I spent years telling myself that I had outgrown Márquez and magical realism. Perhaps though I had only outgrown the latter and not the former.
Love in the Time of Cholera was a truly surprisingly pleasant read, most likely because love (as a concept) is eternal and love stories are relatable. Love triangles are intriguing. And getting old is something that happens to everyone (and I love to describe myself as middle-age despite the fact that I haven't yet turned 40).
While some of the sappiest passages left me suitably untouched, I find it undeniable that a book essentially solely about people's relationships has got a timelessness to it that can make it appealing to a very wide audience.
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