(Image Credit: Viking)
A novel decreed to be ‘unpublishable’ by its own author and remorselessly delegated to the confines of obscurity. “This book doesn’t work. It must be destroyed,” opined Gabriel Garcia Marquez on his last and almost abandoned novel. A decade following the demise of the Nobel Laureate, Until August has been resurrected by an intrepid and trusting editor, backed by the late author’s family.
Gabriel Garcia Marquez was afflicted with a pernicious bout of dementia for ten long years preceding his passing. This unfortunate scenario put paid to the hopes of Marquez completing a new book comprising of five autonomous tales featuring the same protagonist going by the name, Ana Magdalena Bach. Perhaps the affliction also precluded this marvelous magician of fictional realism from recognising the potential of his own work (as contended by his family). Even though lacking the implicit verve and wonder that separates the Marquez touch from mere mortals, shades of the master’s imprimatur thread through this slim volume, which is more a rescued version than a robust offering.
Ana Magdalena Bach, at 46 experiences a turbulence in life that is part cathartic and part contrived. On a visit to a Caribbean Island where her mother is buried, Ana engages in a frenzied one-night stand with an absolute stranger. This carnal episode sets off a series of repetitions. Year after year, on the 16th of August, Ana makes the journey to her mother’s grave before taking on a new lover. There is an eerie method to Ana’s madness. Proceeding to lay a bouquet of fresh gladioli on her mother’s grave, Ana begins a predatorial and persevering hunt to finding a partner for the night before clambering onto a ferry that will take her back to the mainland the following day.
Both the men and the amorous act become indifferent to Ana. Romp transforms into a ritual. From a Hispanic Gringo who to her chagrin leaves a $20 note before letting himself out to a notorious swindler who is a powerhouse in bed, her partners slowly become indistinguishable from one another. Ana becomes a shade of her past at home and a sense of broodiness envelopes her relations with her own family in general, and husband in particular. A 27-year-old marriage built on the edifice of trust and vitality, if not fidelity, begins to experience some foundational cracks.
A sense that Until August is incomplete is imminent from a very reading of the book. Akin to viewing a tapestry that is still devoid of more than just a couple of warps and wefts, Ana Magdalena Bach’s experience and escapade remain untold and unfortunately will continue to remain untold forever. Does the act of Marquez’s trustees/executors publishing this book against his will amount to the perpetration of indignity? Does the book tarnish the otherwise unimpeachable credentials of Marquez as one of the greatest of his time, or of all times even?
There are no telling answers even though the questions are pertinent. But at the same time there is no logic in undertaking a profound examination of the pros and cons of bringing out this book either. If the last wishes of Franz Kafka were to be accorded religious compliance, the world would have been rendered much the poorer in terms of literature that can only be termed seraphic. However, while Kafka commanded that an entire trove of his manuscripts be destroyed, Marquez abandoned a single experiment. This facet alone must make every Marquez fan and fanatic let out a sigh of unconcealed relief!
Until August may have been Gabriel Garcia Marquez’s feeble and final attempt at fighting a hopeless battle against a rapidly fading memory. The heinous adversary may have come up triumphs even, but the war has and will always belong to the man who mesmerised the world in a manner that remains his sole prerogative, penchant, and patent.