Memoria de Mis Putas Tristes

ISBN: 1400095808
ISBN 13: 9781400095803
By: Gabriel Garcí­a Márquez

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About this book

Cuenta la vida de este anciano solitario, un apasionado de la música clásica, nada aficionado de las mascotas y lleno de manías. Por él sabremos cómo en todas sus aventuras sexuales (que no fueron pocas) siempre dio a cambio algo de dinero, pero nunca imaginó que de ese modo encontraría el verdadero amor.

Reader's Thoughts

Ian Paganus

ImmortifiedI’ve wondered for a long time how to talk to you about this. How to explain myself, if such a thing is necessary or possible. Should I even bother? Would you understand? Will you be able to see things from my point of view? Could you find it in your heart to forgive me?Ironically, perhaps, if you believe in God, the Holy Spirit, then you might be more likely to understand me and therefore to forgive.My desire is not so much that you understand what I have done. It’s more important that you understand who or what I am. Therein lies the path to forgiveness. It depends on understanding me, my nature, not what I do.Perhaps, you have already reached the point where you don’t want to understand or listen to me? Anyway, I will begin my explanation now.I have had to live with myself for 91 years. During almost every day that I can remember, I have asked myself the same questions: who am I? What am I? Perhaps you have asked yourself the same things?Every day, I have looked at my body, I have scrutinized my mind, and I have thought that this is not the real me. I am something different.The best way to explain this is to say, in the simplest way possible, that I am my soul. I am not my body, I am not my mind, I am my soul. I am separate from them.Before this body and this mind, I resided in other bodies and minds. I have no way of telling how many or for how long. These things are not revealed to our souls. However, I feel confident that there have been many. Speaking to my friends and comparing pasts, I have resolved that I, my soul, am at least 5,394 years old. Sometimes I wonder why I am not older.I’ve transitioned 15 times that I know of. It fascinates me whether the body or the mind will succumb first, but usually the time between deaths is not long. It doesn't really matter. The important thing is to be close to another carrier, so that I can embark on the next stage of my journey.With all due modesty, I’ve inhabited some pretty special humans, some merely from the point of view of their minds, some from the point of view of their bodies.Still, it’s difficult for a soul to relate to a mind or a body.Bodies, in particular, seem to be driven by DNA. They want to fuck all the time. When they’re not fucking, they’re thinking about fucking. Well, in that case, their minds are thinking about fucking. At least, that’s a pretty fair description of the males I’ve inhabited. The females aren’t as bad, but, to be honest, they’re not that much better. Certainly they’re not as virtuous as they would have you believe.I’m 90, almost 91 now, in body years. Ironically, Delgadina is only fourteen. I say ironically, because in soul years, she is older than me, not by much, she’s 5,678 years old. She’s had almost four extra earth experiences than I have. Nineteen versus fifteen mightn’t sound like much, but you’d be surprised.The strange thing is that our soul age counts for nothing on earth. No matter how religious somebody might be, they still judge us by our body age, not the age of our mind or our soul.Even though Delgadina is technically an adult at age fourteen, people still think of her as a child. Little do they know, her mind is superior to mine. Just because she speaks less than I do, doesn’t mean that she is dumber. In our most recent life before this one, she topped our college in her last year. Sometimes, for her own benefit, I wish she would speak out more in this life, so people appreciated her mind, not just her body. Perhaps, that will come with time. I'm already teaching her to read, write and paint.We almost didn’t meet in this life. In the last, we had actually been married, but only in our seventies. She had enjoyed a long marriage. I had remained faithful, well, as best I could after 622 lovers. So many of them had been whores, but they were still women, all of them. Delgadina was determined to find out what it had been like to be one of my whores. She knew me well enough, after four earth relationships, to know that the best way to get my undivided attention was to manifest herself as a fourteen year old girl.I didn’t recognise her at first. She was promised to me. Well, her virginity was. Several times, we went through a ritual whereby I was supposed to deflower her. Each time, I slept next to her, and did nothing