On April 17, 2014; Literature´s Nobel award Gabriel García Márquez, left this world, amidst a heavy rain yellow flowers; so strong, that the next day, “the streets dawned on a compact bedspread, and they had to be cleared with shovels and rakes so that the funeral could pass.”

macondo gabriel garcia marquez photo

Photo by Marysol*

And so it went; accompanied by an interminable procession of yellow butterflies that guided him to the world of magical realism; where at last he could meet with each of his characters; who in a splurge of generosity gave Gabo, the greatest success and recognition of this century. That was his pay for giving them life and giving to us.

Today, three years after his death, in a corner of this land of Macondo; I remember that man with a childish smile, thick mustache and prodigious letters; and I propose to remember this exceptional writer who has been raised to the top and shares a place with the greatestes.

Everything started in Aracataca, Magdalena; the “Macondo”; A town lagged by the government of that time, where Gabriel García Márquez grew up. He loved to listen to the stories; sometimes fantastic, others incredible, but always as if they were real, that his grandmother told him; who filled the house with ghosts and premonitions. That’s how, years later, when he decided to become a writer, he said he did not want to do traditional literature but to tell stories as his grandmother did.

This is how magical realism is born, in its words; to the newspaper Reforma, of Mexico, in the year 2000; Márquez explains that: “The first condition of magical realism, as its name implies, is that it is a rigorously true fact that nevertheless seems fantastic.” A genre that in his works has a mixture of fantasy and cruelty; genius and complaint; reality and myth.
macondo gabriel garcia marquez photo

Photo by *malvenko

And in congruence with the definition given by him; all his characters and literary works are based on 100% true facts, such as his aunt Francisca Mejía who inspires the character for “Funerales de Mamá Grande”; the Colonel of “The Colonel has no one to write” to his grandfather; “Chronicle of an announced death”, which is based on the murder of a friend of his; “One hundred years of solitude” that among other facts, narrates the “slaughter of the banareras” by the United Fruit Company in 1928.

And speaking of “One Hundred Years of Solitude”; Gabo’s masterpiece-He wrote for almost two decades writing it-which the nobel gave him; and who said that for him it had not been one of his favorite novels; it can be said, it has been said and much will be said of it. In my short opinion, I will add that it is a clever, brilliant, masterful novel that must be read and studied; because it contains many references and questions to our way of thinking. I leave a word from someone who knows more than I:

macondo gabriel garcia marquez photo

Photo by Marysol*

“Reading One hundred years of solitude has been for me like hearing a trumpet sound that woke me from sleep. I started it with no desire and hoping to get me expelled. Something caught my attention and made me move forward with the feeling of doing it through a thick green forest, full of birds, snakes and insects. After reading it, I felt as if I had followed the swift, endless flight of a bird, in a sky of endless distances where there was no consolation, where there was only the bitter and vivifying consciousness of the true. It is the story of a family from a town in South America. The fate of the individuals, mysterious and limpid, disrupted by wars and collapses and swept away by glory and misery, but always equally free, secret and solitary, to an immobile point of Horizon in which a luminous and immobile sky welcomes memories and ruins. But I will not talk about this novel and I will not try to summarize it, because I like it too much to comment on just a few lines. I just want to ask those who have not read it to read it without delay. I have spent two days without really turning my thoughts from their pages, occasionally tucking my head in to see the places and faces of those who lived there, as we gazed silently at the tracks and heard in our hearts the voices of the people To which we want.” (…)

April 1969

Natalia inzburg,
Essays,
Barcelona: Lumen, 2009

Photo by Presidencia de la República Mexicana

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Written by Ruben Balanta
Student of psychology and researcher by vocation of the University of Magdalena. Lover of the words, the coffee, the little moments, the rare and the new. Intense dreamer. Perfect imperfect. In a world where normality abounds, perhaps the most "normal" are called "crazy".