Rant over. Ahem.
First up we have One Hundred Years of Solitude, by Gabriel Garcia Marquez.
I actually didn't love, adore or cherish this book as much as I thought/hoped I would. That said, I still enjoyed it very much. The rhythm of the plot gives the book a haunting atmosphere, as do the occasional supernatural occurrences throughout the story. It's often quite sad, in a sort of poignant, reflective, melancholy way, and often very beautiful as well. Yet at the same time, the characters are imbured with so much life I didn't notice just how sad parts were until I reflected back on them.
While I don't have a particularly strong opinion about the book now, due to the writing style and the themes throughout the book, I do think that the feel of it will linger with me for quite a while. I always like it when that happens with a book, though I'm never sure if anyone else ever gets that feeling?
I've just finished reading A Tale of Two Cities, by Charles Dickens. I enjoyed this novel immensely, so that brings the total of Dickens novels I have loved up to 2 out of 2. Go me.
I wasn't particularly taken with the subject of the novel at first (the French revolution) - I thought it would be overly political, and little bit dry. Clearly I don't know Dickens very well, as it was less about politics, more about love and bloodshed, liberty and equality, tyrannism and morality. It was a little slow to start with but became increasingly gripping halfway through. Plus, as before, excellent writing throughout.
A Tale of Two Cities wasn't quite as enjoyable as Great Expectations, for me. I think that's because there was more scope for humour and witticisms in Great Expectations, whereas of course that wasn't appropriate for A Tale of Two Cities. Nevetheless, it was still a fantastic book and I am again smarting that I didn't give him a chance earlier. I know what's going on my shopping list once my book-buying ban is over!
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