but caress her or kiss each centimeter of her body. It was as if my 90 year old body wasn’t up to the task, whatever the capacity of my mind, let alone my soul. I even began to question myself, which was a first for me.People judge me as if I have done something wrong. Sometimes I wonder if they imagine that I have done only what they would like to have done, or in Delgadina’s position, might have wanted me to do to them.I wonder whether these people know what it means to be a soul. To be condemned to live forever (although is it really such a condemnation?). To wander from body to body in search of another soul. To, at last, find a soul to whom you can relate, let alone, in my case, one who coincidentally I have loved before.These are things that mean something to you in eternity. True love. Not whether one of you is 90 or 14. These are just numbers. Notches. Hands that move in a circular fashion around the watch face of time. They mean nothing to someone, to two lovers, like us, whose soul lives have already lasted almost six millennia and show no signs of giving up.When I think of Delgadina, I don’t think of her legs, her breasts, her lips, even her mind, these things that somehow I have touched or kissed. Instead, I think of her soul. Meanwhile, she smiles when she thinks of how much more experience of life she has had than me. If only I could die now and start another life ahead of her. But, vain man that I am, I have resolved that, in this life at least, I want to see out a century. It comforts me that, when I lie awake in bed, sometimes I can derive some pleasure from observing her naked, legs apart, breasts spread across her chest, dreaming of me, her 90 year old stallion.Playboy Seeks Sex ToyThe more I read Marquez' post-Nobel Prize works, the more I'm convinced that his modus operandi is to invent characters and situations that will outrage many, if not most, readers.Here, a sexually-active nonagenarian is offered a fledgling 14 year old virgin whore to celebrate his birthday.Whether or not he deflowers the girl, whether or not he might only have watched the girl sleeping, he would be condemned by the reader. Society objects not just to the act, but to both the desire and the intention.The problem is that Marquez employs beautiful language in his enterprise.In fact, I've always suspected that, as I suspect of Nabokov, he writes a straightforward tale of love and sex, then, only then, twists or perverts it, by adding an element of the forbidden, the taboo, the immoral, the illegal.Without the perversion, it would be a work of beauty. What happens when he tweaks the ages of the participants? Would a story of love and sex involving a 40 year old male and a 30 year old female be acceptable? Well, what happens when the age of the male is dialled up to 90 and the girl down to 14?Something in our minds registers, this should not be happening, something is wrong.Marquez might not explicitly ask, why is it wrong. He might not be expressly challenging morality. It exists, whether we like it or not.However, I think he is asking us whether, as a work of art, it is any less beautiful because it is transgressive.Part of what he is doing is questioning the aesthetic nature of transgression.The novel is inspired by Kawabata's "House of the Sleeping Beauties", which I haven't read yet.In the epigraph from that book, old Eguchi is warned by the madam not to do anything in bad taste. The specific caveat is not to "put his finger into the mouth of the sleeping girl".Different things are forbidden at different times and in different cultures.The act of writing the novel doesn't mean that Marquez advocates child abuse in real life. He just wants to ask these questions and explore these issues within the realm of art. Again, like Nabokov, he wants to treat art and literature as a playground. He wants to explore not just desire and intention, but the imagination as well.By doing so, he asks of the reader that we suspend moral judgment and engage pure aesthetic judgment. Not all of us will want to, not all of us will be able to.In this way, he doesn't just confront us with his subject matter, he confronts us with our own temperaments. He utilises the response of the reader as part of his creative enterprise. His works are all the greater, because they involve and implicate us.VERSE:Angels Surround the Bed of DelgadinaLet us share a bed.You can sleep if you need to.I'm content to watch.BreathlessI kissed your body.I inhaled your wild fragrance.It made me breathless.Dear GirlI'll write words for you."We are alone in the world."I'll teach you to read.The Abominable No-ManIt does more damageFor authors to write in chainsThan to write freely.SOUNDTRACK:Memories of My Melancholy Whores (Title Sequence) Cave & The Bad Seeds - "Breathless"

