By John Cussen


The Montréal Review, February 2024



I am called back to the too little acknowledged problem of adult/minor sex in the works of Colombian author Gabriel García Márquez by the debate that surrounds the impending March 6 release of a never before published novel of his titled En agosto nos vemos -- a fiction, I should say too, that the everywhere heralded author of One Hundred Years of Solitude himself declined to publish in his lifetime. Yes, for all of the ethical and artistic reasons that skeptics of this sort of thing usually advance falsification of the writer’s oeuvre, dilution of his or her achievement, privacy considerations, and so on – Gonzalo and Rodrigo García Barcha, the writer’s sons and his estate’s keepers, have been second-guessed for their signing off on the issuance to the public in finished-text dress of a manuscript-in-progress that their father had chosen to keep under wraps.1 On the other hand, their decision has too been cheered for all of the reasons that backers of posthumous publications usually advance: the completion of the writer’s oeuvre, the furtherance of his or her legacy, the discovery of new brilliances, and so on.2

As for my own thoughts on the matter and their relations to the adult/minor-sex problem in the writer’s work that I’ve just characterized as too little acknowledged, they are two:  First, no, I don’t look forward to yet more of those sorts of pages’ circulation here, there and everywhere, under the byline of arguably the last half-century’s most celebrated fiction writer, especially given their anti-Catholic character (see below). For such circulation, I believe, is going to be the outcome of this new book’s publication. On the other hand, if that’s what it takes to revive my scholar colleagues’ engagement with the very real problem of such pages in their favored writer’s work and, beyond that, to give them for the first time an awareness of the problem’s spiritual dimension, yes, I’m all for it. Also -- no kudos asked for -- but when En agosto nos vemos is published, I almost assuredly will have the satisfaction of seeing confirmed the several near stand-alone, García Márquez theses of mine that my more accomplished colleagues in the community of his scholarly readers have failed to pick up on. And that will be gratifying to me too.

So what are my theses? They are these:  that the just described problem is a real one, that the sneering references to one or another Catholic icon of sex-ethical virtue that the writer invariably appends to his least discrete pages are significant, and, thirdly, that what they tell us about him is this:  that, ultimately, at bottom, he, García Márquez, was a man shaking his fist at his Father/Lawgiver/God with stories of adult/minor sex. Also, and lastly, I have been at pains to say here and there that the ungodly contents in the García Márquez file likely have a biographical basis, one which upends scholarship’s standard take on his, the writer’s, earliest years.3

Do these theses of mine surprise you, a non-expert in García Márquez analysis? I would be surprised if they didn’t, given what the experts and I (to some regretted extent also) have for a half century been telling you were the penman’s attributes – namely, things such as these:  

that his was fiction’s oracular voice out of nowhere in the mid-sixties;4 that “in Cién años de soledad [original Spanish title of One Hundred Years of Solitude] the thirty-seven-year-old author-journalist and struggling writer brought off a kind of artistic miracle”;5 that his work in general and Cién años in particular constituted in their combination the loudest ka-bang in the international cultural phenomenon known as The Boom in the Latin American novel;6 that “his masterpiece, One Hundred Years of Solitude,...was the world’s first truly ‘global’ novel”;7 that it was too, said one reader, the first piece of literature since the book of Genesis that should be required reading for the entire human race”;8 that it was, again, the work of fiction that “most shaped world literature” in the past half century;9 that, though he himself didn’t invent it, García Márquez gave to fiction the inspired storytelling technique that is today called magical realism,10 and that he would also have given it mamagallismo were that coastal Colombian style of tongue-in-cheek-ism imitable by those who are not its native speakers;11 that he was a master stylist, “fat,” said one admirer, “in the plenitude of his syntax”;12 that his portraits of women were spot-on and that his sympathies for their struggles in a patriarchal world enlightened;13 that he is the most translated Spanish-language author of the current century;14 “that both President Bill Clinton and Barack Obama ... embraced [his] fiction in a way that positioned it as both imaginatively fruitful and ethically relevant”;15 and that, as did Joyce for the Irish, he “created the unformed conscience of his [South American] race.” 16

Also, and perhaps most importantly, the experts have been telling you that García Márquez was for a half century nothing less than the underdog’s champion of champions, a writer bravely shaking his own marginalized, little-guy’s fist at the First World, at reason, at capitalism, at traditional prose poetics, at the Anglosphere, and at various other hegemonic, patriarchic, and crushing imperial realities.17

