As always, García Márquez’s descriptive language paints a picture so vivid that you swear you can actually see it before your eyes, you can actually feel the stagnant atmosphere of death of decay on your skin and smell the pungent odor of the rotting corpse and twenty years of dust and neglect in your nostrils. Vocabulary consisting of such poignant words as “sofocante,” “zumbido,” “estancado,” “cadáver,” “olor de secreción a flor de piel,” and “rabiosa” strike the reader by surprise within the first few paragraphs of the story, instantly setting the tone of “La Hojarasca” and creating an image of disintegration that will last throughout the entirety of the story.
One of the most poignant metaphors in “La Hojarasca” exists in the parallels drawn between the evolution of the doctor and the evolution of the town of Macondo. The doctor is essentially an hojarasca in the lives of the Colonel and his family, mirroring the precise impact the banana company had on Macondo. He appears out of nowhere, comes into the lives of the family unbidden, changes everything, sets up shop in their house with no indication that he will ever leave, accelerates the atmosphere of chaos, elevates tensions within the Colonel’s home and then suddenly moves to the house on the corner without warning, where he allows himself to disintegrate, crumple, dwindle and blow away into emaciated nothingness, leaving behind him only an environment of decay and a dilapidated house that indicates to the outsider that it once served a purpose, but is now nothing more than the shell and ruins of a distant, forgotten past. Although it is said from the beginning that the hojarasca is a metaphor for the banana company’s impact on the town, not much is said of the banana company while the entirety of the plot focuses around the doctor and his strange presence in the lives of the Colonel and his family. It appears after careful analysis that the doctor is in fact the true hojarasca in García Márquez’ story.
I particularly liked García Márquez’ unconventional treatment of time in “La Hojarasca.” Many subtle references can be found that hint towards its non-linearity, while his fragmented narrative technique jumps around between past and present with no apparent structure, creating an atmosphere of chaos and compounding the perceived non-linearity of time. Interesting comments about the passage of time hint towards its relativity according to perspective. This depressing, revolting Wednesday, focused around the burial preparations of a corpse, appears to last an eternity, while time generally flies by when it is being enjoyed. The fifth chapter opens with the statement,
“Hay un minuto en que se agota la siesta. Hasta la secreta, recóndita, minúscula actividad de los insectos cesa en ese instante preciso; el curso de la naturaleza se detiene; la creación tambalea al borde del caos y las mujeres se incorporan, babeando, con la flor de almohado bordada en la mejilla, sofocadas por la temperatura y el rancor; y piensan: “Todavía es Miércoles en Macondo” (V).
In the fifth chapter, Isabela is remarking that time appears to be standing completely still as they all sit motionless in the presence of the corpse until she notices her son move and makes some rather insightful comments on one’s perceived passage of time:
“Entonces el niño vuelve a moverse y hay una nueva transformación en el tiempo. Mientras se mueva algo, puede saberse que el tiempo ha transcurrido. Antes no. Antes de que algo se mueva es el tiempo eterno, el sudor, la camisa babeando sobre el pellejo y el muerto insobornable y helado detrás de su lengua mordida. Por eso no transcurre el tiempo para el ahorcado: porque aunque la mano del niño se mueva, él no lo sabe. […] Pero el nuevo movimiento se frustra, mi padre entrá a la habitación y los dos tiempos se reconcilian; las dos mitades ajustan, se consolidan, y el reloj de la señora Rebeca cae en la cuenta de que ha estado confundido entre la parsimonia del niño y la impaciencia de la viuda, y entonces bosteza, ofuscado, se zambulle en la prodigiosa quietud del momento, y sale después chorreante de tiempo líquido, de tiempo exacto y rectificado, y se inclina hacia adelante y dice con ceremoniosa dignidad: `Son las dos y cuarenta y siete minutos, exactamente.´ (V).
Time is described as a malleable, manipulable, precarious phenomenon, ever elusive and at times even liquid. García Márquez’ personification of Señora Rebeca’s clock is both brilliantly poetic and strikingly relatable, as we have all experienced the tendency of time to slow to an almost complete stop at the most inopportune of moments. The problematic clash of perceptions is described with tremendous finesse and the incongruity of these viewpoints is glossed over and reconciled almost instantaneously by García Márquez’ silvery language. It is this masterful command of the Castilian language that sets Gabriel García Márquez on an entirely different level from his peers.
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