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3.4 AVERAGE
3.4 AVERAGE
I have previously read two GGM works: The Handsomest Drowned Man in the World” and “A Very Old Man with Enormous Wings” in Spanish and English respectively. Both works failed to impress me, which was a disappointment as a fan of magic realism. I proclaimed for years that GGM was amongst my least favorite famous authors. It was only after hearing praise for One Hundred Years of Solitude that I decided to give GGM another chance, though I wanted to read another (shorter) book of his before doing so. This was the book I landed on.
This book feels like what people have told me reading Lolita is like. We know the protagonist is not a moral person, we understand his infatuation with a child is repugnant, and we are made to step into his shoes in uncomfortable moments. Admittedly, I enjoyed the writing. The prose wasn’t too dense, which was a problem I had with some of GGM’s other works. The protagonist’s attitude towards life and aging is written with wisdom and introspection, and you can tell GGM’s own experience with age bled into this book’s narration. The narrator is terrible, but self aware, and with that, the reader can find interest in seeing how his mind works, rather than enjoying his actions. However, the narrator is pretty irredeemable. His misogyny seeps into his words, thoughts, and actions, and the violence he commits against women is hard to read about without resenting him. I am the type of reader who enjoys reading a book for its narrative and themes, but if you are someone who is taken out of the immersion when the narrative wants you to sympathize with a horrible person, this book may not be for you. The prose of this book made it worth reading for me, but god, I would have preferred to not read about the main character’s disregard for women’s autonomy. There’s a reason many of the female reviewers on Goodreads rated this book low; Women are dehumanized by this narrative. The protagonist has a clear Madonna–whore complex, and while it was interesting for me to read, I can imagine it can irritate others to no end.
As a Spanish speaker, I did occasionally check the original text to compare it with Edith Grossman’s translation. At times, I was impressed, such as when the nickname “Abominable Hombre de las Nueve” (Abominable Man of Nine o’ Clock) was translated into “Abominable No-Man” to make to the pun land in both languages. The original joke was that the editor of the narrator’s publishing company would come in at 9 am on the dot to criticize their articles (the pun on “Snowman” comes from “Nueve,” meaning nine, and sounding like “Nieve,” meaning snow). It was thus translated to become a joke about how the editor rejects a lot of the writers’ ideas. When it came to these clever jokes and significant interactions with the protagonist, the translation excelled. However, there were also moments where I felt that the translation didn’t fully convey the feeling of the original text. For example, the protagonist encounters a classmate from school, and in the translation, he says that the classmate called him “tú with the effusiveness of an old friend.” An English speaker with zero knowledge of how Spanish works will have the meaning of this lost on them. In Spanish, “tú” is used for friends and/or people your age, while “usted” is used for people older than you, in order to show respect. Given that the protagonist is 90, the majority of people call him “usted,” and conjugate their sentences accordingly. In Spanish, the narrator notes that the classmate is doing something called “tuteando.” This means that the classmate is conjugating his words as if he were a friend of the protagonist (or the same age). This would be the equivalent of greeting a Japanese stranger by their first name instead of their surname. It comes off as very forward and friendly, but also can result in discomfort for the person who is not accustomed to this, especially when using formal language is an inherent form of respect. Since verbs and pronouns in Spanish require some conjugation, almost every sentence spoken by the classmate will be making the protagonist actively think about the way he is being addressed, and what this says about his classmate. Thus, the translation should have opted to change the specifics of this interaction in order to keep the overall “feeling” of the scene. It’s a bit nitpicky, but any great translator can tell you that translation is not a one-to-one, word-for-word translation of the original work.
All in all, I would say this book is a step up from GGM’s short stories, and the thought has crossed my mind that he may be capable of writing interesting narration and concepts, but I have yet to be truly impressed and captivated with a work of his. At some point, I’ll read A Hundred Years of Solitude, and I’ll be able to make a clear verdict regarding my feelings towards GGM as an author. But for now, I’ll just say I’ve read a singular work of his that some people might be able to get something out of.