No, not much in there of a kind with my theses nor with what I’m guessing will be on display in the writer’s soon-to-be-released, posthumous novel, namely, yet another dubiously presented scene or situation involving adult/minor sex and, appended to it, a slighting Catholic reference. And that makes for a problem for you and for other García Márquez non-experts who might read En agosto nos vemos, doesn’t it? Yes, it does, says common sense and, too, the early-80s research of touchstone reception theorists such as Hans Robert Jauss, who, to recall, coined the useful term “horizons of expectation” and who offered that such horizons do indeed influence the reading experience of the minds they frame.18 In other words, you and your fellow non-experts, as you read En agosto nos vemos, are not likely to see the true nature of the pages your turning for want of your horizons of expectations’ proper setting. Apologies, if that sounds a slighting estimate of your reading abilities. However, I have no other way of understanding the public’s, especially the Catholic public’s, not seeing for so many years what I’ve been seeing when they read García Márquez’s fictions, namely, the contents of my theses. Yes, yes, if you don’t mind, let me run by you here, the contents of those theses and let me thereby try to re-set your horizons of expectations for your accurate reading of En agosto nos vemos.

To begin, then, the problem that is the near-reflexive turn in the everywhere lauded author’s fictions toward dubiously presented scenes and situations involving adult-minor sex – yes, for sure, there is such a problem, for such turns in the fictions are tell-tale abundant. Most obviously we see one in his swan song novella of 2004, Memories of My Melancholy Whores, whose central plot premise concerns an elderly bachelor’s treating himself, by way of a ninetieth-birthday present to self, to a night of “wild love” with a drugged and purchased fourteen-year old.19 However, we see it too on multiple pages in his cornerstone work of 1967, One Hundred Years of Solitude, though at more spaced intervals. Notable in this regard in just the second generation of the Buendía family history, for example, is the fact that both of the generation’s male issues – José Arcadio and Aureliano – are brought of age sexually by the family’s housekeeper. What’s more, that woman is herself a victim of such abuse. Again, staying yet still in that same generation of the novel’s protagonist-family, we note additionally that the eldest of the siblings, a few years after his experience with the housekeeper, has sex with a “a very young gypsy girl, almost a child” whom he encounters by chance at a fair and whom he shortly thereafter runs away with. As for the junior brother, Aureliano, well, just before his experience with Pilar Ternera, the housekeeper, he drifts one day into the tent of a teen prostitute whose adult customers before him that day had numbered sixty-three. Further, though he does not have sex with that particular girl, he does on another day fall desperately in love with the nine-year-old Remedios Moscote – whom, lastly, he marries when he is an adult and she an early teen who “[has just] reached puberty” but not yet “[gotten] over the habits of childhood.”20

To continue, in the title novella of the writer’s fiction collection of 1978, Innocent Eréndira and Other Stories, the turn is also generously accomplished, for in those pages García Márquez reprises in all its inglorious fullness the just mentioned Hundred Years sketch about the teen prostitute who greets Aureliano as her sixty-fourth client on the day of their meeting. Next, Love in the Time of Cholera:  in that 1984 fiction, which is most frequently pitched to the public as a “love story,”21 the turn is most significantly accomplished in the episode that concerns América Vicuña, the fourteen-year-old grandniece, ward and plaything for a time of the novel’s male protagonist, Florentino Ariza.22 To be sure, also making our list is the writer’s novel of some ten years later, Of Love and Other Demons (1995), a fiction whose central plot concerns a Seventeenth-Century, New Grenada priest-exorcist’s getting involved romantically with the twelve-year-old girl whom he ought be exorcising.23 As for The General in His Labyrinth, the fictionalized history of Simón Bolívar’s last days that the author put out in between the two novels just named, no, the turn is not so abundantly executed in that work. However, it’s in there too in that at least some few of the women discovered by the Liberator during his insomniac’s rambles and/or those delivered into his hammock by his subordinates in the recalled era of his military exploits are teens.24 On the other hand, in the writer’s earlier dictator novel of 1975, The Autumn of the Patriarch, the looked-for passage type surfaces in several places, among them, in that late scene in the fiction in which the dictator offers candies to the homeward-skipping schoolgirls he’s trying to waylay.25 And, lastly, as I finish making the point that there is a good deal of adult-minor sex in just about all of the works of García Márquez coming forward from Cien años de saledad, I should tell you that the type of page we’re looking for is multiply discoverable too in the writer’s short, honor-killing novel of 1985, Chronicle of a Death Foretold. Indeed, we are yet still in that half-day fiction’s first hour when the soon to be butchered Santiago Nasar grabs the wrist of the early-teen serving him coffee in that early-morning moment and tells her, “The time has come for you to be tamed.”26

