My book club recently finished Love in the Time of Cholera by Garbriel Garcia Marquez and quite a few of the members think it's the best thing since sliced bread. So, I wonder what the heck is wrong with me?
Florentino Ariza falls in love with the icy Fermina Daza, wooing her through letters. Love is the wrong word: obsessed is more accurate. He makes himself sick with longing for her. She finally succumbs to Florentino's relentless pursuit and agrees to marry him. But Daddy Daza steps in and sends Fermina away where she continues a correspondence with Florentino. Absence does not make the heart grow fonder for Fermina and she throws him over, marries a doctor and lives a comfortable life for 50 years. In the meantime, Florentino replaces his romantic love with a succession of floosies, married women and pretty much anything in a skirt. Until one day the patient Florentino hears of the death of the doctor and takes it from where he left off more than 50 years ago.
I enjoyed the beginning. The characters, the atmosphere, everything was so well written, but Florentino turns into such a dirty old pervert that I was quite disgusted with him. I got tired of reading about all his humping around. He's the male Moll Flanders. I never really warmed up to Fermina, although I did love her stubbornness in a time where women were second class citizens.
I can't pinpoint exactly why I feel the way I do. It's totally personal and in no way reflects the beautiful writing. And you all will probably love it too. I'm the weirdo.
I also hated Wuthering Heights when I first read it. It's a favorite of mine now, so maybe I'll grow to love Love in the Time of Cholera.
Also Reviewed By: Chris @ Stuff As Dreams Are Made On
Marg @ Reading Adeventures
Nymeth @ Things Mean a Lot