One Hundred Years of Solitude tells the story of the rise and fall, birth and death of the mythical town of Macondo through the history of the Buendía family. Inventive, amusing, magnetic, sad, and alive with unforgettable men and women -- brimming with truth, compassion, and a lyrical magic that strikes the soul -- this novel is a masterpiece in the art of fiction.

I knew I would hate the book. I can't stand magic, fantasy books or huge sprawling books. The short elegant novel is for me. But I thought I'd just try a few pages. A day later, my work copletely ignored, I emerged exhausted but exilerated. Yet, this is one of the greatest books I've ever read and I have reread it now several times, always amazed at the power and beauty of the writing.

This story reads like a Spanish soap opera. Lots of things happen: affairs, revolutions, secrets, magic. But at the end, do you really care? Nope. I couldn't identify with a single character, as they were all one-dimensional and neurotic. My friend's mom said this book is supposed to say something about the history and politics of the region it's based in. If that's true, then that area of the world must be very sad indeed. How do books like this get held up as great examples of fiction?

From what I've heard, this book is far more powerful in the original Spanish, and I can only lament that I don't speak Spanish. I felt that long stretches of the book, such as Colonel Buendia's various revolutions and the chapters dealing with the banana plantation, were great. The elements of magical realism were as touching as they were astonishing. But I never grew unaccustomed to the book's pace, which moves herky-jerky through the decades, sometimes focusing on a single event for pages, then leaping several weeks in a single sentence. In the end, I felt like I hadn't gotten to know a single character. All the people in the book mystified me. Their fears, hopes, and regrets, were lost on me.

Gabriel Garcia Marquez has written many novels over the years, but I have had the privilege to read only two. This book is written in the style of magical realism, so you have to be very open minded about the creative and surrealistic characters. It's a wonderful, classic book from a great Latin American author.

I'm one of those who found One Hundred Years of Solitude fascinating and enjoyable. The style definitely made it for me; Marquez's prose is misty and mythic in a beautifully descriptive way. I never lost interest in the story. It's told in an unusual manner, more like an oral history or legend than a written work. After reading it, I could see why Marquez is called the "South American Faulkner"; the style in One Hundred Years of Solitude can only be compared to a book like The Sound and the Fury. I have called it misty, but it's deeper than that. The haze over Macondo is analogous to the haze of memory itself. I was thoroughly satisfied and amazed by the book. For me to attempt further description of its marvelous intricacies would be to rob you of the full joy of reading it.

I was disappointed, though, when I sampled some of Marquez's other works. In Evil Hour failed to hold my attention at all, and the only novel that has even come close was Love in the Time of Cholera. Marquez was a good author and journalist, but he didn't have the consistency to maintain the style he achieved in One Hundred Years of Solitude. I would wholeheartedly recommend OHYoS to anyone interested in this book or this author, but I would simultaneously warn him or her not to expect to find another book like it. Perhaps it's best that way.