I think this was my first Pulitzer Prize...or Nobel Prize...I can't remember which one. I know that the books people write that win the Pulitzers and the Nobels are supposed to be these amazing feats of writing that make you think and redefine humanity, but anytime I pick one up, it's length and topic just seem to heavy for me. It's not that I can't handle it, but there's a time when you need a classroom and a group of people to really understand a book.
This was one of them, and it was barely over 100 pages long. It was short, but the language and storyline was dense. Definitely not a pool read, but I'm glad I sifted through it.
Marquez creates this almost dreamy narrative about the death of the main character. Are we ever inside the characters head? Never. We don't know what the character is thinking or feeling as the story progresses, the only thing we know is what the narrator knows. This unreliable narrator (which I love by the way, one of my most favorite literary devices) speaks to all these towns people to see what really happened the day to Santiago Nasar.
This isn't he first Spanish-translation novel I've read, but I'm beginning to find that I really enjoy novels that were translated from Spanish...what's that about? It's like my weird fix on UK music acts that come to the US. I love UK music acts...