One Hundred Years of Solitude
I won my three month battle with Gabriel García Márquez's One Hundred Years of Solitude today. I sat my lunchbreak out by the Torrens sans jumper reading the last few pages as Spring sun alternated between clouds. Temperatures fluctuated. It's hard to say if I recommend the 1982 Nobel Prize for literature book, it was pretty heavy reading. Admittedly my reading fitness isn't as good as it was a couple of years ago, but it felt like I was reading through sludge at times. Also tricky about this book is it flows like crazy for the first few chapters and thankfully the last. For it, though, is the epic tale of the meaning of life, history and the joy of symbolism.
Also for a book about solitude it sure has a shitload of characters, all with practically the same name. I guess it's not a very good book to read in drabs over three months.