiquing Alex’s narrative (the reader never sees these letters, but Alex refers to them and their contents frequently).
Clearly, this arrangement is complicated, and in the hands of a lesser writer would have surely failed. But Foer (the author, not the character) manages to use it to his advantage. The true narrative of this novel is the story of trying to harmonize the two stories. The story tellers are actively aware of this very problem themselves, and the reader can tell early on that the key to the themes of the novel lie there as well. So, this complication is not only beneficial, but it is in fact the purpose of the novel. Foer is here exploring the nature of memory, things forgotten (both purposefully, and not), and how people shape the past to suit their beliefs or perhaps to just keep their sanity. This is most clear in the final pages of the novel as the truth is “illuminated” to be the surprise key character, Alex’s grandfather. He, for the first time in fifty or more years, faces the truth about the connections between his past (connected to Trachimbrod) and his present (his relationships with Alex and Jonathan). Had he not come to this realization through the congruence of narratives alive in the story, his subsequent suicide would have had far less impact.
A further benefit of this structure is the opportunity that it affords Foer to contrast the tones of the two story lines. When Jonathan is telling the story of Trachimbrod, the language is lush, the events are bizarre (approaching Magical Realism), and the tone is fanciful even in the face of great tragedy. The distance between narrator and subject allows for this style – Trachimbrod is the “stuff of legend.” Conversely, Alex’s story of Jonathan’s search for Trachimbrod and Augustine is straight-forward, even halting, as it approaches the dark truths that are so painful for Alex. Although it is at times quite humorous, Alex’s account grows more and more serious (and erudite) until it finally gives way to the final words of a man whose next act will be to commit suicide as a direct result of the story that is being told. The contrast between these two tones is yet further commentary on the nature of memory. In essence, the two different tones represent the two possible ways to deal with the memory of the same terrible event.
Foer makes things complicated, that is a certainty. But he does so for good reason. In fact, this amalgam of narrative modes is the only way he could have possibly told his story effectively. The confusion of perspectives is not a distraction; it is the point of novel.
Buenos Aires Day 6: Even Grad Students Have Field Trips
Today, we took a little trip to Villa Ocampo, the former estate of Victoria Ocampo, who was very important to the literary culture of Argentina. She was a publisher, editor, and writer who invited many world-renowned writers to come stay at her home for working retreats. Among them were Neruda, Borges, Camus, Sartre, Guiraldes, and many more. A few pictures below.
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Buenos Aires Day 3-5: Work, Work, Play
The last few days have been very focused on simply getting work done. Lectures, workshops, and meetings have been increasing in intensity. This includes assignments and reports that must be completed at night. So, the days have looked like this:
- After showering and dressing, I eat breakfast while I journal and finish the reading for the coming day’s lectures.
- Lectures/workshops/meetings from 9:30a-6:30p.
- Relax, email, catch up on World Cup scores (boo Ghana!) from 6:30p-7:30p.
- Homework and writing over dinner from 8:00p-10:00p (one place I like to do this is at El Ateneo – a theater that has been converted into a bookstore, with a cafe where the stage used to be – pics below).
- Reading and sleep.
Today, though, we took the afternoon to visit a few different neighborhoods (La Boca, Porto Modero and San Telmo) for the afternoon. This included a couple art museums in La Boca as well as some Argentine monuments, political centers (think the Washington D.C. Mall) and cultural touchpoints (see pics below).
Back to work tomorrow, but we will be visiting an antiques fair in the afternoon.
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Buenos Aires Day 2: Down to Business
I don’t have much of an update for my second day here, because I spent most of it in workshops and lectures. I slept in until 8am (4am Pacific) and was in class from 9:30am until 6:30pm. It rained a little this evening, but it was still pleasant and comfortable. Unfortunately, I didn’t do any sightseeing after class…I bought food at the market and headed up to my room to work.
I was expecting a good learning experience, but those expectations are already being surpassed. The level of instruction and depth of detail was staggering today! It’s such a whirlwind, though, I’m not sure I’ll be able to retain it all. I think I’ll need a week just to read over my notes and re-absorb the insights.
No pictures today…sorry! Hopefully tomorrow I’ll have a chance to do more exploring.
Buenos Aires Day 1: Who Needs Sleep?
When I left Mom and Dad’s house in Valencia, CA at 5:45am, the date was June 21. When I stepped off the plane in Buenos Aires (sans sleep), it was 9:15am on June 22. Right now, it’s 6:00pm on June 22, and I still haven’t slept, so I’m going to keep this brief.
Things I’ve learned / noticed so far:
1. Hotel room numbering systems are, uhhh, flexible. My room is 805, so I must take the #5 elevator to the 8th floor. Go figure.
2. It took me 10 minutes to figure out that my room key had to be inserted into a special slot for the lights to be turned on.
3. A cafe is stronger than American espresso (yeah!)
4. Rubber trees can be bigger than houses.
5. If you are rich, you can be buried in a mausoleum in the cetner of the city, where people can come see your coffin. Fun!
Here are a few pictures…
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Book Review: The Naked Gospel
There have occurred only a couple moments in my life when I’ve read something that radically reorients my perspective. In The Naked Gospel, Andrew Farley ambitiously sets out to do just that for his readers. The unique circumstances of his argument, though, are that he’s not really sharing anything new. What he does do is offer a new way of looking at things with which we are already familiar. Farley does an admirable job of pointing out the ramifications of the new covenant ushered in by Jesus’ death and resurrection. He unabashedly claims that faith in Christ entails a complete break with sin and the law that accuses us of that sin. Instead, because we are (in reality) free from guilt, our penchant for focusing on sin, forgiveness, and “behavior modification” is misguided. Farley argues that (as odd as it seems) we are righteous, without need for further forgiveness. In fact, it is in our new nature to act in accordance with God’s will.
All this talk of forgiveness, freedom from the power of sin, and the new covenant is familiar; but Farley’s translation of that information to a new paradigm of understanding our new identity in Christ is bold. Farley argues that we have the freedom to pursue the goodness of God without concern for building a right relationship with Him. We have it already; we just need to think, feel, and live according to that reality.
Farley’s prose is simple and straightforward. Although the momentum of the book stalls in places (especially toward the end), he builds his arguments steadily and completely. I would recommend The Naked Gospel for any Christian who is ready to have their assumptions challenged.
Update: Chapter 2 Available Online!
The much anticipated second chapter of my novel, While Reading Gatsby is now online (and by “much anticipated” I mean “much anticipated by my mom and I”)! Along with the posting of Chapter 2, I have re-posted an updated version of Chapter 1. Also, I’ve had to “password protect” my short story “Ineffable” but it has a snazzy new ending that might make more sense…just use the password “scribendi” to read it.
As always, I appreciate any feedback, criticism, words of encouragement, or snide remarks. Thanks for reading!
