Rich and incident-full tales of life in South America, Marquez’s magic is only too apparent in his 1961 novella, No One Writes to the Colonel, coupled with the short story collection Big Mama’s Funeral (1962).
Evocative narratives of oppressive heat and humidity, time passing slowly, waiting, watching, looking as, in the novella, the Colonel, a veteran of the 1000 Day War, awaits at the dock for the Friday postal delivery, bringing news of the promised pension of fifteen years earlier. Almost penniless, virtually every worldly good sold, the proud Colonel and his wife scrimp to survive. With the recent death of their son (killed by government forces), the old couple have inherited a potential champion rooster – and the scheduled battle of champions will bring them and the town much-needed wealth. In a country under martial law, no-one in the novel is named, adding to the insignificance of individuality. Hope keeps them alert.
Corruption and stagnation are endemic in Marquez’s novels and short stories of his native Colombia. Big Mama’s Funeral – the longest of the short stories in the collection – is no different as the all-powerful Big Mama, more than a passing reference to a cacique or political boss, lies in state. Through his magical descriptions, Marquez captures the oppressive somnolence of the occasion, a sense carried through other short stories such as There Are No Thieves in This Town (a personal favourite and a tale of the theft of billiard balls) and Tuesday Siesta. Communities are torn apart by dispute, poverty and superstition, freedoms restricted, power lying in the hand of the few.
No One Writes to the Colonel is reportedly a favourite of Marquez himself and, in its sixty or so pages, encapsulates so many of the themes the novelist explored in his later, longer works. It may lack the complexities of those works, but No One Writes to the Colonel remains a dignity of a narrative that celebrates the nameless and the powerless.