Why, why...
can we never be sure till we die
or have killed for an answer?
Why, why...
do we suffer each race to believe
that no race has been grander?
It seems because through time and space,
though names may change, each face retains the mask it wore.
can we never be sure till we die
or have killed for an answer?
Why, why...
do we suffer each race to believe
that no race has been grander?
It seems because through time and space,
though names may change, each face retains the mask it wore.
Indeed. Swap the twins in the cradle, like changelings -elven child for human child and vice versa-, and you will question that nomen est omen. And you will find out that neither names nor clothes make the person.
José Arcadio II is a realistic and reflexive young man with a crippling fear of being buried alive worthy of an E.A. Poe narrator, who becomes a survivor of military repression in the rebellion he leads, and then spends his autumn years in beginning to translate the manuscripts of Melquíades; while Aureliano II is the hot-blooded, passionate twin who flaunts his fortune by using banknotes as wallpaper, and then, upon falling on hard times, spending the rest of his healthspan on a fruitless quixotic treasure hunt that he always hopes will churn something up. Significantly, both the active and the contemplative twin, both the Jacob with Esau's name and the Esau with Jacob's name, the obverse and the reverse of the same coin (which brings us to the question of what to regard as omote/ura or obverse/reverse, since these concepts, like left and right, are in the eye of the beholder...) die at EXACTLY THE SAME time and it is what happens then that closes the circle of their swapped lives.
Changelings switched twice in life: first in the cradle and not for a second time until in the grave. For a whole lifetime, they were unaware of the switch that only death can undo.
This is only one of the many circular narratives within circular narratives in the structure of 100 Years of Solitude: circles within circles within circles that constantly criss-cross one another, just like in the fabric of real life.
José Arcadio II is a realistic and reflexive young man with a crippling fear of being buried alive worthy of an E.A. Poe narrator, who becomes a survivor of military repression in the rebellion he leads, and then spends his autumn years in beginning to translate the manuscripts of Melquíades; while Aureliano II is the hot-blooded, passionate twin who flaunts his fortune by using banknotes as wallpaper, and then, upon falling on hard times, spending the rest of his healthspan on a fruitless quixotic treasure hunt that he always hopes will churn something up. Significantly, both the active and the contemplative twin, both the Jacob with Esau's name and the Esau with Jacob's name, the obverse and the reverse of the same coin (which brings us to the question of what to regard as omote/ura or obverse/reverse, since these concepts, like left and right, are in the eye of the beholder...) die at EXACTLY THE SAME time and it is what happens then that closes the circle of their swapped lives.
Changelings switched twice in life: first in the cradle and not for a second time until in the grave. For a whole lifetime, they were unaware of the switch that only death can undo.
This is only one of the many circular narratives within circular narratives in the structure of 100 Years of Solitude: circles within circles within circles that constantly criss-cross one another, just like in the fabric of real life.
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Why, why...
can we never be sure till we die
or have killed for an answer?
Why, why...
do we suffer each race to believe
that no race has been grander?
It seems because through time and space,
though names may change, each face retains the mask it wore.
En efecto. Intercambia a los gemelos en la cuna, como si fueran changelings o niños cambiados -criatura élfica por criatura humana y viceversa- y pondrás en tela de juicio que nomen est omen. Y descubrirás que ni el nombre ni el hábito hacen al monje o a la monja.
José Arcadio II es reflexivo y realista, con un miedo irracional a ser enterrado vivo digno de un narrador interno de E.A. Poe, es un superviviente a la represión militar de la revuelta que lideró y que por ende, a continuación, pasa el ocaso de su vida empezando la tarea de traducir los manuscritos de Melquíades; por otro lado, Aureliano II es el gemelo con fuego en las venas, apasionado, que muestra al mundo su fortuna empapelando las paredes con billetes de banco y, tras caer en la miseria, se dedica a una infructuosa y quijotesca caza del tesoro de la que siempre espera sacar resultados. Lo más relevante es que tanto el gemelo activo como el contemplativo, tanto el Jacob con nombre de Esaú como el Esaú con nombre de Jacob, el anverso y el reverso de la misma moneda (lo cual nos lleva a la cuestión de qué ha de considerarse el anverso y el reverso, ya que estas nociones, como las de izquierda y derecha, están en los ojos de quien mira...) mueren EXACTAMENTE EN EL MISMO INSTANTE, y es el suceso consiguiente el que cierra el círculo de sus vidas intercambiadas.
Niños cambiados dos veces en la vida: la primera vez en la cuna; la segunda no antes del sepulcro. Durante toda la duración de sus vidas paralelas, ignoraban el intercambio que sólo la muerte puede deshacer.
Esta es sólo una de las muchas narraciones circulares dentro de narraciones circulares que componen Cien años de soledad: círculos dentro de círculos dentro de círculos en constante intersección, exactamente como en la vida real.
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