This book feels like what people have told me reading Lolita is like. We know the protagonist is not a moral person, we understand his infatuation with a child is repugnant, and we are made to step into his shoes in uncomfortable moments. Admittedly, I enjoyed the writing. The prose wasn’t too dense, which was a problem I had with some of GGM’s other works. The protagonist’s attitude towards life and aging is written with wisdom and introspection, and you can tell GGM’s own experience with age bled into this book’s narration. The narrator is terrible, but self aware, and with that, the reader can find interest in seeing how his mind works, rather than enjoying his actions. However, the narrator is pretty irredeemable. His misogyny seeps into his words, thoughts, and actions, and the violence he commits against women is hard to read about without resenting him. I am the type of reader who enjoys reading a book for its narrative and themes, but if you are someone who is taken out of the immersion when the narrative wants you to sympathize with a horrible person, this book may not be for you. The prose of this book made it worth reading for me, but god, I would have preferred to not read about the main character’s disregard for women’s autonomy. There’s a reason many of the female reviewers on Goodreads rated this book low; Women are dehumanized by this narrative. The protagonist has a clear Madonna–whore complex, and while it was interesting for me to read, I can imagine it can irritate others to no end.
As a Spanish speaker, I did occasionally check the original text to compare it with Edith Grossman’s translation. At times, I was impressed, such as when the nickname “Abominable Hombre de las Nueve” (Abominable Man of Nine o’ Clock) was translated into “Abominable No-Man” to make to the pun land in both languages. The original joke was that the editor of the narrator’s publishing company would come in at 9 am on the dot to criticize their articles (the pun on “Snowman” comes from “Nueve,” meaning nine, and sounding like “Nieve,” meaning snow). It was thus translated to become a joke about how the editor rejects a lot of the writers’ ideas. When it came to these clever jokes and significant interactions with the protagonist, the translation excelled. However, there were also moments where I felt that the translation didn’t fully convey the feeling of the original text. For example, the protagonist encounters a classmate from school, and in the translation, he says that the classmate called him “tú with the effusiveness of an old friend.” An English speaker with zero knowledge of how Spanish works will have the meaning of this lost on them. In Spanish, “tú” is used for friends and/or people your age, while “usted” is used for people older than you, in order to show respect. Given that the protagonist is 90, the majority of people call him “usted,” and conjugate their sentences accordingly. In Spanish, the narrator notes that the classmate is doing something called “tuteando.” This means that the classmate is conjugating his words as if he were a friend of the protagonist (or the same age). This would be the equivalent of greeting a Japanese stranger by their first name instead of their surname. It comes off as very forward and friendly, but also can result in discomfort for the person who is not accustomed to this, especially when using formal language is an inherent form of respect. Since verbs and pronouns in Spanish require some conjugation, almost every sentence spoken by the classmate will be making the protagonist actively think about the way he is being addressed, and what this says about his classmate. Thus, the translation should have opted to change the specifics of this interaction in order to keep the overall “feeling” of the scene. It’s a bit nitpicky, but any great translator can tell you that translation is not a one-to-one, word-for-word translation of the original work.
All in all, I would say this book is a step up from GGM’s short stories, and the thought has crossed my mind that he may be capable of writing interesting narration and concepts, but I have yet to be truly impressed and captivated with a work of his. At some point, I’ll read A Hundred Years of Solitude, and I’ll be able to make a clear verdict regarding my feelings towards GGM as an author. But for now, I’ll just say I’ve read a singular work of his that some people might be able to get something out of.
Reads like a strange version of lolita but with Marquez's ability to trap me with his "mystical" storytelling
Another pedophilic love story. I think Marquez was trying to tell us something. Nonetheless, it was a good read.
One of my favorite fiction writers of all time, but unfortunately, one of the weaker plot lines of any novel or story I've read by Márquez.
Gabriel García Márquez is incredible. I've loved everything I've read from him, and just now I've decided to try to read all of his novels, at least until I stop enjoying them. This very short book is no exception. It shows that GGM's magical writing ability is still there into the 21st century.
All of my morals told me to not like this book... old man... trying to get it on with a teenage virgin/whore before he dies... yeah, that's like gross. But this is Garcia Marquez. Obviously it's not just about that. And it's not. I still tend to favor the books of his that nobody talks about.
A beautifully written book about pedophilia, male entitlement, chauvinism, misogyny, female ownership, rape…what a grotesque piece of garbage.