Muhammad Shakhawat Hossain

So far, it is the worst book I have read this year. The story itself starts very disgustingly. A journalist, on his 90th birthday, wants to have sex with a virgin. He calls the local madam, Rosa Cabarcas and she arranges a 15 year old girl for him. The journalist, in his 90 long years, never found love. All he wants is just to please himself physically and to test his 'performance' at this age. When the journalist meets the arranged girl, he discovered he fell in love for the first time in his life. The plot is somewhat eccentric and ambitious but the execution is not up to the mark. The whole plot is destroyed due to pretension. The repetitive description of the girl's naked body is also very disturbing. One has to be the old journalist of the novel while reading for enjoying the book. I tried really hard, but couldn't see myself in his place. For books like this, I think I am going to make another bookshelf. And I shall name it 'Total waste of time'.


من یک سئوال دارم؟ چطور می شود به کسی که این پروفایل را درست کرده دست یافت؟به این دلیل که خواهش کنیم از این به بعد طرح روی جلد کتاب‌ها را، نه فقط این کتاب را، بگذارند.این جا اگر هدف تشویق است برای کتاب‌خوانی باید چشم‌ها را هم به جلد کتاب‌ها اشنا کرد. زحمت چندانی هم ندارد. من خودم شخصن دیگر کتاب‌های بدون عکس جلد اضافه نمی‌کنم. دیگر ان هم اگر این کار را کنند، آن وقت کسانی که پروفایل‌ها را می سازند دقت بیش‌تری می‌کنند.

د.حنان فاروق

بالتأكيد قراء ماركيز يجب ألا يكونوا من القراء الاعتياديين..أقصد بالقراء الاعتياديين هؤلاء الذين يقرؤون وهم يأكلون مثلاً أو لشغل وقتهم في الحافلة أو القطار أو الطائرة أثناء السفر..هؤلاء الذين لا يستطيعون منح تركيزهم بالكامل للكلمات التي بين أيديهم ويعتبرونها مجرد ترفيه أو طريقة لبعثرة الوقت الممل أو ماشابه..ماركيز دائماً يأخذك إلى منطقة لا تستطيع الفكاك منها ..لأنها ببساطة فيك..داخلك ..فهو يتوغل إلى تلك الأعماق الضيقة الميكروسكوبية التي في الإنسان بكل رحابته وقدرته على الحكي ويتلوها عليك تماماً كما تلا بطل القصة هنا حكاياته الأثيرة على الطفلة الأنثى التي أحبها وهي نائمة ولم يرد منها حتى أن تكلمه أو تبادله الحديث..لم يرد إلا وجودها ..هذا الوجود الذي صنعه هو..إننا في كثير من الأحيان أو في كل الأحيان كل الحكاية..والذين يعيشون معنا أو بداخلنا في حقيقتهم هم نحن الغائبة الحاضرة التي تبحث عنا في كل شيء..في القصة هو ابن تسعين لكنه أبداً لا يشعر إلا أنه هو..ذلك الرجل الذي بدأ جنونه ورحلاته المكوكية في الدنيا مذ كان في الثانية عشرة أو أقل..إن الشيء الوحيد الذي ينبهنا لأننا كبرنا في السن هو الشكل الخارجي أما بداخلنا فنحن لا نتغير أبداً إلا في بعض القناعات واتساع أو اختلاف وجهة النظر لكن نحن...رؤيتنا...تعاطينا مع الأمور ...تظل هي هي..إننا مختبرون بالحياة..مفتونو ومبتلون بها..وغارقون فيها حتى الموت...وفي كل حياتنا نظل نبحث عن الشيء الذي لا نعرفه أو لانراه بدأب من أجل أن نرى..فقط من أجل أن نرى..فالرؤية والمعرفة هما المحفزان الأساس لاستكمال الحياة رغم أنهما لا تكتملان أبداً...ربما ماركيز دائماً يعلمنا ألا نكون أسرى للعينين المغروستين في رؤوسنا وأن نتحرر أكثر فلو دققنا النظر سنكتشف أننا ككل عين كبيرة جدا على الحياة لكن المشكلة فقط في الإدراك..هذا الإدراك الذي لا يأتي بالاستسلام للقوالب الجاهزة سابقة الإعداد ولكن يأتي ويتأكد بالتدريب وشحذ الحواس بكل وسائل الروح والجسد الممكنة التي تمكننا من أن نرى ما وراء الأشياء وما بينها..بل..ونراها هي نفسها على حقيقتها...ومازلت مع المايسترو جابو وماركيز(كلاهما واحد) عن الماهيات الحقيقية التي قد تكون هي نفسها من صنع الخيال ..فالخيال حقيقة بل أكثر من حقيقة طالما طاله الإدراك..


