Thursday, March 3, 2011

Grabriel Garcia Marquez : Love In The Time Of Cholera

wow !!

this is , from now , definitely one of my absolute favourite books. i dont even know how to review this book here , all i know is either you will love it or you will absolutely hate it.

marquez is a genius ! i dont need to say that , for he has won a nobel prize in literature, but i just want to let the world know that now i know why . i have never read anything that touches me so ,i dont even know how to explain it -- it is so believable , it is so true , yet , it talks about all abstract things like LOVE - you end up believing in love , you end up living their love, as yo are constantly aware of the lies , the half truths , the circumstances.

one thing , is constantly reiterated - that you can love not only a lot of different people, but you can love in different ways - you have to let yourself be .
my rating : 9.5 /10

if you are someone who likes words , who is a romantic , and who likes to read descriptive things , almost as if the author drew a picture for you you must read this book. and no it is not unbelievable , infact, the awesomeness of the book lies in the fact that is just so fucking there, just so fucking doable.

every page , offers you a memorable quote , but here are some of my favourite ones:
Fermina daza aout her husband :
Little by little she had been discovering the uncertainty of her husband’s step, his mood changes, the gaps in his memory, his recent habit of sobbing while he slept, but she did not identify these as the unequivocal signs of final decay but rather as a happy return to childhood. That was why she did not treat him like a difficult old man but as a senile baby, and that deception was providential for the two of them because it put them beyond the reach of pity.

dr urbino's last words
He recognized her despite the uproar, through his tears of unrepeatable sorrow at dying
without her, and he looked at her for the last and final time with eyes more luminous, more grief-stricken, more grateful than she had ever seen them in half a century of a shared life, and he managed to say to her with his last breath:
“Only God knows how much I loved you.”

fermina daza about florentino ariza
She also knew that he was one of the musicians in the choir, and although she never dared raise her eyes to look at him during Mass, she had the revelation one Sunday that while the other instruments played for everyone, the violin played for her alone. He was not the kind of man she would have chosen. His foundling’s eyeglasses, his clerical garb, his mysterious resources had awakened in her a curiosity that was difficult to resist, but she had never imagined that curiosity was one of the many masks of love.

Florentino Ariza wrote everything with so much passion that even official documents seemed to be about love. His bills of lading were rhymed no matter how he tried to avoid it, and routine business letters had a lyrical spirit that diminished their authority.

The drama of Florentino Ariza while he was a clerk for the River Company of the Caribbean was that he could not avoid lyricism because he was always thinking about Fermina Daza, and he had never learned to write without thinking about her. Later, when he was moved to other posts, he had so much love left over inside that he did not know what to do with it, and he offered it to unlettered lovers free of charge, writing their love missives for them in the Arcade of the Scribes. That is where he went after work. He would take off his frock coat with his circumspect gestures and hang it over  the back of the chair, he would put on the cuffs so he would not dirty his shirt sleeves, he would unbutton his vest so he could think better, and sometimes until very late at night he would encourage the hopeless with letters of mad adoration. From time to time he would be approached by a poor woman who had a problem with one of her children, a war veteran who persisted in demanding payment of his pension, someone who had been robbed and wanted to file a complaint with the government, but no matterhow he tried, he could not satisfy them, because the only convincing document he could write was a love letter. He did not even ask his newclients any questions, because all he had to do was look at the whites of their eyes to know what their problem was, and he would write page after page of uncontrolled love, following the infallible formula of writing as he thought about Fermina Daza and nothing but Fermina Daza.

They alone knew how tiresome was the man they loved to distraction, who perhaps loved them but whom they had to continue nurturing until his last breath as if he were a child, suckling him, changing his soiled diapers, distracting him with a mother’s tricks to ease his terror at going out each morning to face reality. And nevertheless, when they watched him leave the house, this man they themselves had urged to conquer the world, then they were the ones left with the terror that he would never return. That was their life. Love, if it existed, was something separate: another life.

with no tears, she wiped away the memory of Florentino Ariza, she erased him completely, and in the space that he had occupied in her memory she allowed a field of poppies to bloom. All that she permitted herself was one final sigh that was deeper than usual: “Poor man!”

But when a woman decides to sleep with a man, there is no wall she will not scale, no fortress she will not destroy, no moral consideration she will not ignore at its very root: there is no God worth worrying about

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