As for the second half of my initial thesis, namely, scholarship’s scant acknowledgement of the problem yes, for sure, that remains my opinion on the matter, even after I listen to those peer reviewers of my own work who would tell me otherwise, who would tell me specifically that the García Márquez scholarly community has indeed handled the matter and has, since then, moved on. They remind me as they make this point of the sizable number of despairing-to-disaffected reviews of Memories of My Melancholy Whores that appeared in both Anglo- and Spanish-language news outlets at the time of that nonagenarian / teen-prostitute novella’s unsettling debut some twenty years ago.27 Also, they ask me to recall that in the wake of the Melancholy Whores stir in the popular press, there appeared in scholarly precincts a pair of sizeable papers by comparative lit professors Luiselli and Celis in which the two separately tackled the issue of, as Luiselli straightforwardly put it, “la discursividad pederasta e incestuosa [que] va implícita en la firma de García Márquez [the discourse of pederasty and incest that is implicit in the García Márquez signature],” and of, too, what to do about it if it turned out that the heralded writer was indeed a wolf in sheep’s clothing.28 And, third, say those who would disabuse me of my thoughts on this matter, the small cartridge of ink expended in that same era in defense of the author’s reputation by the English-speaking world’s leading García Márquez scholars in the wave of “new and revised” guidebooks to his achievement that they put out just before and after 2010  — that ink too bespoke scholarship’s adequate, upfront handling of the issue.29

Yet still, no, despite these arguments, my judgment against the handling’s adequacy remains the same. Further, it does so for what I believe are several good reasons, among them, this first strong one:  that in the dozen years since the circa-2010 flurry of García Márquez-overview texts, no book-length scholarly publication on the writer that I know of has dealt with the issue for more than a few sentences (with but one brief, untroubled exception).30 And, to be clear, there have appeared several book-length publications on the writer in that time period.31 Next, as for the reviewers’ responses to Melancholy Whores back in 2004 and 2005, yes, they were candid and unmoored from ideological preferences; and, yet still, no, those disaffected reactions by readers in the popular press achieved little resonance in spheres scholarly, in, that is, spheres authoritative, says, again, the untroubled contents of the recent book-sized publications just mentioned. So too, the Luiselli and Celis papers:  though both offered clear-eyed surveys of the tricks up the writer’s sleeve by way of which he gets his readers to find acceptable things they ought not, few if any of the Colombian’s subsequent scholarly readers seem to have heeded their counsels. To cite just one example, unguarded in ways that run counter to their warnings is for me the lately expressed opinion that, ultimately, what the ninety-year-old-buys-a-fourteen-year-old Melancholy Whores plot teaches us is that rich are “the possibilities afforded by longevity.”32 Lastly, as for the defenses of the writer offered by his chief English-language advocates in and around 2010, to tell you the truth, I’ve never much been impressed by those influential pages, and, as I once more look at them today, I remain unimpressed. No, the argument over whether or not García Márquez is up to good or mischief in his least appetible pages was not settled by anything written there. Or at least it shouldn’t have been, say I, who once wrote incautiously about the author too. 33

And there is yet still another reason I think scholarship hasn’t long enough nor squarely enough looked at the writer’s most troublesome pages:  because to date they haven’t noticed what is for me the pages’ most telling feature, namely, their invariable pinning with a sneering reference to a Catholic icon or image of a sex-ethical sort. Yes, that such pinnings are a constant in the Colombian’s work is the case. Indeed, find a passage in García Márquez’s fictional offerings that will make a sailor not want to read any further, and, in particular, find one that involves adult/near-teen sex, and you will invariably find pinned to it a mocking, anti-Catholic reference. A few examples: The cruel grandmother of his 1972 novella, The Incredible and Sad Tale of Innocent Eréndira and her Heartless Grandmother — who is she, that imperious matron of the fiction’s title, her bedroom “furnished with an excessive and demented taste,” “so fat that she could only walk by leaning on her granddaughter’s shoulder or on a staff that looked like a bishop’s crosier,” empowered by an “antiquated grandeur” and “seated in a large chair that had the foundation and the pedigree of a throne,” if not a García Márquez stand-in for the Roman Catholic Church? And what is her putting her early-teen housekeeper/granddaughter to work as a prostitute for having made the mistake of allowing the candelabrum in her room to be blown over by the wind and for having thus triggered the conflagration that had burnt down the old woman’s “enormous mansion of moonlike concrete,” if not the writer’s allegorical representation of what he perceives to be an implacable Church’s cruel habit of turning into whores, by way of its sexual ethics, its female young and of exacting from them—in sweat, shame and, coin—their wages?34