This is quite an easy read -- something that can be finished while having a haircut and an ice cream sundae after. I couldn't say much about the grandeur of this book. It's not much. But it did give me quite a number of realizations. Some are profound. Some are simply amusing. One thing that struck me is the commonality I have, at 32, with a 90-year-old man. Marquez, speaking of himself: "I discovered that my obsession for having each thing in the right place, each subject at the right time, each word in the right style, was not the well-deserved reward of an ordered mind but just the opposite: a complete system of pretense invented by me to hide the disorder of my nature. ...."Another thing that this book made me believe is that Spanish men are entertaining storytellers and naturally romantic.Oh btw, is it just this book edition that doesn't enclose dialogs in quotation marks? The absence of that slows down the reading pace and makes it a little annoying.

Soshyans Varahram

داستاني كوتاه و لطيف كه پرده‌اي از روابط زشت و زيباي انساني را به نمايش مي‌گذارد. عشق و تمناي جسماني پيرمردي در سالروز نود سالگي‌اش و تغيير شكل آن به عشقي روحاني و نفس گير. كتابي كه از خواندنش پشيمان نخواهيد شد. مطمئن باشيد!


The truth is, I'm getting old, I said. We already are old, she said with a sigh. What happens is that you don't feel it on the inside, but from the outside everybody can see it. page 98This is just one of many great insights found within Memories of My Melancholy Whores.While the premise of this book, which revolves around a ninety-year-old bachelor who longs to celebrate his birthday with a virgin (a sleeping girl of 14 who becomes the source of an unconsummated love), invokes a certain amount of disgust for obvious reasons, if you are able to get beyond the political incorrectness and depravity of what's being suggested on the surface, you will find a masterfully written story about life, loving, living, and aging.Marquez's story is honest, funny, insightful, sensual, and occasionally disconcerting, even repugnant. Yet morally challenged or not, his characters are perfect in their imperfections and so completely human as to make us all a little uncomfortable with our humanity. I'll end with another excerpt that illustrates some of the literary excellence found in abundance throughout the book:"I was ignorant of the arts of seduction and had always chosen my brides for a night at random, more for their price than their charms, and we made love without love, half dressed most of the time and always in the dark so we could imagine ourselves as better than we were. That night I discovered the improbable pleasure of contemplating the body of a sleeping woman without the urgencies of desire or the obstacles of modesty." page 29


العظيم : ماركيزفى عمل انسانى معقد (رغم صغر حجمه) يرصد حال رجل فى التسعين بعد حياة زاخرة بالعمل والمتعه عرف مئات النساء وعمل لعقود طويلهيرصد حاله عندما بلغ التسعينمن قرأ (الحب فى زمن الكوليرا) ويذكر فلورنتينو اريثا ومغامراته سيلاحظ شبه ببطل هذا العملفى المجمل روايه لن تأخذ من وقتك ساعه وستترك انطباع جيد هذا لا ينفى كونها اقل اعمل ماركيز مما قرات له


