Cien años de soledad

ISBN: 0307350428
ISBN 13: 9780307350428
By: Gabriel Garcí­a Márquez

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Genres

1001 Books Book Club Classics Fantasy Favourites Historical Fiction Latin America Literature Magic Realism Magical Realism

About this book

El libro se compone de 20 capítulos no titulados, en los cuales se narra una historia con una estructura cíclica temporal, ya que los acontecimientos del pueblo y de la familia Buendía, así como los nombres de los personajes se repiten una y otra vez, fusionando la fantasía con la realidad. En los tres primeros capítulos se narra el éxodo de un grupo de familias y el establecimiento del pueblo de Macondo, desde el capítulo 4 hasta el 16 se trata el desarrollo económico, político y social del pueblo y los últimos cuatro capítulos narran su decadencia.

Reader's Thoughts

Kenghis Khan

"The book picks up not too far after Genesis left off." And this fictitious chronicle of the Buendia household in the etherial town of Macondo somewhere in Latin America does just that. Rightly hailed as a masterpiece of the 20th century, Garcia Marquez's "One Hundred Years of Solitude" will remain on the reading list of every pretentious college kid, every under-employed author, every field-worker in Latin America, and indeed should be "required reading for the entire human race," as one reviewer put it a few decades back.No review, however laconic or ponderous, can do justice to this true piece of art. Perhaps I can only hint at a few of the striking features of the work that are so novel, so insightful, and which make it such a success in my opinion.By far and away the most inspiring element of the work is the author's tone. He reportedly self-conscioulsy wrote in the style that his grandmother back in Columbia used to tell him stories. Thus there is a conversational, meandering, but indeed succinct and perfect narrative voice to whisk the reader through the years of Macondo's fantastical history.Not unrelatedly, the tone has ample visual imagery, with superb attention to detail (and just the right quantity and nature of the detail that surrounds everyday life) to help prod the story along. The dolls of the child-bride treasured by the mother-in-law and heroine Ursula. The paranormal and mundane contrivences of the gypsies that are celebrated in the opening pages and which close the book. The tree to which the mad genius who founded the town and Buendia line is tied and dies in. The pretentious suitcases of the returning emigre. The goldfishes that are the relicts of a disillusioned but celebrated warrior. And the ubiquitous ants. All these objects have their proper place among the daily going abouts of the Buendia family, and serve to weave into the story a sense of BOTH the ordinary and the surreal.There is ample space in this world of Macondo and the Buendias for a sad commentary on that world South of the Rio Grande. Incessant, pointless civil wars. A rigid political and ecclesiastical hierarchy shoved down the throats of decent folk. The rampant exploitation of the tropics by outsiders, both foreign and domesitc. And perhaps most significantly, the strangely marginal and uncomfortable space occupied by technology in daily life in the Latino world. I am surely not alone in uncovering some facet of the work that speaks so boldly and loudly to me. This rich yet surprisingly elegant novel has, it seems, on every page the germinating seeds of an exciting conversation that speaks directly to an observation and experience everybody, and especially those coming to or from Latin America (or any underdeveloped nation), has had.And of course there are the brilliant characters, and the sense one gets of how they are affected by, and in turn affect, their setting. The story is aided by a pedigree one keeps referring to in the beginning of the book, as its immense scope (yes, 100 years) and maddening array of characters demand of the reader to conjure up visualizations of what exactly is going on. It is no wonder that this work is celebrated for being almost biblical in scope.Yes, my review can be condensed into three words: READ THIS BOOK!!!

Mister Jones

I must be missing something about this one, and whatever it is, I know it's not much.I didn't enjoy it; I wanted it to be a fulfilling and rewarding read; I want it to be everything that everyone else said it was and then some.So, I learned that some works aren't worth it--not worth reading, not worth the time, and not worth putting faith in what others may deem "a beautiful book."Marquez pops characters in and out with different brief activities and events, scattering them into a literary collage; humans with tails, and a girl who eats dirt..those things would be interesting if a story was surrounding each one, but there isn't. It's like going to a carnival looking through a peep hole and seeing a freak of nature briefly.To just pop these abnormalities in as being convincing, which it sure as hell isn't, seems to be stretching the point of lucidity and literary, and after that, I stopped reading--because there's a big difference in reading and just wallowing in a collage of intellectual masturbation where events and names are continuously wrapped around the charming misnomer:"magic realism." Ultimately, it's monotonous, confusing, and in the end boring as hell.I've given it no stars because I'm so full of magic realism. I'm real and can perform magic,and I'm far more convincing than this pretentious work ever could be. Watch me: I'm waving my literary wand and sending 100 Days of Boring Crap on a magic carpet ride directly into my "crap that actually got published" bin. BRAVO!

