The Golden Rose Translation Series
Complete translations from the collection
One Hundred Years of Solitude"
[Colombia] by García Márquez
Reading Russian M. Bulgakov's "Satan Dances", the general preface says that it is the pioneering work of magical realist fiction thirty years before "One Hundred Years of Solitude". It's a coincidence, and at the same time, this book is also put together. The famous Nobel Prize for Literature, hurry up and read it and compare it.!
In the introduction, the names of the book overlap and have been passed down from one hundred generations to seven generations, so it is marked with underscores, and the genealogical relationship is recorded to help reading.
Lijiang Publishing House is a small society, and there are many printing errors in the text, perhaps it is a popular version of famous works. But published in '04, it won't be piracy, right? (Peking University professor Chen Xiaoming said that the official copyright of the mainland is 10 years, translated by Fan Ye)
In order to protect books, early libraries were accustomed to punching holes on hard seals, which were really inconvenient to read, and sometimes covered the text, but also hurt the original book, for beautifully bound books are like beauty wearing old clothes, not good! This method is no longer used.
A hundred years of life, a hundred years of loneliness, that is, life is lonely, everyone's life is closed to each other and self-contained, lonely and helpless, no matter what they do. Where is the hope and rescue of mankind? Like-minded? Is it a common concept, belief, hobbies, professional expertise, customs, and human feelings? Or is it an equivalent exchange? The author is not optimistic, even the last love, and only bears the fruit of a baby with a tail.
Red sorghum is also this kind of work, is Zhang Yimou learning the taste of the West? (Professor Chen said that Mo Yan saw the book in 84 years and everyone was affected together.) ）
But in terms of literary and artistic writing, it is not as good as "Satan Dances". What a pity, Mr. Mikhail Bulgakov.