Again, in Love in the Time of Cholera, América Vicuña, the name assigned to the fourteen-year-old grandniece, ward and plaything for a time of the novel’s scapegrace-male protagonist, Florentino Ariza that name recalls with the intent to undermine it the legacy of the Chilean/Argentine near-teen, near-saint, near-martyr Blessed Laura Vicuña (1891-1904), who, to recall her story, bravely stood up as a twelve-year-old to a powerful estanciero’s predatory designs on herself and on her widowed mother in turn-of-the-century, outback Argentina, and, in so doing, broke the back of the anti-civilizational sexual culture then regnant in that time and place.35 Next, in Of Love and Other Demons, Father Cayetano Delaura, the name of the priest who becomes romantically infatuated for a time with the twelve-year-old girl whom he is assigned to exorcise — that name recalls with mocking intent the chaste, epistolary relationship that for a formative space in the saint’s life bound to one another the Catholic-Reformation’s Saint/Father Cajetan of Thiene (1480-1547) and the convent-enclosed, Augustinian nun, Sister Laura Mignani (1480-1525).36 As for Memories of My Melancholy Whores, the sneering, allusive deed is perpetrated in countless ways in that fiction but in this way that I’ll mention here:  its informing us early on that the lecherous, if poetic, old coot who is the novel’s protagonist — purchaser of an “adolescent virgin” on his ninetieth birthday, a lifelong bachelor who has never slept with a woman without paying for her, and who, by age fifty had slept with a precisely recorded 514 — he, this old guy, has lived for the whole of his life “in a colonial house, on the sunny side of San Nicolás Park.”37 Thus, his whoring activities notwithstanding, he has lived for the whole of his life on the edge of a park named after the Catholic saint who is for members of that faith the patron saint of the unmarried and whose memory is recommended to them as an encouragement to remain chaste.38

And there I’ll stop with examples of this sort of thing in the writer’s work. For even without more examples – without, for instance, a paragraph explanatory of the implications vis á vis the topic of the “¡qué bárbaro!” spoken by the housekeeper Pilar Ternera when first she touches José Arcadio in his privates,39 and even without, too, another paragraph explaining the significance as per our topic of the bishop’s blessing of an honor murder in Chronicle of a Death Foretold 40 – I think my point is made. Yes, you get it:  to each and all of the writer’s adult/minor sex scenes and passages, as well as to those of his pages that are only mildly salacious, García Márquez appends a sneering Catholic reference of one sort or another.

And what’s that all about?  The writer’s doing this so consistently, time after time, for the near whole of his career, that is? That’s the all-important next question, isn’t it? And, as it happens, its answer is roughly identical with the third of my theses. In other words, what these Catholic references are about is the spiritual dimension of the manifold adult/minor sex occurrences and episodes in García Márquez’s work. By way of them, the writer shakes his fist at his Father/Lawgiver/God with execrable stories of adult/minor sex. Yes, if you ask me, that’s what they are all about. Unfortunately, being neither a psychologist nor a theologian, I can’t explain my insight much beyond declaring it. Still, I’m sure of it. Look for the obvious explanation first, as might say the Logician of Ockham, and stop there if you think you’ve got it.

Also, I would urge, we need too to ask another easy question if we wish to take in the whole of my third thesis:  Why are the images and icons that García Márquez appeals to in these situations invariably Catholic, as opposed to, that is, their being Buddhist, or Anglican, or Methodist, or Chibcha, or Santería – respectively, the last two, the pre-Christian faith system of Altiplano Colombia and the syncretic faith system of the later Caribbean, both of which García Márquez has been interpreted as offering as foils to Catholicism in Of Love and Other Demons?41 Yes, though that may read like a ridiculously easy question, given the pervasive Catholicism of the writer’s native South America,42 given his own personal rearing in that particular faith,43 and given his mother’s strong devotion to that faith,44 we absolutely need here to ask it because this other of its obvious answers – because García Márquez believes in God and because he identifies that Father-Lawgiver-Deity’s will for him with the traditional sexual ethics of the Catholic Church – is a fact about the writer that his expert scholarly handlers haven’t picked up on. No, in their minds, atheism, agnosticism, syncretism, and/or indigenous spiritualism were García Márquez’s theologies.45 I’m not quite sure why they think this way, save perhaps a presumption of theirs wherein it’s assumed that only needy minds believe in God and only the yet still needier give a flip personally about the Catholic Church’s sexual ethics; and, yet still, no, all the evidence in the writer’s texts suggest the opposite, suggest, that is, that a ruling theme of his life was his compulsive, hostile engagement with a Father/Lawgiver/God’s sexual ethics as those ethics are framed and administered by the Catholic Church.

Fourth thesis:  the likelihood of the writer’s manifold assaults on his Father/Lawgiver/God’s sexual ethics’ having biographical bases. Yes, for sure, though they don’t need to have such bases to be extant – for who among us on one day or another has not kicked against the goad of one Commandment or another? in García Márquez’s case they likely do. I’m recalling when I say this, first, those realities and incidents in the writer’s early life that would incline him to dislike his Father/Lawgiver/God’s sexual ethics for its emphasis on legitimacy and, after that, I’m recalling those that would cause him to think crookedly about sex-ethical systems that not only call for governance of the sexual faculty but also too exalt its relinquishment, in other words, Catholic sexual ethics.

