One Hundred Years of Solitude by Gabriel Garcia Marquez (December 2018)
I first read Gabriel Garcia Marquez’s 1967 classic in high school as part of a summer homework assignment for my Spanish class. I know in hindsight that I hardly understood a syllable. This does seem a shame in a certain way but doesn’t bother me all that much. After rereading this book a couple of times in recent years, I’ve recognized that the book’s main lessons would have been very difficult for me to relate to over a decade ago.
One such lesson is how as a person ages his or her perception of time’s passage can shift from linear to circular. I can relate to this as I notice the ways I’ve repeated past behavior or fallen back on familiar ways of thinking. Though the faces and places change, my central role in the story means a certain familiar pattern of cause and effect emerges to dictate the plot. There was no way for me to appreciate this insight in high school, a time defined by the linear construction of growing up that offered forward momentum as a compelling explanation for what I now recognize as centripetal motion.
I have a similar reaction to the thought that our habits and routines often prevent us from finding lost things. After all, isn’t the first step in a search to retrace our steps? Marquez notes that life in these situations moves forward not in the way circular motion defines progression in the wheel but rather in how a broken axle forces the driver to find a new vehicle. This thought would have made no impact on me in high school because I was so focused on the journey ahead that I was unaware of what I was leaving behind me. It is again now, with the illusion of a linear life permanently discarded, that I am capable of comprehending the lesson. I suppose we are all like moons, our positions ultimately dependent solely on the whims of our assigned planet despite the diligence with which we keep to our orbits.
Speaking of analogies, let’s return to the broken axle. I like the comparison but must point out that sometimes a broken axle convinces a driver to stop wandering and put down permanent roots. This insight best applies when another’s death causes the axle to splinter. What’s interesting, I suppose, is that the wheels can shoot off in opposite directions when their shared connection breaks. I suppose this isn’t much different from how objects in the same orbit can shoot off in any direction once their bond to the planet is lost. I wonder if this is what Marquez meant when he noted that people’s feelings toward a place change as soon as someone is buried in its ground. For now, I understand that a burial is the starting point of a journey regardless of whether it physically takes us anywhere. I suppose that’s a lesson I can think more about the next time when I – inevitably – circle back to read this book once again.
