Today a Spanish fan emailed me, letting me know that Gabriel García Márquez had died. It was a little startling for me, not because of the death in particular. (He was 87. He had a good run.) But because Id been thinking about his story, The Very Old Man with Enormous Wings just yesterday. Wanting to reading it again. When I read it. I thought, Yes. This. Perfectly fantastic. Perfectly real. Id always wanted that in my writing, but Id never seen it done that way before. It was delightful. Wondrous. Yes. Wondrous. Thats the perfect word for it. The Spanish reader wrote to me: In Spanish we say las letras están de luto. Its translated as the words are in grief. Its a strange thing, mourning the loss of someone you dont know. That you will never know. He touched my life a bit, as lightly as a feather. But sometimes gentle touches are the most powerful and profound. And then the person is gone. Its not a loss exactly. Its more like youre mourning their absence from the world. I like that phrase: The words are in grief. It seems fitting for an author. Its not just the world thats missing him. Its as if all words have just been struck an unexpected blow and theyre stunned and stinging from the shock of it. Im off to read The Very Old Man with Enormous Wings. If you havent ever, you should. Its wondrous.
Posted on: Thu, 17 Apr 2014 23:27:37 +0000
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