Ahmad Ashkaibi

قبل أن أقول رأيي في الكتاب... أقول لمن نصحني به: سامحك الله على هذ النصحية.. أضعت مالي ووقتي فيما لا يفيد....ثم أتعجب من أولئك الذين أعجبهم الكتاب بحيث وضعوا له خمس نجمات... بل وإن منهم من يقول إن الكتاب غير حياته... لا أدري هل كان هذا الكتاب الوحيد الذي قرأوه في حياتهم؟ هل غابت عنهم عيون الأدب؟ لا أدري ماذا حل بالذوق الأدبي للقراء العرب...ومن ثم أقول للمترجم... هداك الله.. ضيعت وقتك وأوقاتنا في غير فائدة.. المصيبة أنه يعلق على ترجمته للكتاب فيقول إن هذه الرواية من أجمل ما قرأ!لا أدري ما هو سر ولع كتاب أمريكا اللاتينية بالغجر والكيمياء وتحويل المعادن إلى ذهب وحجر الفلاسفة (آه من حجر الفلاسفة) والعرب ... عندما قرأت "الخيميائي" لباولو كويلو صدمت صدمة عنيفة به لكنني أكملته إلى آخره... وهذا الكتاب يشبهه إلى حد كبير جدا... يتنقل بك الكاتب بين الأحداث كما يتنقل الطائر وهو ينقر الحب عن الأرض.... المفروض أن تشدك الرواية لقراءتها لكنني لم أستطع أن أتجاوز الصفحة 49 من الكتاب...إذ تخيلت نفسي وأنا أقرأه كمن يمشي حافيا على الحصى في ساعة القيظ...يكاد يكون لجميع الرجال في الرواية الاسم ذاته وهو "خوزيه أركاديو" بحيث يضطر الكاتب إلى التفرقة بينهم بترقيمهم : خوزيه الأول والحفيد والابن والجد وهكذا...بالمختصر المفيد.. الكتاب سيء جدا بكل المعايير ..ولا أنصح به أجدا خصوصا من يمتلك ذوقا رفيعا في الأدب ومن ينتقي ما يقرأه بعناية...تشتت وضياع... إباحية...وعلاقات محرمة (سفاح) بين الأقارب... ومضيعة كبيرة للوقت...الحياة قصيرة لتضيعها في قراءة كتاب سيء كهذا.....

Tim

I had a magical AP English teacher my senior year of high school, who had an ethereal, almost magical (sort of a whisper, sort of a song) voice and a flourish and passion for reading. She assigned us Garcia-Marquez' "100 Years Of Solitude," it was one of those (i'll admit and hope it doesn't sound lame or cheesy) life-changing moments.I can't say what it was at that moment that so moved me, but I attribute this as the book that made me love reading...love words. I hadn't come across any authors whose words could move deftly from the grounded, the sublime, and the real to the super-natural, the magic, and the surreal. The chapters almost blew off the pages like maple-wings from a tree (hey, I can visualize it)...and literally from that point on I learned how to look beyond what you can see in the everyday to peer into the beyond.This is the only novel that I have read multiple times, and I could pick it up again today and read it cover to cover.

