Monday, November 16, 2009

Memorias de mis putas tristes, by Gabriel García Márquez

Lighter, less important than his great novels (if they can be called novels) this book is a delicate celebration of the torment of falling in love.

GM's gifts are two-fold: effortless storytelling—he's the master storyteller of his generation—and a seemingly limitless capacity to take delight in the vagaries of the world. He is abjectly optimistic, positive, life-affirming. Coming from him, "mierda" means "wonder."

A quick, comic read—this is comedy—and a useful reminder that regardless of the world's godlessness (or, worse yet, its godliness) it's filled with reasons to love it.

A follow-up: It's been some time since I recorded this note. As time passes the memory of this book fills me with a peculiar nausea. It might be dishonest. I'll read it in translation and see what I think of it in English.

No comments:

Post a Comment