Love in the Time of Cholera by Gabriel García Márquez
Title: Love in the Time of Cholera
Author: Gabriel García Márquez
Translator: Edith Grossman
Published: 1988
Type: Fiction
Pages: 348
So I’ve justified my lack of writing here by the fact that I’ve decided to take the GRE in the beginning of October – the time that I could normally spend writing is now taken, unfortunately, by re-learning geometry. However, I haven’t stopped reading, and I’m now something like ten books behind. Yikes.
Thus, I’ll be quick. Or I’ll try to be.
To him she seemed so beautiful, so seductive, so different from ordinary people, that he could not understand why no one was as disturbed as he by the clicking of her heels on the paving stones, why no one else's heart was wild with the breeze stirred by the sighs of her veils, why everyone did not go mad with the movements of her braid, the flight of her hands, the gold of her laughter. He had not missed a single one of her gestures, not one of the indications of her character, but he did not dare approach her for fear of destroying the spell.
In Brief:
Gabriel García Márquez is arguably one of the most gorgeous writers of all time – actually, is it even arguable? It’s not my favorite of his works, but definitely worth reading for his unbelievable mastery of words, as well as the undeniable resonance in the time of corona.
Rating: 4.2
Synopsis:
To keep this quick, I’ll just use the back-of-book summary:
“In their youth, Florentino Ariza and Fermina Daza fall passionately in love. When Fermina eventually chooses to marry a wealthy, well-born doctor, Florentino is heartbroken, but he is a romantic. As he rises in his business career he whiles away the years in 622 affairs—yet he reserves his heart for Fermina. Her husband dies at last, and Florentino purposefully attends the funeral. Fifty years, nine months, and four days after he first declared his love for Fermina, he will do so again.”
Where I’m At:
It’s been so long at this point, I can barely remember what was happening when I read Love in a Time of Cholera. What is time now, anyway? I finished it in late July.
But of course I loved the book. I love Gabriel García Márquez (GGM) – One Hundred Years of Solitude is somewhere in my top-five books of all time. Chronicle of a Death Foretold isn’t that far off, either. At some point in college I started reading this but had to return it to the library before I could get far – I just didn’t have the time to read for fun, not even GGM. But I adore his work, knew from the start that I’d adore this one.
Of course, I have to point out the obvious: the time of cholera, the time of corona. They even made a Hulu series with the reference. Interestingly, the original Spanish cólera has a double meaning – the disease, and rage (if I’m understanding correctly). There’s a fascinating juxtaposition there, a complication to the most shallow interpretation of love (I’ll get into later), but also this simple message of hope: love, even when the world is deadly and scary and full of suffering. Love, even when love itself is complicated and awful. I like to think of myself as a jaded romantic (read: stubborn romantic), so this would have appealed to me at any point, but I think it has obvious appeal now, of all times.
Getting Into it:
It has to be acknowledged: GGM writes like a dream. You sink into his words, you melt, you glow. Every word is poetry, is music, is honey. I ache for fluency in Spanish just so I could read this book in his native tongue.
For example: GGM is the king of first lines:
It was inevitable: the scent of bitter almonds always reminded him of the fate of unrequited love.
I mean come on.
He also writes these keen descriptions, sometimes physical:
He seemed to be made of reinforced concrete: he was enormous, with hair all over his body except on his head, a mustache like a housepainter’s brush, a voice like a capstan
Everything about her was large and intense: her sirent’s thighs, her slow-burning skin, her astonished breasts, her diaphanous gums with their perfect teeth, her whole body radiating a vapor of good health
and sometimes just succinctly summing up character/s with stunningly acute word choice:
...an intricate tribe of wild women and softhearted men who were obsessed to the point of dementia with their sense of honor.
Style-wise, I was only disappointed in the lack of my beloved magical realism in this novel, especially compared to GGM’s other works. Still, there is some sort of sparkle, a subtle and evasive kind of unrealness that layers the pages.
I’ll allow, briefly, that GGM’s writing isn’t for everyone. I borrowed/stole my copy of this book from a guy I’ve since started dating, who called it “obnoxiously flowery.” It was enough to make me momentarily reconsider a relationship with him (mostly kidding), but even I have to concede that he’s allowed his opinion, and GGM’s style is certainly a lot.
There are also problematic parts of the book, which prevents me from rating it higher. Namely, Florentino is pretty awful and creepy and when I shake my head clear of the romantic spell GGM cast upon me, I hate him. He spends his life lusting after a woman he barely knew and very much idealizes, even after she firmly rejected him, waiting around/stalking her for decades, and using other women in the meantime for sex. In his 622 love affairs, Florentino grooms a thirteen-year old girl, then ignores her as soon as Fermina is available, undeniable pedophilia that does not age well and never should have been accepted. She commits suicide due to his behavior. Another woman is murdered when her husband finds out about her affair with Florentino. The romanticism, and the masculinity, is undeniably toxic and terrible.
But, I think, GGM knows this. He warned readers “not to fall into my trap” with this book – it’s not meant to be a sweeping love story. He’s uninterested in straightforward answers, perhaps to the question “what is love?” He shows some of its glory, but also some of its darkness. He shows love that’s fickle and love that’s enduring; love that’s passionate and love that’s docile. He notes that “the symptoms of love were the same as the symptoms of cholera.” I think it’s a nuanced, powerful statement – I just wish there wasn’t so much violence against women for him to make his point.
I could get into more. About sex, about death, about old age. There’s a lot in this book, but I’m trying to catch up/keep these brief!
A coworker in my job’s book club casually recently said something like “You can like books because of 1) Characters, 2) Plot, 3) Ideas, or 4), Writing.” I’m going to be referring to that a lot now on. Read this book primarily for the writing (because oh my god), but also for the ideas – just be aware that some are pretty sexist.
I don’t want to end on a bad note!! I also don’t want to apologize for sexism! Things are complicated, it’s a wonderful book!
