Of Love And Other Demons
“There is always something left to love” (from 100 Years of Solitude)
Yesterday Gabriel García Márquez passed away. I’d known for some time that he’d been ill but recently thought he was rallying and was very happy about that. I suppose that it seems strange to feel these things about someone I don’t know at all but I did.
García Márquez’ works aren’t often easy to digest – they have an underlying current of magic and ask you, the reader, to suspend disbelief in order to immerse yourself in worlds so wonderful you have to ask yourself – how does one even think of these things?
Gabo, as he was affectionately called by fans was brilliant. I don’t really think there’s another word that sums up that beautiful mind. I remember being in college, taking a course on his writings that was taught by a professor whose stern countenance softened a little when she talked about the author. I trace my love of his writings back to those moments.
To this day, García Márquez’ books remain on my shelves in both English & Spanish. People often say books lose things in translation, and it’s true – they do, but don’t let that be a hurdle if you’ve never read anything he’s written because they are still lovely. Each and every time I re-read something he’s written I find something new, it’s like being on a literary treasure hunt and actually hitting the X.
So, to the man I never knew but whose words I fell in love with over and over – I hope that your afterlife is as charmed as the one you left behind. Thank you.