I can’t say that One Hundred Years of Solitude is my favorite book because, honestly, the whole idea of having a “favorite” anything feels limiting. Our tastes are always shifting, evolving with each new experience. But if I had to pick one that comes close, Gabriel García Márquez’s iconic novel would top the list. I like it so much that I’ve become increasingly suspicious of anyone who says they don’t like it. Maybe you should too.
During the pandemic, rumors about a Netflix adaptation of One Hundred Years of Solitude started circling around. Most reactions on social media were positive, I suspect from people that haven’t read the book or know much about Gabriel García Márquez. Only a few showed disdain, and while at the time I kept quiet, I’m choosing now to voice my disappointment with the García Barcha family’s decision.
I first read One Hundred Years of Solitude as a Spanish Literature student at university, and the experience was nothing short of a privilege. It was an independent study guided by my professor, Gustavo Arango—a former journalism student of García Márquez, the author’s first biographer, and a key figure in the publication of Gabriel García Márquez’s final novel, En agosto nos vemos. His insights throughout the novel’s twenty chapters made the experience unforgettable. When we got to the final chapter, we read it out loud. I remember feeling melancholic, exposed, as if I had laid bare a part of myself. When we finished, I held the book close to my chest, and remember saying “This is my story.”
A Bit on the Buendías
One Hundred Years of Solitude, published in Buenos Aires in 1967, tells the story of the Buendía family across seven generations in the fictional town of Macondo. Pen and paper are strongly suggested for first time readers, as each generation of the Buendía family are marked by recurring names. The novel explores themes of love, power, war, and the cyclical nature of history. Each character is beautifully developed and memorable, representing broader truths about human existence.
Gabriel García Márquez once described the novel as a 350-page Vallenato. It’s a vivid portrayal of Colombia’s Caribbean culture, strengthening my connection to the region, reviving old memories, and helping me come to terms with the complexities of the region’s folklore. The book also offers a critique of Colombia’s political landscape, from the formation of political parties and their often absurd differences to the oppressive, violent actions of American multinational companies.
My Personal Connections
Since my initial reading of the novel, I’ve read it at least three more times. Each reading has been driven by different curiosities that took over my imagination. Melquíades influence almost had me building my own alchemy laboratory! His presence in the novel never ceases to amaze me. I couldn’t bear other people’s interpretation of meddling with my Melquíades. Perhaps this may be the most important reason.
The production team for the adaptation has chose Ibagué as the location to depict Macondo, and its speculated to be the most expensive television production in Latin American history. But for me, the real Macondo lies in my heart, a place no camera can capture and no set can recreate. This is one of those instances where you really can’t name the price. Adapting a novel like One Hundred Years of Solitude, with its non-linear chronology and little dialogue, is outrageous—crazy. Because how do you visually convey the madness, the surreal atmosphere, and the soul of a place that is both magical and haunting? How do you translate the intangible into something so concrete?
The book has defined the magical realism genre, where the supernatural feels natural. Special effects you say? They sound cringe-worthy. Can any special effect—or any actor, for that matter—truly capture the most beautiful woman ascending to the heavens, or the rain of yellow flowers falling over Macondo? It’s my imagination—personal and intimate—that give these moments life. They are irreplaceable, no matter how sophisticated our technology has become.
But its not just me…
These are my personal reasons. But Gabriel García Márquez himself was firmly opposed to selling the rights to One Hundred Years of Solitude for a film adaptation. Over the years, many directors and producers proposed bringing the novel to the screen, but he declined every offer. One of the closest attempts came from Japan, where the latest translation of the book sparked considerable interest. In 1984, Shuji Terayama released Farewell to the Ark, a film closely inspired by the novel. The film featured unmistakable details from the book, such as Úrsula Iguarán’s chastity belt, the cockfights, Prudencio Aguilar’s ghost haunting Jose Arcadio, the gypsises, viruses and the musical clocks, among others. The film even entered the 1985 Cannes Film Festival. Yet, despite the similarities, García Márquez did not approve the adaptation and insisted that all credits related to his novel be removed, as he believed the magic of the book was something that could not be fully captured on film.
Gabriel García Márquez’s contribution to cinematography are considerable and form an essential part of his legacy. He wasn’t just a literary giant; he was deeply entrenched in the world of film. On various occasions he spoke about his love for film and devotion to written word revealing a deep understanding of the unique qualities each medium holds. He served as a film critic and founded and directed the Film Institute in Havana. His influence extended to screenwriting, where he collaborated with many directors and producers. In an interview, he described his relationship with cinema as a “troubled marriage; we can neither live together nor apart.” In this same interview he even admitted that he wrote One Hundred Years of Solitude against cinema, expressing a desire to protect the novel’s imaginative power. “I prefer that my readers continue imagining my characters as their uncles and friends, rather than have them entirely defined by what they see on screen,” he mentioned.
Sticking to My Story
In honoring García Márquez’s words, I will follow his suggestion and continue to imagine his characters as my own—a blend of uncles, friends, and the other figures I’ve come to know through repeated readings. Each time I revisit One Hundred Years of Solitude, I uncover new layers, fueled by my own curiosity and the memories tied to my first encounter with the novel and my trips to Colombia’s Caribbean. Whether it’s Melquíades, Remedios the Beauty, or a levitating priest, these images are personal, intimate, and irreplaceable. No screen, no matter how large or how closely it follows the author’s vision, could ever capture the magic that lives in my mind. So, while the allure of a visual adaptation may tempt many, I choose to keep my version of Macondo where it belongs—in my heart and imagination, where it remains untouched, vivid, and wholly mine.
