If I had to narrow it down, I would say that Latin authors are my thing. Neruda’s poetry is a staple in my life and Allende and Vargas volumes are old friends who now take residence on my bookshelves with a newly arrived Roberto Bolano alongside my treasured, much loved and dog eared copies of Garcia Marquez classics. All have transported me to places and times far away. Some have invoked rage or indignation others brought me warmth or hope. Universally, I am awed by the talent of these artists and inspired by their ability to communicate, provoke and entertain me.
Reading as much as I do, I’m loathe to admit to just one, but Gabriel Garcia Marquez consistently tops my list of favourite authors. His Love in the Time of Cholera remains one of the best things I’ve read. It was a no brainer then to add his short story, Memories of My Melancholy Whores to my list for this year’s books.
The story goes like this: on his 90th birthday, a bachelor decides to treat himself to a night of wild lovemaking with a virgin. Having done so hundreds of times before, he contacts a local madam to help him with the arrangements. The young girl given to him for the evening, exhausted from her day’s work in a local button factory, falls asleep. He, so enchanted by her as she lays there beside him in bed, finds himself falling in love for the first time in his life.
Beautiful and sad (which is classic Marquez), somewhat disturbing and at times funny, Memories of My Melancholy Whores is an odd and haunting love story. Gabo’s written a wonderful little companion to the classics for which is has been so deservingly awarded and praised. As I knew I would, I loved this book!
I have yet to read anything by Marquez, but hope to read Love in the Time of Cholera sometime in the next year or two.
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