Living to Tell the Tale by Gabriel García Márquez

 

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       Gabriel García Márquez's experiences and his family colour much of his fiction, but part of García Márquez's great talent is how he takes fact and recreates it as fiction. Vivir para contarla (now translated as Living to Tell the Tale) offers a wonderful glimpse of much that inspired and formed his fiction. As this first volume of his memoirs again shows, García Márquez is a true storyteller, relating epsiodes with charm and a disarming facility. More factual than most of his writing, Vivir para contarla is still nearly as fantastic: if it weren't the truth (and much of it can only be considered truth by a very generous stretch of the imagination) it could practically pass for one of his novels.
       García Márquez begins the book with an episode from when he was in his early twenties, when his mother asked him to come help her sell the old family home in remote Aracataca. García Márquez is at a crossroads, having just abandoned his law studies and now spending all his time reading and writing -- but not having established himself as the sort of writer he wants to be yet. The trip to the house he'd last been to when he was eight brings back many memories -- and brings inspiration, showing him what he might write about (and also suggesting, in some ways, how he might write it).
       Aracataca was a "place without limits", rich in characters and fantastical happenings, later shaped through the long remove into the surreal locale familiar from so many of Garcia Marquez's books. He convincingly describes it -- and the events surrounding family, acquaintances, and the nation -- as the inspiration-well for much of his writing.
       García Márquez circles around in this memoir, focussing on the years when he actually became a writer (in his early twenties) but returning to his own childhood and youth and how the experiences from those times made him the writer he was becoming. It is also a family memoir, as Garcia Marquez describes the households he grew up in and his close relatives and their various endeavours -- and the constant struggle to just get by. From his telegraphist father, his ever-increasing horde of siblings, and his mother (who passed away in the summer of 2002, just as he was putting the finishing touches on this book) to the extended family, it's a fascinating (and lovingly portrayed) group.
       The book is full of brief portraits and vignettes, each enough to vividly capture a character in full -- so, for example, the unforgettable page on a blind great aunt whom he can still picture perfectly walking through the house as though she could see despite relying only on her sense of smell. He reveals that this great aunt died when he was just two -- suggesting the mix of precocious memory and long-practiced re-invention (of such power that it could fool even him into thinking it was real) based on the family stories and legends he must have heard over and over that are the basis of his writing talent.
       From his early childhood in a female-dominated household through schooling that barely interested him (as he sat through his classes with an open book on his knees, constantly reading) it was an odd and yet convincing sort of childhood idyll. The family was always poor and struggling, but the struggle was taken as a given and everyone simply managed as best they could.
       García Márquez talents were fairly obvious from early on: he didn't exert himself academically, but his prodigious reading (and a good memory that allowed him to recite vast amounts of poetry) allowed for impressive displays that won over his teachers. He was able to attend very good schools, and though this necessitated a separation from his family he was fortunate in finding understanding pretty much wherever he went. He also has a great deal of luck -- so, for example, when he arrived in Bogotá to sit for the scholarship exams for the most prestigious schools he found that he had travelled on the same boat with the man in charge of the scholarships, who then singled him out and nudged him in the right direction (including finding just the right school for the boy).
       García Márquez describes himself as always passionate and certain of his writerly ambitions. He can imagine practically nothing else, and knows his law-studies won't bear fruit, pursuing them merely to pelase his family while he writes -- and reads and read and reads. He manages to publish his first story soon after graduating from school, and over the years he works hard as a journalist -- generally still barely scraping by, living day to day, but happily so.
       Another pivotal event in his life comes 9 April 1948, with the assassination of Jorge Eliécer Gaitán. Garcia Marquez relates the events impressively, realizing then also that on that day Columbia itself was changed, marked forever. Where it had muddled along all his life, it was with this one fell swoop thrust into the 20th century.
       Garcia Marquez escaped the capital (wading through a morass of blood and mud, as he puts it) and returned to the coastal area, again muddling through as best he could, nominally still a law student but ever as eager only to write. Someone tells him soon after his arrival: "You'll see, in Cartagena everything is different" -- prophetic words, he finds.
       He recounts his journalistic experiences, and his odd lifestyle -- sleeping wherever he can (most often in a local bordello). He found literary-minded friends all along the way too (Álvaro Mutis, in particular, came to be a close friend), and he also found a great deal of encouragement. When family duties called he put aside his own priorities for some time but writing is all he seems fit for. He began shaping larger fictions, and towards the ends of the memoir describes the creation of books like Leaf Storm, as well as mentioning a few odds and ends about later creations (including One Hundred Years of Solitude). (Much of Vivir para contarla reads like a gloss on much of García Márquez's fiction, and it's amusing to read about the sources for all sorts of his later fictional episodes and characters.)
       The memoir closes with his first successes -- journalistic more than literary, but with him already beginning to establish himself as true writer. His life is set to change again, as he travels to Europe on the book's final pages. But the focus isn't on the future that awaits him there, but rather on the future left -- for the moment -- behind, as he glimpses Mercedes Barcha from his taxi on the way to the airport, and then writes her a letter. What happens next is left, in best Garcia Marquez fashion, largely to the reader's imagination -- though it is easily guessed that he would go on to marry the woman he saw sitting there in her green dress.

       Vivir para contarla is an impressive, constantly engaging, and touching memoir. It is filled with wonderful scenes and details, as García Márquez casually introduces all sorts of bits of information and experiences, from a flight in which it rains in the plane, to paying a gratuity to someone who had gotten the necessary vaccinations in his place (as that person had done "daily for years" for those in a hurry) to his pseudonym for his column in El Heraldo (Septimus, after Septimus Warren Smith in Virginia Woolf's Mrs. Dalloway). But it's the bigger pictures emerging out of this mass of detail, and what García Márquez is able to evoke that impresses most of all. It reads much like a good novel, a storyteller with complete command of his material.
       The memoir is also, in many respects, too good to be true. There are some shocking events, but there is little pervasive sadness or misery; García Márquez writes with tremendous cheer and generosity -- which doesn't always ring true. As a book of strict facts it is unconvincing -- but that is hardly García Márquez's aim here. What he has done is presented a convincing self-portrait, a picture of the man he thinks he is, and how he became this man.
       The one true disappointment of Vivir para contarla is, of course, that it only tells part of the story. More volumes are promised; one looks forward to them eagerly -- and very impatiently.


 

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