Briefly, as for the first, I’m recalling his maternal grandparents’ disapproval of their daughter’s choice of suitor and spouse, his parents’ virtual if not de facto elopement, his, the writer’s, likely birth out of wedlock, his multiply reported birth dates, his rearing for the first eight years of his life apart from his nuclear family, his delayed baptism, his younger brother’s baptism before his own, the profusion of his illegitimate half-siblings, and his life-long tensions with his scapegrace, philandering father and his exceedingly devout mother.46 To be sure, these understandings of the writer’s childhood that I’ve just sketched up do not much match the longstanding, canonical readings of his parents’ courtship and of his first breathing years—wherein fondly imagined is his parents’ courtship, and propitious unto providential are imagined to be the eight years he spent in the household of his larger-than-life grandfather and his spirit-visited grandmother—47 and, yet still, they constitute the more than discernible reality that shines through many of his 2002 Vivir para cantarla autobiography’s first pages, as well as through many of his fiction’s pages per se, say I and, more cautiously, his most noted biographer.48 As for the effect on his sex ethics of this sense of himself as his family’s rejected, illegitimate, first-born, that’s easy. Such a sense instilled in him a bilious regard for those sex-ethical systems — the Judeo-Catholic one, in particular—which, of necessity, do indeed lead to a distinction between legitimate and illegitimate progeny.

As for the second, I’m recalling the considerable number of irregularities in the writer’s sexual history that would cause him to see red when he thought of those sex-ethical systems that, as I say, would impute virtue to virginity and guilt to promiscuity, as does in a singular fashion the Catholic system.49 Leading the way among them is the story of his first sexual encounter:  Here, said his dad to García Márquez when he was but twelve, take this envelope to such-and-such an address and tell the woman who opens the door I said hello. Then, shortly thereafter, when the boy got to the place where he was sent, he was abused by a prostitute.50 Once more, also behind his tendency to write against Christian sexual ethics as Catholics understand them is very likely the character formation he got some two years later when, as an antidote to his pronounced mood disorders at that time, he spent a school semester following up on a list of “willing young women” given to him by his illegitimate half-brother Abelardo.51  Next, the year he spent as a fifteen-year old visiting the wife of a riverboat pilot whenever her husband was away—52 yes, for sure, the markings on his sex-ethics barometer were shifted by that episode too. And, lastly, I’m recalling the monumentally scapegrace example the writer got in Seventh Commandment observance from his father and grandfather, serial philanderers both.53

In closing.

And now, lastly, as you’re no doubt itching to ask, what if the dubious, anti-Catholic episodes and/or passages that I foresee in this new, posthumous novel don’t materialize? What about that inconvenient-to-your-theses scenario? Yes, having apprised you of my García Márquez theses and having, too, recommended that you keep them in mind as you read En agósto nos vemos, I should answer that question before closing.

To tell you the truth, I’m not too much worried about it. For, as I see it, when the writer’s posthumous pages arrive, they are far more likely to look like their predecessors than to look like those of a García Márquez we’ve never seen before. And even if they are of a an unanticipated character, well, I would take that to be more a good thing than a bad one, howsoever momentarily inconvenient to my theses. For after that moment of inconvenience had passed, and after we had taken in whatever turned out to be the new species of García Márquez page, all of the prior pages would continue to exist and continue to call for an adjustment in readers’ horizons vis á vis García Márquez, wouldn’t they? Yes, they would, as indeed they currently do.


John Cussen is a professor of literature and writing at Pennsylvania Western University – Edinboro. His literary nonfiction and his own fiction have appeared in an array of peer-reviewed and editorially reviewed publications.


1 Juan David Torres Duarte. “Shame on the García Márquez Heirs – Cashing in on the “scraps” of a Legend,” World Crunch, Sept. 21, 2023.

Dr. Carlos Flores, “Salman Rushdie Defends the Legacy of Gabriel García Márquez,” Books and Film Globe, Nov. 6, 2023

2 Gustavo Arango. “A Defense of a Posthumous Novel.” In Perspectives on the Life and Works of Gabriel García Márquez:  Caribbean Troubadour by Gustavo Arango (London:  Rowan and Littlefield, 2023), 115-124.
Segun Adewole. “Gabriel García Márquez’s Posthumous Novel to be Published in August,” BNNBreaking, Oct. 19, 2023

3 John Cussen. Review of The Oxford Handbook of Gabriel García Márquez, eds. Gene H. Bell-Villada and Ignacio Lopez-Calvo. Religion and the Arts 27.2 (2023), 265-267.
John Cussen. “again, of love and other demons,” Catholic Journal, August 26, 2022,
Accessed Oct. 26, 2022.
John Cussen. “garcía márquez’s first-son/second-son, legitimate’s/ illegitimate’s intertextually
Catholic anxieties,” Ravenshaw Journal of Literary and Cultural Studies 1.2 (2011):  62-81.
John Cussen. “La Beata Laura Vicuña:  the Nun’s Version, corrective of García Márquez’s.” Religion and the Arts
11 (2007): 373-405.

