I am reading One Hundred Years of Solitude by Gabriel García Márquez and even though my progress is often interrupted by fifty-page readings for anthropology I am still completely engrossed in the book. Set in the town of Macondo the plot follows the glories and defeats of the Buendía family as they struggle with love, beauty, sickness, jealousy, honor, and loyalty. Labeled as a hallmark of magical realism I had thought the novel would be more explicitly fantastical. Instead, the magic resides in subtleties that are gradually revealed at each turn of events and in just about every relationship. The effect of this is so absorbing you begin to fully accept the reality of, for example, an insomnia plague that leaves every person in Macondo unable to remember even the simplest of words. That is, at least where I find, the genius in Márquez’s writing. I find myself questioning the boundaries of reality and the impossible as it is presented through the novel, but I am rarely able to discover either. When I am able to set aside large chunks of time to read I find that I get even more engrossed and tangled up with the characters and their lives as if I’m some omnipresent observer. Needless to say, I find the family tree in the front to be helpful! I am so excited to have finally picked up this book and cannot wait to see how the characters and plot develop further.