Rediscovering ‘One Hundred Years of Solitude’

My copy of this book is far from perfect. Its pages have yellowed and have acquired the feel of the kind of paper sought by archaeologists. Unknown insects have gotten to the cover and slowly nibbled away at the edges. Had I not been aware that I purchased this book brand-new as a college student, I would have jumped to the conclusion that the book is much older than the 10 years that I have actually possessed it.

Age and insect visitations are not the only things marring the book. The front cover and inside pages have been set well enough but, by random chance, the printer has stamped the back cover text completely off-center, flushing everything leftmost and leaving absolutely no gap between the writing and the edges. The absence of a comfortable visual margin is enough to make one uneasy reading John Leonard’s ("Dazzling") and Peter S. Prescott’s ("One of the rare novels that can continually surprise the reader") rave reviews. I saw the off-centered flaw when I acquired my copy but at that time, I didn’t care and bought it anyway. Leonard and Prescott were never factors during my purchase decision, sorry.

I realize that it would not be sporting to keep you in suspense any longer, as the book I am talking about, I’m sure, is fairly well-known. The book – which tells the rich and lusty story of a family’s rise and fall – is called One Hundred Years of Solitude and, hello, it is widely regarded as the masterpiece of Columbian author Gabriel Garcia Marquez. Some may find it odd as to why I named One Hundred Years as my favorite, yet I haven’t exactly taken care of the only copy I have. Actually, if I had my way then, I wouldn’t even have bought my copy at all.

I have to admit that I was forced somewhat into getting the book, as it was required in my Humanities I subject at the University of the Philippines. The first few days, I actually managed to resist buying the novel but there was only so much discomfort I could stand of being the sole student with a bare desk in a room full of One Hundred Years owners.

Okay, fine. So I went and bought the book, off-centered back cover and all. Which brings me to the reason for that. Since I was being made to buy a book I didn’t like, I thought it made sense buying a defective one to help the store get rid of a copy they could otherwise not sell. Customers coming after me will also be spared from buying the faulty book by mistake. I can’t recall what I ate that day, but I figured I was doing some sort of public service.

Of course, the next class day I had the book sitting comfortably on top of my desk for all my classmates and the professor to see. Having it and reading it are two different things, however. Thinking that just having the book for show is enough, I exuded confidence that I could probably make "intelligent guesses" on the story by following the discussions. Unfortunately, my show of confidence perhaps proved too convincing because sometime later, the class was divided into groups and I was selected to lead a group and report before the class! To make a long story short, despite my ability to "logic away" story outcomes and string words together, I didn’t do so well.

I had it coming. When making a report on the book, keep in mind that One Hundred Years is simply too tough a novel to beat if you don’t take the time to completely immerse yourself in its pages. Marquez has infused so much vivid details, beautiful characterizations and inspired wonders in his work, that these, aside from the narrative itself, are the greatest strengths of the book. Coming from one who used to loathe the book, the best advice I can give a first-time reader is to sit back, relax and just trust in Marquez.

Yes, the book is long (mine’s 383 pages); and, yes, the characters share impossibly confusing names (you really need that flowchart in the book to keep track of who is Jose Arcadio Buendia, Jose Arcadio, Jose Arcadio Segundo, etc.) – but it ultimately accounts for a most rewarding journey. I managed to pass my Human 1 after all without really reading the book but, belatedly, I now appreciate why our professor recommended it to us.

From my experience with the book, I also realized how strongly and passionately I value my freedom and my individuality: that no one can easily compel me into doing something simply because – especially because – everybody is doing it. On the inverse, this also means I like doing some things because others happen to be not doing it: which takes me to the time I finally read the book.

It happened five years ago when I, already a professional, regarded my dusty and forgotten copy and chose to take another chance. This time, there was no one forcing me, coercing me or offering me a grade for it; I read it because I wanted to. Finishing the book became a spark that helped me rediscover an intense love of reading that I lost since childhood. I became like Aureliano, a tragic character in the novel destined to spend his days reading volumes of books and manuscripts. Maybe Aureliano’s curse has somehow transferred to me because after reading One Hundred Years, other books just came by easily one after another – and the next thing I knew, I have read everything in sight and still craved more.

One Hundred Years of Solitude and the other books that I later crossed paths with are now some of my most-prized possessions. The difference, however, is that while the other books in my collection are in pristine condition and carefully plastic-covered, one noticeably stands out as old, insect-bitten and having an off-center back cover.

Sometimes I’m tempted to replace my copy with a new one but, considering the history I share with the book, I don’t think so.