این کتاب آخرین داستان بلند گابریل گارسیا مارکز هست... کتاب در سال 2004 نوشته شده و ترجمه فارسی اسم کتاب میشه خاطرات روسپی های سودا زده من... کتاب در ایران با اسم خاطره دلبران سودازده من چاپ شد و بعد از اینکه چاپ شد وزارت ارشاد ممنوع اعلامش کرد و شروع کرد به جمع کردنش و با مسئولانی هم که مجوز چاپ داده بودن به شدت برخورد کرد و به نقل از خود وزارت ارشاد اخراجشون کرد... .توضیح مختصری در مورد کتاب بگم براتون... سبک نوشتاری کتاب کاملا همون سبک آشنای مارکز هست... (گابریل گارسیا مارکز جزو نویسندگان مورد علاقه من هست)... نسبت به کارهای قدیمی ترش تفاوتی که خیلی مشهود بود این بود که سبک رئالیسم جادویی مارکز خیلی بیشتر به سمت رئالیسم پیش رفته... داستان کلی در مورد تفاوت بین عشق و ارتباط جنسی هست... دیدگاهی که مارکز در مورد مسائل جنسی داره دیدگاه متفاوتی نسبت به نویسندگان اروپایی و آمریکای شمالی هست و در دو تا کتاب دیگه ای که من ازش خوندم (صد سال تنهایی و پاییز پدرسالار) همین دیدگاه تکرار شده... داستان عبارات و کلمه هایی داره که متناسب با عرف نیستن... برای من جای تعجب داره که چطور این کتاب حتی با سانسور قسمتهایی ازش چاپ شده... در کل من کتاب رو کار خیلی قوی نمی دونم ولی کار نسبتا خوبی هست... کتابهای متنوعی از نویسنده های مختلف در مورد تحلیل اجتماعی و روانشناختی روسپی ها خوندم و به نظر من در این مقوله این کتاب، کتاب نسبتا خوبی هست.


"The year I turned ninety, I wanted to give myself the gift of a night of wild love with an adolescent virgin." So begins Memories of My Melancholy Whores, and it becomes even more unlikely as the novel unfolds. This slim volume contains the story of the sad life of an unnamed, only slightly talented Colombian journalist and teacher, never married, never in love, living in the crumbling family manse. He calls Rosa Cabarcas, madame of the city's most successful brothel, to seek her assistance. Rosa tells him his wish is impossible--and then calls right back to say that she has found the perfect girl. The protagonist says of himself: "I have never gone to bed with a woman I didn't pay ... by the time I was fifty there were 514 women with whom I had been at least once ... My public life, on the other hand, was lacking in interest: both parents dead, a bachelor without a future, a mediocre journalist ... and a favorite of caricaturists because of my exemplary ugliness." The girl is 14 and works all day in a factory attaching buttons in order to provide for her family. Rosa gives her a combination of bromide and valerian to drink to calm her nerves, and when the prospective lover arrives, she is sound asleep. Now the story really begins. The nonagenarian is not a sex-starved adventurer; he is a tender voyeur. Throughout his 90th year, he continues to meet the girl and watch her sleep. He says, "This was something new for me. I was ignorant of the arts of seduction and had always chosen my brides for a night at random, more for their price than their charms, and we had made love without love, half-dressed most of the time and always in the dark, so we could imagine ourselves as better than we were ... That night I discovered the improbably pleasure of contemplating the body of a sleeping woman without the urgencies of desire or the obstacles of modesty." Márquez's style never falters throughout this recounting of his life and his exploration of love, found at an unexpected time and place. The erstwhile lover is still capable of being surprised--and fulfilled. After an absence of ten years, it is a treat to have another parable from the master. --Valerie Ryan --This text refers to the Hardcover edition.


