One Hundred Years of Solitude is really boring, y’all!
The novel chronicles the Buendía family from the founding of Macondo in Columbia, through civil wars, plagues and family tragedies. As generations of the family are named Arcadio and Aureliano after the sons of the founder of the town, family traits are passed down and resisted and if you’re anything like me you get very confused by the 22 Aurelianos and five Arcadios. (Ok, you actually don’t have to remember anything about most of the Aurelianos but still, it’s a little ridiculous, right?)
I DID NOT CARE about any of them! They were recurringly stubborn, unsociable, ornery, difficult and not very nice to their other family members. Or too nice… Every so often I’d have a flicker of interest about the lives of one of them only for something tragic and annoying to happen, usually brought on by themselves. Then I’d go back to not caring, only to be mildly interested in another of them and then the cycle would kick off again. And every time it looked like something interesting was going to happen it just wouldn’t. So there would be a plague of insomnia! Only for nothing much to happen. Then a civil war! Only for everyone to go back to regular life, more or less. Then a crazy love story! And then they would get separated or killed. There was not nearly a high enough ratio of magic to realism in the magic realism. It was just high enough to get you thinking something cool was going to happen, only to disappoint you when it didn’t.
I don’t have that much more to say, really. The writing is supposed to be that of “a narrator capable of metamorphosing from Hardy to Kafka and back again in the course of a paragraph” but to be honest I was so bored I didn’t really notice. Every night I would pick it up and be all, “sigh, is this not over yet? When can I read a book I actually enjoy again?” I seriously couldn’t wait for it to be over. There you have it. One Hundred Years of Solitude is really boring.