"... No one knew exactly when she had begun to lose her sight. [...] She did not tell anyone about it because it would have been a public recognition of her uselessness. She concentrated on a silent schooling in the distances of things and people's voices, so that she would still be able to see with her memory what the shadows of her cataracts no longer allowed her to. Later on she was to discover the unforeseen help of odors, which were defined in the shadows with a strength that was much more convincing than that of bulk and color, and which saved her finally from the shame of admitting defeat. [...] while the others were going carelessly all about, she watched them with her 4 senses so that they never took her by surprise, and after some time she discovered that every member of the family, without realizing it, repeated the same path every day, the same actions, and almost repeated the same words at the same hour. Only when they deviated from meticulous routine did they run the risk of losing something..."
After the sudden blow at midnight some days ago I had trouble falling asleep that night and suffered from a state of agitation and despair, with suicidal thoughts (not out of shame but rather as a way of redemption), for about 2 days, but as usual a book brought me to another world and here I am, alive and kicking, rather indifferent to what happened as well as its consequences. Been reading and enjoying "100 years of solitude" by Gabriel Garcia Marquez. The novel is different from the books I've read lately and different from most books I've read till now, exemplifying a completely different way of telling a story, reminiscent of the fairytales, folktales, Andersen's stories, "1001 nights"... I read as a kid. Marquez's imagination and writing are magnificent, he reawakens in me that interest in Latin American literature, which started 1st with Isabel Allende.
The excerpt above written about Ursula, quite random perhaps, is 1 of my favourite passages from the novel.