Friday, March 4, 2011


I'm not telling you anything that you won't read on the back of Love in the Time of Cholera by Gabriel Garcia Marquez if I begin by telling you that it is a story about love.  But unlike any other love story that I have read, this one spans decades, without a kiss, and apparently without the knowledge of one of the participants.  Love starts off with a boy, Florentino, flirting with a girl, Fermina.  Fermina's father learns of the flirtation, and tries to put an end to the relationship.  Instead, Ferminia outgrows it herself, and tells Florentino that it is over.  Well, it was over for her.

When Fermina marries another man, Florentino vows to wait for her.  I am still not telling you anything that you won't read on the back of the book if I tell you that when Fermina's husband dies, 51 years later, Florentio shows up at the wake to try to rekindle the old flame.  Isn't that romantic?

To put this story in today's terms, think of a guy who asked you out while you were a sophmore in high school, who you flirted with and exchanged notes or texts, but who you did not go out with.  Then think of him spending the next 51years of his life thinking about you, and waiting for your husband to die, even though you hadn't thought of him since you graduated from high school.  Isn't that really more creepy than romantic?

Love is an enjoyable book, but I am not sure if it is accurate to classify it as a love story, even though Florentino surely would.  It is more a comparison of two lives, one of which is lived in a conventional way, and one of which is lived while waiting for something else to happen.

While reading Love, I had a dream that I was "skiing" down an icy ski hill with my high school boyfriend.  I put "skiing" in quotes, because instead of using skis, I was riding a snowboard with a razor scooter-like handle bar, and he was riding a motorcycle.  I am sure that Freud would have something to say about us racing down a slippery slope.  What I have to say is that my snow-scooter was *AWESOME* and if anyone ever manufactures one, I will be first in line to buy it.  Maybe that will be what I grow old waiting for.

Next Up:  The White Queen by Philippa Gregory

Still Listening to:  The Black Dahlia by James Ellroy  I am really enjoying this CD.  The voice of the reader, Stephen Hoye, is so much like that of an older attorney who is "of counsel" to my firm that I actually looked to see if it was the person I know doing the reading.  The murder does not occur until the third disc of eleven, with the first two and a half discs being all about two police officers who I assume will be involved with the investigation.  The story is so good, that I was not bored, even just hearing about random police officers' lives.  Stephen Hoye's voice is perfect for this book, in that he can talk about someone being "an ace detective" or someone paying "a double sawbuck" and sound genuine.  I think that if I was reading the book, the 1940's investigator lingo would have turned me off, but hearing it in Hoye's voice is really keeping me interested.

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