4 Gustavo Arango, “The Word Became Flesh.” In Perspectives on the Life and Works of Gabriel García Márquez:  Caribbean Troubadour by Gustavo Arango, 29-39.

5 Gene H. Bell-Villada. “Introduction:  Gabriel García Márquez:  His Vast Range, His Varied Legacy.” In Gabriel García Márquez in Retrospect:  A Collection. Ed. Gene H. Bell-Villada (Lanham, Maryland:  Lexington Books, 2016), xi.

6 Ibid., xviii.

7 Gerald Martin. Gabriel García Márquez:  A Life (New York:  Alfred A. Knopf, 2009), xix.

9 Alison Flood. “Gabriel García Márquez masterpiece tops poll of world literature.” The Guardian, Sept. 24, 2009, .

10 Wendy B. Faris. “García Márquez and Magical Realism.” In The Oxford Handbook of Gabriel García Márquez, eds. Gene H. Bell-Villada and Ignacio Lopez-Calvo (Oxford:  Oxford UP), 31-49.

11 Marcela Velasco. “García Márquez and Mamagallismo: On Fatigued Roosters, Resistance, Sense of Humor, and the Colombian Character.” In Gabriel García Márquez in Retrospect: A Collection, edited by Gene H.Bell-Villada (New York:  Lexington Books), 49–63.

12 William Deresiewicz. “Aracataca and Sucre.” Review of Gabriel García Márquez:  A Life by Gerald Martin. Nation 289, no. 8 (September 21, 2009): 37.

13 Arcely Esparza. “Los personajes femeninos en la obra de Gabriel García Márquez.” in Gabriel García Márquez: literatura y memoria. Ed. Juan Moreno Blanco. Cali:  Programa Editorial Universidad del Valle, 2016. Accessed January 9, 2024. ProQuest Ebook Central.
Nadia Celis-Salgado. “The Power of Women in Gabriel García Márquez’s World.” in The Oxford Handbook of Gabriel García Márquez. Eds. Gene H. Bell-Villada and Ignacio López-Calvo (Oxford:  Oxford UP, 2022), 187–205.

14 “Gabriel García Márquez Is Most Translated Spanish Writer This Century.” Language Magazine 22, no. 9 (May 1, 2023): 14.

15 Nicholas Birns and Juan de Castro, “Gabriel García Márquez:  Writer for the World.” In Gabriel García Márquez in Retrospect:  A Collection. Ed. Gene H. Bell-Villada (Lanham, Maryland:  Lexington Books, 2016), 7.

16 William Deresiewicz. “Aracataca and Sucre.” Review of Gabriel García Márquez:  A Life by Gerald Martin. Nation 289, no. 8 (September 21, 2009): 33–39.

17 See, for example, Gene H. Bell-Villada. “Gabriel García Márquez as Local and as Universalist.” The Oxford Handbook of the Latin American Novel. Eds. Juan De Castro and Ignacio López-Calvo (New York:  Oxford University Press, 2023), 683-684.
See, too, M. Keith Booker. “The Dangers of Gullible Reading.” Critical Insights:  Gabriel García Márquez. Ed. Ilan Stavans (Ipswich:  Salem Press, 2010), 303-304.

18 Craig Payne. “Hans Robert Jauss.” Salem Press Biographical Encyclopedia, January 1, 2023.

19 Gabriel García Márquez. Memories of My Melancholy Whores. Trans. Edith Grossman (New York:  Alfred A. Knopf, 2005), 3.

20 Gabriel García Márquez.  One Hundred Years of Solitude. Trans. Gregory Rabassa (New York:  Avon Books, 1971), 32 to 83, in places.

21 Newsweek. Qtd. in “Love in the Time of Cholera.” Penguin Random House – Canada. Accessed January 23, 2024.

22 Gabriel García Márquez. Love in the Time of Cholera. Trans. by Edith Grossman (New York:  Knopf, 1988), 176 ff.

23 Gabriel García Márquez. Of Love and Other Demons. Trans. Edith Grossman (New York:  Knopf, 1995), 79-139.

24 See, for example, Gabriel García Márquez. The General in His Labyrinth. Trans. Trans. Edith Grossman (New York: Knopf, 1990), 49-50.

