about One Hundred Years of Solitude

about One Hundred Years of Solitude

I have to admit that writing about One Hundred Years of Solitude was difficult. For the first time I read it years ago, in polish. And when I think about it now, all I can remember is the feeling of richness of the writing. Thickness of descriptions. There is a reminiscence of beauty too. But the story itself was lost completely.

Some time ago I got it as a birthday gift, so the right time came for the second reading. More careful and attentive one, that was my plan. I’m not sure if I managed to do that, but I definitely tried.
While reading, all the thoughts and ideas that were there with me the first time came back. There was also a new thing. A feeling of timelessness. All the sons in the Buendía family were named the same. There were additional surnames, nicknames and so on, but oh my! I was lost many times wondering about who exactly I’m reading about. It was as the loneliness of each of the generation, each of Aureliano and José Arcadio was merged in one. In one endless solitary existence.

This time I also decided to read something about author and about the book itself. And I was surprised to hear that it is a story of the country. This made me realize that there is a lot I’m not noticing. Nuances and details of the history itself. And If I’m missing that, the question is what else?

The answer to this question seems pretty simple. I have the impression that in the year or so only the small reminiscence will stay with me. Details, emotions. Nothing more. And maybe in few years, the story will return to its beginnings and I will start to read the book again, trying to remember and rediscover why I felt this utter solitude breaking out from the book…

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