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I cannot begin to tell you how much I love this book, and how much I adore the writing of Colombian author, Gabriel García Márquez.
His style, el realismo mágico (magical realism), transcends the frugal prose that mildews the pages of so many joyless books.
Salman Rushdie was, and still is, heavily influenced by Márquez. He described him as "The greatest of us all."
Louis de Bernières was similarly inspired by the great man.

I first read this book more than twenty years ago, and it has remained part of my authorial psyche ever since.
As with Rushdie's work, you can literally point a pin at any sentence in this book to reveal an imaginative genius that most of us could never aspire to. A newcomer to Márquez's work might be alarmed to see barely a paragraph break to each page. Don't worry, deep breath, you'll get used to it.

I reread this fantastically demented, wonderfully brilliant book last week, only for my wife to shoot me quizzical looks as I had a Harry Met Salvatora bookgasm while pouting at his dazzling prose, purring at his human imagery and ohhhh, licking my lips at his sumptuous outlandishness. Trigger warning: Those who are easily offended should give it a swerve; magical events do rub shoulders with some very disturbing realities.

There is one line on the book's back cover, penned by The Times newspaper, that sums up this masterpiece perfectly:
"Sweeping, chaotic brilliance, often more poetry than prose ... one vast and musical saga."

So there you have it, a book so momentous that I will revisit it a few more times in my lifetime before I eventually pop my clogs.