Philip

I imagine these people looking and saying, "Yes, but what does it mean?" As literary critics everywhere cringe or roll over in their clichéd graves I approach this text and review the same way. One Hundred Years of Solitude... beautiful, intriguing... but what does it mean? And does it have to mean anything?Oscar Wilde: "All art is at once surface and symbol. Those who go beneath the surface do so at their peril. Those who read the symbol do so at their peril." And what about those who skip across the surface, like a stone? Able only to make so many hops before sinking, blinded by the mud, disoriented by the current to the bottom? What are we?This was (is) a beautiful book. Like Guernica. Like Dali.It's religious, and political, and sexual. ... and confusing. And as long as I haven't over-used it already - beautiful.It's the literary Big Fish and I'm sure people will and have debated what it means, and authorial intent and it won the Nobel Prize for crying out loud, but maybe it's to display on a prominent house wall and be debated.It's easy to get a handle on the broad and general themes - history is cyclical - not progressive, progress is a myth (and "progress" is evil), go after love, be careful not to let memories or nostalgia bow you down, seek knowledge, the world is mysterious and doesn't always make sense, don't be intimidated of anybody - especially of your past self or selves.Beyond that it's just conjecture.The story begins with Jose Arcadio Buendia -the patriarch - and the founding of Macondo. It follows the lineage of his descendants - many living mythically long lives and bringing in enchanted aspects. The dead live, return from the future, invent and disappear - but not in a machine of the gods way - it's more dream-like.The lineage frustrated me. In order to illustrate his point on the circular view of history, there were 4 Joses, 22 Aurelianos, 5 Arcadios, a couple Ursulas and Remedioses to boot. And Pilar Ternera found herself grandmother or great grandmother to far too many kids. Even with the family tree in the front of the book, it was difficult to tell which Arcadio or Jose or Aureliano was which - especially given the fact that so many of the characters lived past 100. (Or even past 145.)The book was intriguing. I loved the tidbits that came back into play throughout the book - the ash on the heads of the Aurelianos, Melquiades stopping by for a chat - that's what made it for me.Like I said, I don't think this was a book to "get." But if you do "get it," don't cliff note it to me. I like it the way it is in my mind.

Bassam Ahmed

ملكيادس مات و خوززيه الجد مات واورسولا ماتت و خوزيه الصايع مات و العقيد اوريليانو مات وروبيكا ماتت و اوريليانو العاشق مات والحزين مات وتيرزيزا كمان ماتت وارمانتا ماتت واوريليانو التاني مات وخوزيه التاني مات وفيه واحد اتولد ف اخر الرواية اسمه اوريليانو برده مات دي بقت مائه عام م الوفيات اصلا :]

Jacey

This was the first book I'd ever read where the end was as good as the beginning and middle, that's to say -- excellent. A circular story of a family through the generations, through the banana trees, through the political turmoil. Magical realism at it's best.If it helps, by the time you get half way through the book you shouldn't have to look at the family tree at the front of the book anymore.

Christina White

Torture. This book seemed like it would NEVER end. I didn't enjoy this book... and here are some reasons I came up with:1. I'm not Colombian2. Magical realism makes my head hurt3. Incest is disgusting4. Everyone had the same name and the characters kept dying... therefore I had no investment in the relationships and no sense of a plot that I cared to follow through to the end.Maybe I'm just not intellectual or smart enough to enjoy this book... There are so many reviews of praise. I totally missed the boat on this one.

