No One Writes to the Colonel by Gabriel Garcia Marquez

I knew my wild hot streak of incredible books wasn’t going to last forever, but I never would’ve imagined it would be Marquez that would end it.
I don’t think I had overly high expectations for it either. I know that sometimes authors of great novels don’t necessarily make authors of great short stories. They’re different mediums and they require the use of different skills. But as a lover of short stories and Marquez alike, I thought that I’d at least like this. Instead I found it really, really tedious to get through. The characters were flat and the stories were uninteresting, slices of life that had so little to say that I’m not sure what motivated him to write them in the first place. For the most part they were just pretty flavourless and forgettable, but one story, I think it was called One Sunday Afternoon (or something along those lines. It’s been reburied into my suitcase and I’m not willing to go digging around to get it out), was so boring and so pointless that it pushed my mild unenjoyment of the collection into actual dislike.
Anyways, I’m not going to belabor the point. I read these stories, didn’t like them, but I’ll get over it. And don’t let this dissuade you from going out and checking out Marquez. His novels are fantastic. Just maybe give this one a miss. Or not, I didn’t get much from it, but you might. Books are like that.


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