Love in the Time of Cholera

Love in the Time of Cholera by Gabriel García Márquez. Suffice to say, I didn’t like it. Not to come off as some sort of ardent feminist, but I think it grossly oversimplifies women (they’re either Madonnas or complete flat-out whores — some literally — who basically serve to service men), and it seems more like a parody of love than anything resembling an actual courtship. I think the biggest thing is that it seemed to show a lack of understanding or at least lack of depth about people (their desires, motives, etc.) so that the characters in it come off as flat and difficult to relate to. Basically, the book is summed up as: boy meets girl. Girl marries someone else. Boy waits for her husband to die and has a lot of sex. Over half a century later, boy and girl hook up.

I’ve always felt like I should like Gabriel García Márquez more because he’s supposed to be so wonderful, but it was pretty painstaking to get through this novel (though I have to admit I found the first few chapters well-written and engrossing) and I disliked Chronicle of a Death Foretold even more (summed up: blindly following traditions is bad). I read Chronicle for school, however, so I always assumed that I disliked it mostly due to my associating that book with classwork. Guess not.

Baring some use of symbolism that maybe some English majors would appreciate more than I do (I find that symbolism generally does not enhance the value of any book for me because it serves neither to educate or entertain), I failed to find any particularly notable literary value in this book. Also, it talks about the aging process a lot, which I guess I don’t appreciate, seeing as how I’m 22. Obviously, I didn’t enjoy it so reading it for pure entertainment value is out, too. I’d give it two-and-a-half stars.