Chris

Revised 28 March 2012Huh? Oh. Oh, man. Wow.I just had the weirdest dream.There was this little town, right? And everybody had, like, the same two names. And there was this guy who lived under a tree and a lady who ate dirt and some other guy who just made little gold fishes all the time. And sometimes it rained and sometimes it didn’t, and… and there were fire ants everywhere, and some girl got carried off into the sky by her laundry…Wow. That was messed up.I need some coffee.The was roughly how I felt after reading this book. This is really the only time I’ve ever read a book and thought, “You know, this book would be awesome if I were stoned.” And I don’t even know if being stoned works on books that way.Gabriel Garcia Marquez (which is such a fun name to say) is one of those Writers You Should Read. You know the type – they’re the ones that everyone claims to have read, but no one really has. The ones you put in your online dating profile so that people will think you’re smarter than you really are. You get some kind of intellectual bonus points or something, the kind of highbrow cachet that you just don’t get from reading someone like Stephen King or Clive Barker.Marquez was one of the first writers to use “magical realism,” a style of fantasy wherein the fantastic and the unbelievable are treated as everyday occurrences. While I’m sure it contributed to the modern genre of urban fantasy – which also mixes the fantastic with the real – magical realism doesn’t really go out of its way to point out the weirdness and the bizarrity. These things just happen. A girl floats off into the sky, a man lives far longer than he should, and these things are mentioned in passing as though they were perfectly normal.In this case, Colonel Aureliano Buendia has seventeen illegitimate sons, all named Aureliano, by seventeen different women, and they all come to his house on the same day. Remedios the Beauty is a girl so beautiful that men just waste away in front of her, but she doesn’t even notice. The twins Aureliano Segundo and Jose Arcadio Segundo may have, in fact, switched identities when they were children, but no one knows for sure – not even them. In the small town of Macondo, weird things happen all the time, and nobody really notices. Or if they do notice that, for example, the town’s patriarch has been living for the last twenty years tied to a chestnut tree, nobody thinks anything is at all unusual about it.This, of course, is a great example of Dream Logic – the weird seems normal to a dreamer, and you have no reason to question anything that’s happening around you. Or if you do notice that something is wrong, but no one else seems to be worried about it, then you try to pretend like coming to work dressed only in a pair of spangly stripper briefs and a cowboy hat is perfectly normal.Another element of dreaminess that pervades this book is that there’s really no story here, at least not in the way that we have come to expect. Reading this book is kind of like a really weird game of The Sims - it’s about a family that keeps getting bigger and bigger, and something happens to everybody. So, the narrator moves around from one character to another, giving them their moment for a little while, and then it moves on to someone else, very smoothly and without much fanfare. There’s very little dialogue, so the story can shift very easily, and it often does.Each character has their story to tell, but you’re not allowed to linger for very long on any one of them before Garcia shows you what’s happening to someone else. The result is one long, continuous narrative about this large and ultimately doomed family, wherein the Buendia family itself is the main character, and the actual family members are secondary to that.It was certainly an interesting reading experience, but it took a while to get through. I actually kept falling asleep as I read it, which is unusual for me. But perhaps that’s what Garcia would have wanted to happen. By reading his book, I slipped off into that non-world of dreams and illusions, where the fantastic is commonplace and ice is something your father takes you to discover.------“[Arcadio] imposed obligatory military service for men over eighteen, declared to be public property any animals walking the streets after six in the evening, and made men who were overage wear red armbands. He sequestered Father Nicanor in the parish house under pain of execution and prohibited him from saying mass or ringing the bells unless it was for a Liberal victory. In order that no one would doubt the severity of his aims, he ordered a firing squad organized in the square and had it shoot a scarecrow. At first no one took him seriously.”

Suzanne

My father-in-law loves this book so much that he gave me a copy for Christmas two years in a row. My father had already given me a copy years before. Lots of people I respect rave about this book; how it is a classic, a timeless work of genius, a brilliant critique of capitalism, etc. etc. I really want to share their enthusiasm; I want to be a member of the tribe that has read and loved this book, but I am ashamed to admit that I have never been able to finish it. I have tried to get through it several times. I have charted the family trees of the characters in order to keep track of the four-syllable names and incestuous couplings - but I get bored and frustrated with the meandering plot and give up half-way through every time. I keep thinking that maybe the end of the book, the part I've never been able to get to, is really great. There are certain things I do really like about the book, which is why I still gave it three stars, the writing is beautiful, but I think the book, as a whole, is overrated - either that, or I'm missing something, the last part of the book perhaps, that inspires the kind of passionate enthusiasm that people tend to have about the book and it's author. I've thought a lot about it on my stroller walks lately and I have come to the following conclusion: It's just not my genre. I prefer non-fiction and memoirs to fiction. The "magical realism" of García Márquez is too far out there for me - too fictional. I have enjoyed reading the commentary about the book far more than I have ever enjoyed the book. I have especially liked reading commentary about the book's allegorical meanings; readers who have linked this bizare work of fiction with fact, anchored the fictional town of Macondo to the places of García Márquez' childhood and the socio-political history of Columbia. Someone once told me that there are two types of people: those who believe there are two types of people and those who do not. I am a knitter. Knitters are often lumped into two groups: process knitters or project knitters. Project knitters knit to produce wearable functional garments. Process knitters knit just for the experience of knitting. I am a process knitter, but a product reader. I like to knit but I'm not really concerned with the finished product. I like to read, but my focus is what I get out of a book more than the experience of reading it. I like to learn something either about a real place, real person, or gain some insight about myself. I like my fiction to be realistic. "Magical realism" is not for me. Every time I read this book I ask myself, "Where is this going? What is the point," where, if I were a process reader, perhaps I'd be able to let all of that go and appreciate the lyrical nature of the book's beautiful writing. The cast of characters is too large. I think keeping track of all of them is a major distraction from the story. The plot is too abstract for me to grasp - and as much as I can appreciate the lyrical beauty of the language, I have never been able to get into this book.

