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Can you appreciate a book and dislike it at the same time? This book reminded me of Lincoln at the Bardo, although certainly not in content. Both are written by obviously brilliant writers. Both are inventive, creative. Both stretch the conventional boundaries of the novel (something only great writers try, and something I appreciate in any art form). Both are amazing, and yet, I didn't love either book. Sometimes originality works and sometimes it doesn't, at least for some.

I understood what Marquez was saying: war is senseless, events, like names, repeat throughout history, families are complicated, political parties are all guilty of the same things, the past often blends with the present, progress often has unwanted results, capitalism can be corrupt and on and on. These are all important aspects in the history of Colombia during the 100 year period 1820-1920. I also think the author intentionally wanted the characters to be blurry, for after all, weren't they the same characters through the generations? Only the matriarch was a player with depth. I need to feel something for characters, not necessarily compassion or love, just something.

100 Years of Solitude might have been palatable if I had known the history of Colombia during that time period. But even so, it was repetitious, yawn producing. I often groaned as I picked it back up. It was like being in a fevered dream, bizarre events with moments of clarity.

Am I glad I read it? Yes. Did I enjoy parts, especially the humorous parts? Yes. I'm actually fonder of it the farther I get away from the drudgery of reading it. Did I enjoy the experience? No. I am just thankful Marquez didn't write 200 Years of Solitude!