I read this book when I was 16, on a school
trip in which I was trying to get my mind off of the girl who was destroying my
heart (or maybe I was doing it to prove to her how much of an intellectual I
was – either way, it didn’t work).
To this day, there are still so many passages
that I quote time and again: the discovery of ice, Remedios ascending to
heaven, Mauricio Babilonia’s butterflies, the seventeen Aurelianos, everything
around Melquiades, José Arcadio’s chestnut tree, and countless others.
And still this isn’t a book that I would like
to re-read. I’m not sure if it’s just me or magical realism is generally
out-grown by the time one turns 25. It’s one of my favourite books, yet I’m
afraid that revisiting it might destroy my memories of it.
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