Maria

Del potere seduttivo di Gabriel García Márquez.E' successo tutto una settimana fa. Può sembrare poco tempo e in effetti lo è, ma lasciate che vi racconti come è andata.Mi corteggiava da mesi. Io continuavo a ripetergli i motivi per i quali non saremmo mai potuti andare d'accordo.- Non sei il mio tipo - cercavo di fargli capire - Io ho bisogno di altro, mi conosco, sono attratta da personaggi completamente diversi. Mi dispiace.Lui non mi dava tregua. Stava lì a guardarmi. Sorrideva, quasi fosse una sfida.- Lasciami provare. Se le cose non andranno sparirò per sempre dalla tua vita.Non sopportavo più quel silenzio paziente e granitico. Fino all'altro giorno:- Un'unica possibilità, tanto per dimostrarti che ho ragione. - gli dissi - Andiamo. Un sorriso diverso questa volta, pieno e raggiante.Mi portò a Macondo, un strano villaggio immerso nella foresta colombiana.- Vedi? - gli dissi - Già non andiamo d'accordo! Io odio questi luoghi! A me piacciono le città fredde e caotiche. Adoro lo smog, le luci al led e i palazzoni di sessanta piani. Hai già perso!Niente. Non voleva lasciarmi andare.Mi indicò una casa, quella era la nostra destinazione.Conobbi i suoi amici: José Arcadio Buendía e Ursula Iguarán.José Arcadio Buendía. Ripetevo il suo nome continuamente; mi sembrava che ogni sillaba fosse una nota musicale più che una disposizione ordinata di lettere.- José Arcadio Buendía. José. Arcadio. Buendía.Non lo dissi a Gabriel, sapevo che si sarebbe preso gioco di me.Josè Arcadio parlava velocemente, non riuscivo a stargli dietro. Mi raccontò di come lui e Ursula avessero fondato Macondo, degli zingari e delle loro invenzioni straordinarie. Mi parlò della sua voglia di scoprire, del suo bisogno viscerale di vedere, di sapere.Le sue pupille erano due tizzoni ardenti. Ogni parte del suo corpo ardeva contemporaneamente. Era impossibile staccargli gli occhi di dosso.Mi presentò i suoi figli. Erano tre. Quattro in realtà. Mi spiegò che Rebeca era una Buendìa a tutti gli effetti; era sua figlia prima ancora che arrivasse al villaggio, piccola e sola, con la sua scatola di legno stretta tra le braccia.Non capii sul momento cosa significasse esattamente "essere un Buendìa".- Sembra un concetto molto affascinante - mi limitai a dire.Jose Arcadio era il maggiore. Bello e fiero. Un uomo vero, come amava definirsi.Come spesso succede, la mia attenzione non si fermò sui muscoli di Arcadio ma proseguì oltre, su Aureliano, sul secondogenito. Scorgevo nei suoi occhi sfuggenti una tale passione per la vita che mi paralizzò. Aveva la frenesia della ricerca nel sangue, come suo padre.Amaranta ci fissava da lontano. Non si avvicinò neanche una volta. Non riuscì a trattenersi però quando entrando in casa le dissi che, secondo me, lei aveva il nome più bello di tutta Macondo. - Forse anche più di Rebeca - aggiunsi. Le si spalancò un sorriso sul viso che neanche la luna poté eguagliare.Restai a cena. Una tavola stracolma di cibo come non ne avevo mai viste prima.Voci su voci, e urla, e grida si sovrapponevano incessantemente; una tale baraonda in quella stanza che ebbi l'impressione di aver cenato insieme ad un intero reggimento di soldati.Uscii un attimo sul portico, avevo bisogno d'aria. Macondo di notte era qualcosa di spettacolare.La vegetazione indisciplinata rivestiva il paesaggio di profumi intensi e selvaggi. Primitivi. Unici. Gabriel mi raggiunse e mi chiese cosa ne pensassi di quel mondo abbandonato dal tempo.- Non so cosa dire - risposi. Era vero, non sapevo cosa stessi provando; non riuscivo a comprendere quei personaggi così bizzarri, chiassosi e grossolani. Che si amavano forte, che si amavano rumorosamente.- Vuoi andare via? - mi sussurrò.- Vorrei andare. E vorrei restare. Non riesco a capire. Aspettiamo ancora un pò. Rimasi a Macondo altri cento anni.Mi persi nei tatuaggi di Arcadio e passai ore intere a studiare le pergamene di Melquíades, avvolta dalla costanza di Fernanda e dalla dedizione di Santa Sofia de la piedad.Mi innamorai della fierezza del colonnello Aureliano, del suo cuore di ghiaccio, della sua anima di fuoco.Mi incantai a guardare la purezza di Remedios la bella, della ragazza che andò in cielo senza passare dalla terra. E seppi delle farfalle gialle, di quell'amore consumato appena. Lessi il destino della famiglia nei tarocchi di Pilar Ternera. Non c'erano misteri nel cuore di un Buendìa che le fossero impenetrabili, perchè un secolo di cartomanzia e di esperienza le avevano insegnato che la storia della famiglia era un ingranaggio di ripetizioni irreparabili. Vidi uomini e donne nascere e morire, negli stessi occhi, nella stessa carne e capii quanto fossi stata fortunata. Compresi che tutto quello a cui avevo assistito: era irripetibile da sempre e per sempre, perché le stirpi condannate a cent'anni di solitudine non avevano una seconda opportunità sulla terra. Lui continua a guardarmi, anche adesso. Sorride. Ha vinto e lo sa.Non è il mio tipo, questo non è cambiato e probabilmente non cambierà. Ma tutto che mi ha fatto provare, tutto quello che ho vissuto, anche quello non cambierà mai.http://startfromscratchblog.blogspot....