Gabriel Garcia Marquez writes beautifully. Many paragraphs throughout his works can be easily mistaken for poetry, as they contain language so vivid and colorful that it inspires even the most disinterested reader. MEMORIES OF MY MELANCHOLY WHORES is Marquez's first piece of fiction in ten years, yet it maintains the writing acumen that he's famous for and that permeates his other works. It is also markedly shorter than many of his other novels; the 113 poignant pages of this novella take the form of a memoir. The writing is both profound and superb, and the story is eerily familiar.This novella is the story of a fastidiously dressed man. He is scholarly yet insecure, debonair though not rich. The Scholar, as everyone calls him --- both because of his age and because of his wisdom (which is distributed through his Sunday column in a newspaper) --- awakens on the morning of his 90th birthday in the beautiful house that his parents bequeathed to him and begins to recount the story of his life, which has been filled with women for hire but has remained largely devoid of love.In a manner similar to Leo Tolstoy's THE DEATH OF IVAN ILYICH, the Scholar realizes much about life as he approaches the end of his own; unlike Ivan Ilyich, however, the Scholar is not bedridden and feels a yearning for rekindling something of his past. His only true friend in the novella --- a weathered woman, only a few years younger than the Scholar and the owner and overseer of an aged brothel --- reminds him of his wonderful past and aids him in what he thinks will be one of his final hoorahs.Fortunately for readers, the Scholar's life takes an unexpected turn, and to his disbelief, he falls in love with an unlikely girl. His Sunday column becomes a personal diary of love that touches the heart and captures the imagination of his readers.Abruptly, calamity strikes and shatters what the reader hopes will be a happy ending to a checkered life. However, the Scholar must rebound and take up the search for his found, and lost, love.MEMORIES OF MY MELANCHOLY WHORES is not a story about death; rather, it is a vibrant story of life renewing itself and the odd places where people find their passion. The setting of a lovely Spanish town and characters deserving of our empathy make this novella a memorable, beautiful and inspiring one.


The review I wrote for amazon.A curious and lovely bookIn the US, we understand sexy but we struggle with the erotic. We read the body like we read the newspaper, by habit; with a glance. Our real failure in love is our failure to take our time. It's not in our nature to wait, to sample, to savor. We rush into love as if we were late to an appointment. Gabriel Garcia Marquez in his MEMORIES OF MY MELANCHOLY WHORES doesn't rush. The book is a seduction and moves at that quiet lazy confident pace. The protagonist turns 90 and, mindful of his mortality, wants what he's never had: "A night of wild love with an adolescent virgin." Of course, desire is a dream and dreams are an attempt to remember. And, what do we want to remember, everything, everyone we've ever loved. Memory, though, is an admission of loss. Desire is our strategy to reclaim what was lost. Of course, memory is a trickster...and that's part of the joy of this book, as the "Professor," defies death less through contact with flesh, than though memory and desire. In this book as in life, it is the approach, it is anticipation, that sets us on fire.


Memoria de mis putas tristes...I LOVE Gabriel García Marquez. He weaves his magical realism right into your brain and it's like I was peeking in through a window rather than reading. I've read a few not so good reviews of this novella and they cannot be more wrong. Yes, Gabo's intricate magical realism is not as pronounced as it is say in Cien años de soledad (100 Years of Solitude), but it's definitely there. If you missed it, I suggest you go back and reread because it is there. This was a short and bittersweet read. I felt like I was starving waiting for a 3 course meal and got only the appetizer. This book let me read it so quickly that it left me with a hungry, hollow empty feeling. So, I read it again as soon as I finished it and I found many new tidbits to fill me up.Nostalgia and melancholy...blueberries, raspberries, rhubarb and star fruit topped with smooth fluffy cream...all that sweet and tart that just kinda explodes into your mouth. So bitter inside my mouth that I felt tears welling in my throat then suddenly the sweetness of the cream and everything seemed like pure bliss. Yellows, reds, greens, blues and pure pure white. Something about the way GGM writes that he evokes colors and flavors vs just words on the page. Don't miss the point, this novella, as I've seen commented, is not just about a lonely old man who never found true love nor do I think it's Gabo's farewell to his readers. Don't let brevity lead you to think this is a shallow little story. This novella delves into some deep themes like love, sexuality, prostitution, pedophilia, aging, soul searching and, one of my favorite themes, the lover and the beloved. Oh and it has a moral.I highly recommend you read this...twice even. On and if you can, read it in Spanish. The translation is great, but some things just don't translate.


