Magic, we are told, does not exist. It might seem to exist when we
are children, but the belief in magic is discouraged as we navigate
adolescence and forgotten in adulthood. Gabriel García Márquez, in
his novel "One Hundred Years of Solitude" (1967,) has presented an
opening to that forgotten magic - to that connection with the
archetypal myth that is within each of us. The eccentricities and
utter vastness of the Buendía family experience has a home in the
collective mind of humanity. Their struggles, however exaggerated
and bizarre, are somehow common and known. There is a sense of
spiritual déja vu as the pages turn and the story moves.
From the opening chapter, Márquez establishes as sense of kinship
between the reader and the characters. The boy who would become
Colonel Aureliano Buendía, along with his brother, José Arcadio,
and father, also José Arcadio, visits the camp of Melquíades, a
traveler who presents the scientific discoveries of the outside
world to the secluded townsfolk of Macondo. As a chest opens and
the Buendías witness, for the first time, what they perceive to be
the miracle of ice, there is a sense of wonder in their reaction:
"Little José Arcadio refused to touch it. Aureliano, on the other
hand, took a step forward and put his hand on it, withdrawing it
immediately. 'It's boiling,' he exclaimed, startled."
Here is a voice for the magic of childhood. Here is the beauty of
discovery and of experience. As I read these words I recalled that
feeling of the absolute wonder of life, a sensation that we, as
adults, too often deny ourselves in our pragmatic and
overly-distracted society.
Just as Márquez gives the reader joy and magic, he also gives
sorrow. There is a sense of the heaviness of mortality in Macondo,
though the characters, at times, seem to live beyond the typical
age of humans. Later in his life, following years of war and
fighting for what he discovers to be hollow ideals, Colonel
Aureliano Buendía faces death. He discovers that he has lost all
human connection, and with this comes the realization that he has
lived a life devoid of true love. He surrenders, and with that
submission the reader is left to feel as empty and lost as the
character.
From the innocent awe of childhood through the romance of youth and
early adulthood to the melancholy remembrances of the aged, Márquez
presents an act of fiction kindles a sense of common humanity
within the reader. "One Hundred Years of Solitude" demonstrates,
unequivocally, that we are not alone.