أحمد رشيد

إنها لَمدعاة إلى الدهشة... حقاً!!!ظننت في البداية بأن الموضوع عبارة عن اختلاف في الآراء و الأذواق...و لكنه الآن بات جلياً واضحاً... إنه حتماً ليس كذلك!!!***************المسألة و ما فيها أنني كلما اخترت كتاباً حائزاً على جائزة خرافية لأقرأه... أتفاجأ بأنه لا يرقى حتى لمستوى النشر!!!ما هذا التناقض الجبّار؟؟!!في البداية "لا أحد يعرف ما أريده" و الآن "مئة عام من العزلة" ...كتب حصدت جوائز قيمة... الأخيرة منهما حصلت على أرقى الجوائز الأدبية التي من الممكن أن تُحصد في هذا العالم... جائزة نوبل للآداب!!!أعزيت ذلك في البداية إلى أن هذه الكتب ليست من النمط الذي أحبّذه... و لكن و كما بات واضحاً لجميع أصدقائي و زملائي... فإن تلكما الكتابان لم يلقيا إقبلاً بينكم... إذا أنا لست الوحيد!!!و إذاً... فهو قرار بالإجماع!!!و لكن السؤال المحير هنا... كيف حصدت تلك الكتب تلك الجوائز؟!و كما قلت في البداية... إنها ليست مسألة ذوق أو رأي... فالاجماع يضحد هذه النظرية... ... ما هو الجواب إذاً؟؟؟!!!هل هنالك شي ما خفي... استطاع أعضاء لجنات التحكيم أن تجده و تفهمه و تستوعبه... و لم نستطع نحن؟إنني أقف حائراً أمام هذا التناقض الرهيب... أمام هذه الأُعجوبة.**************بالنسبة لــ" مئة عام... إلخ" حتى العنوان طويل!!!بغض النظر عن الشذوذ النفسي و الجنسي و الأخلاقي المستفز و المُتعمد من الكاتب...ذلك الكتاب لم يشدني... إنه أمامي هنالك ملقىً على المنضدة... عقلي يطلب مني أن أنهيه... و لكّن هواي يرفض ذلك... و كيف لا يرفضه هواي... و أنا عالق في منتصفها تماماً... أعلم أن أمامي نصف رواية... أي ما يعدل 250 صفحة من الملل و الأسماء المتشابهة المزعجة و الحوادث السخيفة التي لا تشد... ناهيك عن غياب عقدة رئيسية و عنصر تشويق... بل هي عقيدات صغيرة ما تفتأ أن تُعقد حتى تُحل من فورها... أو يحرقها الكاتب مباشرة عند عقدها!!!شخصيات و شخصيات و شخصيات تدخل الرواية في كل صفحة... لا هدف لها و لا ماضي... سرد وسرد وسرد... و لا حوار... تباً لك يا ماركيز!!!قد يكون السبب هو الترجمة... و لكنني قرأت كتاب "الأرض الطيبة" و هو رواية على نفس نمط "مئة... إلخ" و قد كان رائعاً... شد انتباهي و جذب يدي و عيناي إليه... ... لا... لا أظن أن للترجمة أيضاً دوراً ما هنا... على كلٍ أنا لم و لن اصدر حكمي النهائي عن هذا الكتاب... هذا لا يجوز... فأنا لم أقرأها كاملة...لــــكم أتمنى أن أكملها و أكتب رأي الكامل عنها... و لكن هيهاتلا... بل سأدعها معلّقة في خانة "أقرأه حالياً" متجمدة في منتصفها تماماً... في الصفحة 250 ... و ذلك لتذكرني بهذه الأُعجوبة!!! أعجوبة "كتاب حائز على جائزة لا يروق للقراء" !!!عذراً على الإطالة و تقبلّو رأي...يمكن لو ماركييز قرأ اللي أنا كاتبو رح يقلي: " لقد حُزت نوبل و هذا الذي يهم... مُت بغيظك"^ــــــــــــــــــ^هنيئاً لك نوبل... و هنيئاً لنا عقولنا...