On a certain level, I truly enjoyed "Memories of My Melancholy Whores". I am always ready to be swept up in the simple whimsy of G.G.M's language, and the sweeping romance and dramatic emotion of his work always appeals to me. But on another very real level I found this book disturbing and sexist.The book's theme is strikingly reminiscent of "Talk to Her", a recent Almodovar film. Both deal with men who build flowery romantic/erotic relationships in their minds with a completely passive sleeping woman. In the film, the man in question is a nurse in a hospital caring for an accomplished ballerina who is in a coma. In "Melancholy Whores", the "lover" is a man who has just turned ninety and falls in love with a 14 year old prostitute who he visits every night while she sleeps deeply (possibly drugged). If you choose to put aside the creepy elements and focus on the romantic sentiment and poetic pedestal that Delgadina (the name the old man invents for his nameless "whore") is placed atop, the book is a very beautiful reflection on the need for love and the degradations of aging. If you can't put is aside, this is a story of a strange pedophilic attachment that certainly should not be romanticized. Both the Almodovar film and this book romanticize and rhapsodize about the perfectly passive woman-- a woman as little more than an object-- and construct fantasy relationships with someone who never speaks, or even opens her eyes. I once saw an issue of Hustler that had this photo of "The Ideal Woman". She had Jack Daniels coming out of one nipple, and milk out of the other. Guacamole issued from her nether regions and stuffed in her mouth was a tampon. The caption explained that since this woman menstruated from her mouth she was completely silent for about a week every month. This is, of course, disgustingly crude, but take away the frills of magical realism and I feel like "Memories of My Melancholy Whores" is not that different.There are definite high points. The protagonist's reflections on aging were sharp and funny. The epic nature of the love described in the text whips you away on a Sleeping Beauty/Beauty and the Beast fairy-tale romance that evokes true punch-in-the-stomach emotion. But in the end, this "princess" is a pre-pubescent prostitute who slaves away sewing on buttons all day to take care of her family and spends her nights fondled and admired by an aged delusional "beast", who will never take her away from reality in princely fashion. In the end, for me anyway, the ick factor breaks the spell.

Carmo Santos

"No ano dos meus noventa anos quis oferecer a mim mesmo uma noite de amor louco com uma adolescente virgem."A julgar pelo titulo e pelo primeiro parágrafo, poder-se-ia pensar que este seria um livro todo malandreco com direito a risota. Puro engano, é exatamente o oposto. O característico bom humor de García Márques está presente em doses generosas, mas não é um humor virado para a piada fácil, é antes um humor fruto de muito conhecimento, de quem já viveu muito e já aprendeu a rir de si mesmo. Mais uma vez GGM volta ao tema da velhice e às maleitas da idade, à solidão e ao amor. Desta vez um amor puro e inocente, uma paixão platónica capaz de reavivar a vontade de ser feliz e fazer esquecer os setenta e cinco anos de diferença entre ambos.Parece estranho? Talvez, mas a já habitual mestria do autor, torna esta história de uma delicadeza e ternura inesperadas. Um livro para ler até ao fim resistindo à tentação de tecer juízos de valor precipitados." O sexo é o consolo que a gente tem quando o amor não nos alcança."

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