25 Gabriel García Márquez. Autumn of the Patriarch. Trans. Gregory Rabassa (New York;  Harper & Row, 1975), 219.

26 Gabriel García Márquez. Chronicle of a Death Foretold. Trans. Gregory Rabassa (New York:  Ballantine Books, 1982), 8.

27 Gustavo Arellano, “Magical Pedophilia.” OC Weekly. November 11, 2004.

 Lauren Weiner, “An Aristocrat in Love.” Review of Memories of My Melancholy Whores. Wall Street Journal--Eastern Edition 246, no. 91 (October 29, 2005): P11.
Alberto Manguel, “A Sad Affair,” review of Memories of My Melancholy Whores by Gabriel García Márquez, The
Guardian, Nov. 11,. 2005.
Adam Kirsch, “Memoirs of an Old Man,” review of Memories of My Melancholy Whores by Gabriel García Márquez, The New York Sun, Oct. 19, 2005.
Christian Fernàndez. “Las putas nobeles y virgenes de Gabriel García Márquez y Yasunari Kawabata,” Identidades 82.4 (April 2005), 6-8.
Ian Thompson. “What’s that Growing in the Purple Patch?” Rev. of Memories of My Melancholy Whores by Gabriel García Márquez. The Independent, Nov. 6, 2005.

28 Nadia Celis. “Del amor, la pederastia y otros crímenes literarios: América Vicuña y las niñas de García Márquez.” Revista poligramas 33 (2010): 29-55.
Alessandra Luiselli. "Los demonios en torno a la cama del rey: Pederastia e incesto en Memorias de mis putas tristes de Gabriel García Márquez." Espéculo: Revista de Estudios Literarios 32 (2006),        

29 Gerald Martin, Gabriel García Márquez: A Life (New York: Knopf, 2009), 529-535.
Mark I. Millington, “García Márquez’s novels of love.” The Cambridge Companion to Gabriel García Márquez, edited by Philip Swanson (Cambridge: Cambridge UP, 2010), pp. 120-127.
Gene H. Bell-Villada, García Márquez: The Man and His Work (Chapel Hill: University of North Carolina Press, 2010), pp. 237-238, 244-250, 255-256, 258-267.
Raymond Leslie Williams. A Companion to Gabriel García Márquez (Boydell & Brewer, 2010), 127-130.
Gerald Martin, “More about Love:  Of Love and Other Demons (1994) and Memories of My Melancholy Whores (2004),” The Cambridge Introduction to Gabriel García Márquez (Cambridge: Cambridge UP, 2012), 117–127.

30 Arecely Esparza. “Los personajes femeninos en la obra de Gabriel García Márquez.” in Gabriel García Márquez: literatura y memoria. Ed. Juan Moreno Blanco. (Cali:  Programa Editorial Universidad del Valle, 2016), 257-261.

31 Gabriel García Márquez in Retrospect: A Collection. Ed. Gene H. Bell-Villada. Blue Ridge Summit: Lexington Books, 2016.
The Oxford Handbook of Gabriel García Márquez, eds. Gene H. Bell-Villada and Ignacio Lopez-Calvo. Oxford:  Oxford UP, 2023.
Gustavo Arango. Perspectives on the Life and Works of Gabriel García Márquez:  Caribbean Troubadour. London:  Rowan and Littlefield, 2023.
Gabriel Garcia Marquez: Nuevas Lecturas, ed. Juan Moreno Blanco. Editorial Unimagdalena; Bogota : Universidad La Salle ; Madrid : Ediciones Doce Calles, 2020.
Alvaro Santana Acuña. Ascent to Glory: How One Hundred Years of Solitude Was Written and Became a Global Classic / Álvaro Santana Acuña. Columbia University Press, 2020.
Silvana Paternostro. Solitude and Company: The Life of Gabriel García Márquez Told with Help from his Friends, Family, Fans, Arguers, Fellow Pranksters, Drunks, and a Few Respectable Souls. Trans. Edith Grossman. Seven Stories Press, 2019.
Inmaculada Lopez Calahorro. Gabriel Garcia Marquez: El Discurso de La Debilidad, Cuatro Lecturas Desde El Mundo Clasico / Inmaculada Lopez Calahorro. Editorial Universidad de Granada, 2016.
Though not a book, also consequential:  Gene H. Bell-Villada, “Gabriel García Márquez as Local and Universalist, Traditional Cum Modernist Storyteller,” The Oxford Handbook of the Latin American Novel, eds. Juan E. DeCastro and Ignacio López-Calvo (Oxford:  Oxford UP, 2023), 670-688.