Paul

Well Mr Marquez may have a Nobel Prize for his mantelpiece and a pretty good imagination for writing what with the levitating women and babies made of ice cream but he has no imagination at all when he is thinking of his characters names which are like to drive you entirely insane in this novel, will you please look at this. There are five people called Arcadio, ,three ladies called Remedios, two ladies called Amaranta and there’s a Pietro and a Petra which look quite similar, and there are 23 people called Aureliano (17 of them sons of an Aureliano, so this father has as much lack of name imagination as Mr Marquez). It does give a reader brain ache trying to remember who is who and why they are levitating and which one lives to be 530 years old. I think this is a very good novel for people who like to go into trances for hours at a time.

سارة درويش

النهاية عجبتني رواية بائسة أوي .. مش عارفة ليه فكرتني أوي بثلاثية غرناطة ، البيت الكبير والجدة والأولاد اللي شاخوا فجأة .. الأحفاد اللي اتفرقوا في كل الأرض .. لكن مقدار البؤس اللي فيها غريبما استمتعتش بيها أوي علشان حسيتها مُختذلة رغم انها كبيرة كتيرة ، بس يمكن لأن النسخة اللي قرأتها كانت مختصرة تقريباًعيشيتني حالة غريبة بس ما حبيتهاش .. حكى فيها اكتر من حكاية متداخلة لدرجة إنك في آخر الرواية بتفتكر أولها بصعوبة .. كان ممكن قصة كل شخص في البيت تبقى رواية لوحدها !

Laura

More like A Hundred Years of Torture. I read this partly in a misguided attempt to expand my literary horizons and partly because my uncle was a big fan of Gabriel Garcia Marquez. Then again, he also used to re-read Ulysses for fun, which just goes to show that you should never take book advice from someone whose IQ is more than 30 points higher than your own.I have patience for a lot of excesses, like verbiage and chocolate, but not for 5000 pages featuring three generations of people with the same names. I finally tore out the family tree at the beginning of the book and used it as a bookmark! To be fair, the book isn’t actually 5000 pages, but also to be fair, the endlessly interwoven stories of bizarre exploits and fantastical phenomena make it seem like it is. The whole time I read it I thought, “This must be what it’s like to be stoned.” Well, actually most of the time I was just trying to keep the characters straight. The rest of the time I was wondering if I was the victim of odorless paint fumes. However, I think I was simply the victim of Marquez’s brand of magical realism, which I can take in short stories but find a bit much to swallow in a long novel. Again, to be fair, this novel is lauded and loved by many, and I can sort of see why. A shimmering panoramic of a village’s history would appeal to those who enjoy tragicomedy laced heavily with fantasy. It’s just way too heavily laced for me.

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