This is the story of a stolen book, a sense of national pride and some creative sleuthing. The book in question is a first edition copy of One Hundred Years of Solitude by Gabriel García Márquez. In 2015, it was stolen from a Bogota, Colombia, book fair. Many cases in that city go unsolved because of a lack of resources, but local law enforcement went all out to solve this crime.
In its new season, the Spanish-language podcast Radio Ambulante tells the story of how the book was recovered. Host Daniel Alarcón tells NPR’s Kelly McEvers that the story left him with conflicting feelings.
“On the one hand … we love García Márquez, we love books, and so it’s just something to celebrate,” he says. “On the other hand, it leaves this kind of odd taste in your mouth because you’re like, Well, if they can solve that crime in six days, why don’t they solve other crimes?”
Today, I started rereading one of my favorite books One Hundreds Years of Solitude by Gabriel Garcia Marquez. Every single time I read this novel it opens up my imagination and I find new hidden knowledge. It makes me extremely happy that Mr. Marquez choose not to allow this work of art be turn into a film. My children will be able to read it and use their minds eye to imagine this world on there own.
Hope to be able to find more people that also enjoy this novel to start an awesome discussion. Comment below this book is on your list. Don’t forget to follow us like and share.
When he accepted the Nobel prize in 1982, Garcia Marquez described Latin America as a “source of insatiable creativity, full of sorrow and beauty, of which this roving and nostalgic Colombian is but one cipher more, singled out by fortune. Poets and beggars, musicians and prophets, warriors and scoundrels, all creatures of that unbridled reality, we have had to ask but little of imagination, for our crucial problem has been a lack of conventional means to render our lives believable.”
Gabriel Garcia Marquez’s Last Words
Gabriel Garcia Marquez wrote these last words just before he died in Mexico City in April of 2014.
(Translated from the original in Spanish by Andrés Berger-Kiss)
If for an instant God would forget I’m a rag puppet and would give me a bit more life, I would take advantage of that time as much as I could.
Possibly I would not tell everything I think, but I would definitely think about everything I say.
I would value things, not for what they’re worth, but for what they signify.
I would sleep a little, I would dream more. I understand that for every minute we spend with our eyes closed, we lose sixty seconds of light.
I would walk when others stop, awaken when others sleep.
If God would give me a bit more life, I would dress simply, would throw myself downward on my stomach under the sun, leaving uncovered not only my body but my soul.
I would tell men how wrong they are thinking they can’t fall in love when they are old, not knowing that they grow old when they stop loving.
To a child I would give wings, but would leave him or her alone to learn to fly.
To the old ones I would teach them that death doesn’t arrive when one is old, but when one forgets how to live.
So many things I have learned from you, humanity……I have learned that the whole world wants to live at the top of the mountain, not knowing that true happiness is found upon climbing the rugged hill.
I have learned that when the newborn squeezes with its small fist the first time, the father’s trapped finger will be forever his.
I have learned that a man has the right to look down upon another only when he wants to help him get up.
So many are the things I have learned from you, but they will not serve me much, because when they will keep me in that bag, unhappily, I will be dying.
Try to always say what you feel and always do what you think in the profoundest part of your hear.
If I knew that today is the last time I will see you asleep, I would give you a strong embrace and pray to God to let me be the guardian of your soul.
If I knew that these are the last moments I can see you, I would say to you “I love you” and not foolishly assume you already know that.
There is always a tomorrow and life always gives us another opportunity to do things well, but if I’m mistaken and today is all that remains for us, I’d like to tell you how much I love you, and that I never will forget you.
Tomorrow is not assured for anyone, young or old. Today may be the last time you’ll see those you love. That’s why you should not wait any longer, do it today, so that if tomorrow never arrives, surely you’ll lament the day when you didn’t take the time for a smile, an embrace, a kiss because you were too busy to bestow one last wish.
Keep those you love close to you, whisper in their ears how much you need them, love them, and treat them well, take time to say to them, “I’m sorry”, “forgive me”, “please”, “thank you” and all the loving words you know.
No one will remember you for your secret thoughts. Ask the Lord for the strength and knowledge to express them.
Finally, show your friends and loved ones how much you care for them.
He dug so deeply into her sentiments that in search of interest he found love, because by trying to make her love him he ended up falling in love with her. Petra Cotes, for her part, loved him more and more as she felt his love increasing, and that was how in the ripeness of autumn she began to believe once more in the youthful superstition that poverty was the servitude of love. Both looked back then on the wild revelry, the gaudy wealth, and the unbridled fornication as an annoyance and they lamented that it had cost them so much of their lives to find the paradise of shared solitude. Madly in love after so many years of sterile complicity, they enjoyed the miracle of living each other as much at the table as in bed, and they grew to be so happy that even when they were two worn-out people they kept on blooming like little children and playing together like dogs.
Gabriel García Márquez, One Hundred Years of Solitude
He was weary of the uncertainty, of the vicious cycle of that eternal war that always found him in the same place, but always older, wearier, even more in the position of not knowing why, or how, or even when.
Gabriel Garcia Marquez, One Hundred Years of Solitude