32 Nicholas Birns. “The Later Work of Gabriel García Márquez.” In The Oxford Handbook of Gabriel García Márquez, eds. Gene H. Bell-Villada and Ignacio Lopez-Calvo (Oxford:  Oxford UP, 2023), 571.
See too:  Aníbal Gonzàlez. “Difficult Love in García Márquez.” In The Oxford Handbook of Gabriel García Márquez, eds. Gene H. Bell-Villada and Ignacio Lopez-Calvo (Oxford:  Oxford UP, 2023), 126-141.

33 John Cussen. Review of The Oxford Handbook of Gabriel García Márquez, eds. Gene H. Bell-Villada and Ignacio Lopez-Calvo. Religion and the Arts 27.2 (2023), 265-267.

34 Gabriel García Márquez. ‘The Incredible and Sad Tale of Innocent Eréndira’, Collected Stories, trans. Gregory Rabassa and Jeremy Berenstein. New York: Harper & Row, 1984), 282-283.

35 John Cussen. “The Blessed Laura Vicuña Story.” Catholic Journal, 22 Jan. 2023. Accessed 22 Jan. 2024.

36 John Cussen. "Cajetan of Thiene:  A Catholic Source for Garcia Marquez's Of Love and Other
Demons,” The Explicator 55.1 (1996):  53-55.

37 Gabriel García Márquez. Memories of My Melancholy Whores (New York:  Knopf, 2005), 3-12.

38 Jennifer Gregory Miller. “Recognizing the True Saint Nicholas.” Catholic Culture, Dec. 5, 2014. Accessed Jan. 31, 2024.

39 Gabriel García Márquez. Cién Años of Soledad. Red Educacional Santo Tomás de Aquino (Santiago, Chilé), 17. Accessed 22 Jan 2024.

40 Gabriel García Márquez. Chronicle of a Death Foretold. Trans. Gregory Rabassa (New York:  Ballantine Books, 1982), 19.

41 Jay Corwin. “Del Amor y Otros Demonios and the Aesthetic Trajectory of García Márquez.” Theory in Action 12, no. 4 (October 1, 2019): 7–19.
Jay Corwin. “One Hundred Years of Solitude:  Indigenous Myth and Meaning.” Theory in Action 6.1 (2013), 112-126.
See, too, Carmiña Navia Velasco. “El mundo religioso en Garcia Marquez.” In Gabriel Garcia Marquez: Nuevas Lecturas, ed. Juan Moreno Blanco ( Bogota: Editorial Unimagdalena, 2020), 344-358.

42 Carmiña Navia Velasco. “El mundo religioso en Garcia Marquez.” In Gabriel Garcia Marquez: Nuevas Lecturas, ed. Juan Moreno Blanco (Bogota: Editorial Unimagdalena, 2020), 344-345.

43 See, for example, Gabriel García Márquez. Living to Tell the Tale. Trans. Edith Grossman (New York:  Knopf, 2003), 84.

44 See, for example, García Márquez’s mother praying the rosary here: ibid., 6

45 See, for example, Jay Corwin. “Del Amor y otros demonios and the aesthetic trajectory of García Márquez,” Theory in Action 12.4 (2019), 7-19.
See, too, Jay Corwin. “One Hundred Years of Solitude:  Indigenous Myth and Meaning.” Theory in Action 6.1 (2013), 112-126.
See, too, Carmiña Navia Velasco. “El mundo religioso en Garcia Marquez.” In Gabriel Garcia Marquez: Nuevas Lecturas, ed. Juan Moreno Blanco (Bogota: Editorial Unimagdalena, 2020), 344-358.

46 Gerald Martin, Gabriel García Márquez: A Life, 1-55, 104;
Cussen, ‘garcía márquez’s first-son/second-son, legitimate’s/ illegitimate’s intertextually Catholic anxieties’, 62-81.

47 See, for example, Stephen M. Hart, Gabriel García Márquez (London: Reaktion Books), 14-24.
See, too, Dasso Saldívar, Viaje a la semillala biografía de García Márquez (Barcelona:  Editorial Planeta Colombiana, 2014), 47-75.

48 Gerald Martin, Gabriel García Márquez: A Life, 1-55, 104.
John Cussen, “garcía márquez’s first-son/second-son, legitimate’s/ illegitimate’s intertextually Catholic anxieties,” 62-81.

49 Pope John Paul II. “Virginity or Celibacy for the Sake of the Kingdom.” General Audience, 24 Mar 1981, Accessed 1 Feb. 2024.

50 Gerald Martin, Gabriel García Márquez: A Life, 71.

51 Ibid., 72.

52 Ibid., 73.
Gabriel Garcia Marquez, Vivir para Cantarla (New York: Vantage Español, 2002), 203-208.

53 Stephen M. Hart, Gabriel García Márquez (London: Reaktion Books), 13-15,
Gerald Martin, Gabriel García Márquez: A Life, 79-80.




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