Beautiful, beautiful. Reminds me of Roots in the way it tells the story of an entire people, and the language, excuse mine, is fucking gorgeous. As thick with tension as the Macondo heat, yet flowing so swiftly that its 422 pages seem very little. I've always been one for memorable characters, who isn't, and Macondo is overflowing with these, living, breathing, perfect in their imperfections. Next on my list: Love in the time of Cholera.
More on this one after the hangover.
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Then again, maybe not. Would rather spend the time reading some parts again. Or begin a new one.
Sunday, September 9, 2007
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