This being the inaugural column, I decided to honor my favorite book of all time. And if I may boast a little, I read a lot—you could call me a voracious reader, having got through well over a thousand books.
The best is “One Hundred Years of Solitude” by Gabriel García Márquez. It chronicles seven generations of the Buendía family in the fictional town of Macondo—an isolated, landlocked jungle swamp, cut off from the outside world.
The book pioneered magical realism. There are so many characters and passages that transcend, that leap off the page, that have stayed with me forever. I have reread it several times and am astounded every time.
And it would not have seen the light of day had Márquez's wife not—across the year and a half he took to write it—managed the family and the finances, sold household belongings, and kept his dream alive. Fifty million copies later, thankfully she did.
Photo courtesy of Arthur Gurwitz