Remembering Marquez: A personal tribute

Gabriel Garcia Marquez is no more, a writer  I became acquainted with his works quite late. Passing by Shahbagh one day, I bought his 'One Hundred Years of Solitude' which quickly became my most favourite book of all times. Afterwards, I went on to read 'Love in the Time of Cholera', 'Living to Tell the Tale'- his autobiography, then 'No One Writes to the Colonel', 'Innocent Erendira', 'Memories of my Melancholy Whores'.

Marquez' subject matter and range of stories are epic-like, the grandeur of his vision always larger-than-life. Not only did he pathologically dissect the dilemma of being human — the human condition — but tragically and often farcically, he presented life and even death as a farce itself. Hence, the Macondians who are still recovering from the massacre of the banana plantation in which the inhabitants of Macondo — an imaginary town full of magic realism — have fought off their independence from the Gringos (which matches our own version of independence from the Pak army), don't mind as Colonel Buendia's family and its legacy comes full circle with the incest between the nephew and aunt (who however are unaware that they are related by blood and hence, the sin is committed innocently).

Marquez in one of his stories makes fun of the identical twins who were confused when alive and whose graves were also mixed up (by mistake, the family buried one in the grave of the other and that too, unknowingly to themselves). The range of Marquez'  tragi-comic portrayal of the human predicament can be compared to only one other writer I can think of — Milan Kundera who is infamously famous for his generous use of black humour, pervaded by irony in every step of life. Both writers present life lived from the edge by more-often-than-not, eccentric and solitary individuals. For example, there is the man of 'Melancholy Whores', who is 90 years old and who plans to celebrate his 90th birthday with a young sex-worker, but without touching her, falls in love with her and that too, for the first time in his life! Such is the tragi-comic vision of Marquez. He tells of Erendira whose grandmother forces her into prostitution to pay off a certain debt. She has to rinse off the sweat of unknown men from her bed sheet but will use a fresh sheet for the boy she falls in love with. It is her very personal way of remaining chaste and truthful to herself. Eventually, Erendira burns her grandmother to death and sets off with her beloved in search of happiness and a better life. Erendira's grandmother will remain the cruellest grandmother in the history of literature.

In his autobiography, Marquez talks of his rich and colourful life which he lived initially as a journalist before turning full-time writer because his writing was selling well (which actually is an understatement. All of his writings have been translated into all major languages of the world, including Bangla.)

It is only for Marquez that I regret not having been able to speak Columbian Spanish. Although the translations were excellent and most of them tried to convey the lyrical quality of Marquez' original writing, I always wondered what pleasure one would gain if one could read his original works. Lucky Spanish speakers! It was also for Marquez that people all around the world will remember the term magic realism with towering respect, for Maquez was the maestro of magic realism.

I will remember this great writer with fondness, love and respect; he, who has been the company-keeper of mine in many hours in which Marquez' writing gave me joy, pleasure, surprise, sadness, laughter. The person I associate most vividly with the years I was preparing myself to face the world and life lying ahead of me. May you rest in peace. You have lived your life full circle and not unlike many of your characters, have taken complete possession of the rich colours of a joyful life, lived to the fullest.

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Pratiti Shirin teaches English at the Department of English, University of Dhaka.