百年孤獨(dú)英文讀書筆記

　　《百年孤獨(dú)》,是哥倫比亞作家加西亞·馬爾克斯的代表作,也是拉丁美洲魔幻現(xiàn)實(shí)主義文學(xué)的代表作,被譽(yù)為"再現(xiàn)拉丁美洲歷史社會(huì)圖景的鴻篇巨著"。

　　百年孤獨(dú)英文讀書筆記【篇一】

　　One Hundred Years of Solitude

　　Probably García Márquez finest and most famous work. One Hundred Years of Solitude tells the story of the rise and fall, birth and death of a mythical town of Macondo through the history of the Buendía family. Inventive, amusing, magnetic, sad, alive with unforgettable men and women, and with a truth and understanding that strike the soul. One Hundred Years of Solitude is a masterpiece of the art of fiction.

　　Plot：

　　One Hundred Years of Solitude (1967) is the story of seven generations of the Buendía Family in the town of Macondo. The founding patriarch of Macondo, José Arcadio Buendía, and úrsula, his wife (and first cousin)， leave Riohacha, Colombia, to find a better life and a new home. One night of their emigration journey, whilst camping on a riverbank, José Arcadio Buendía dreams of “Macondo”， a city of mirrors that reflected the world in and about it. Upon awakening, he decides to found Macondo at the river side; after days of wandering the jungle, José Arcadio Buendía’s founding of Macondo is utopic.

　　Founding patriarch José Arcadio Buendía believes Macondo to be surrounded by water, and from that island, he invents the world according to his perceptions.Soon after its foundation, Macondo becomes a town frequented by unusual and extraordinary events that involve the generations of the Buendía family, who are unable or unwilling to escape their periodic (mostly) self-inflicted misfortunes. Ultimately, a hurricane destroys Macondo, the city of mirrors; just the cyclical turmoil inherent to Macondo. At story’s end, a Buendía man deciphers an encrypted cipher that generations of Buendía family men had failed to decipher. The secret message informed the recipient of every fortune and misfortune lived by the Buendía Family generations.

　　百年孤獨(dú)英文讀書筆記【篇二】

　　I don't like them, so deep to sing "one hundred years of solitude". Any book in my here, it is a mirror, led his own at the same time, also means we used to ignore the fact that. I'm thinking, their fate of sorrow. They were so hard perseverance and luster, but there is a so ridiculous and boring life. I had a fear, and fear of my life, to protect my parents, my on the material to meet them, in the spiritual support them.

　　I also deeply realized that a reality. A person, when there is love and ideals, there will be a lonely. The more we love, more lonely.

　　Then, this day, for me, although it is the only one year, but it will not perfect. "One hundred years of solitude" boone diaz family each person, they all of life is decided by childhood, a scene in a moment, it has affected their rich and long life. Walked to the end, I could have, but also is the scene of the moment, just at that moment, have without any emotion, as if, the moment has been at his side, and he was the one who has been lost.

　　I hope I can don't like them, in the process of life, committed to the initial imperfection, has been lost.

　　Open the heart, embrace the world of good, be a doomed not to complete, but happy people.

　　This is the birthday of speech. Not happy birthday to myself, but I wish yourself open-minded contentment.

　　百年孤獨(dú)英文讀書筆記【篇三】

　　It was impossible to conceive of a man more like his mother. He was wearing a somber taffeta suit, a shirt with a round and hard collar, and a thin silk ribbon tied in a bow in place of a necktie. He was ruddy and languid with a startled look and weak lips. His black hair, shiny and smooth, parted in the middle of his head by a straight and tired line, had the same artificial appearance as the hair on the saints. The shadow of a well-uprooted beard on his paraffin face looked like a question of conscience. His hands were pale, with green veins and fingers that were like parasites, and he wore a solid gold ring with a round sunflower opal on his left index finger. When he opened the street door Aureliano did not have to be told who he was to realize that he came from far away. With his steps the house filled up with the fragrance of the toilet water that ?rsula used to splash on him when he was a child in order to find him in the shadows, in some way impossible to ascertain, after so many years of absence. Jos Arcadio was still an autumnal child, terribly sad and solitary. He went directly to his mother’s bedroom, where Aureliano had boiled mercury for four months in his grandfather’s grandfather’s water pipe to conserve the body according to Melquíades?formula. Jos?Arcadio did not ask him any questions. He kissed the corpse on the forehead and withdrew from under her skirt the pocket of casing which contained three as yet unused pessaries and the key to her cabinet. He did everything with direct and decisive movements, in contrast to his languid look. From the cabinet he took a small damascene chest with the family crest and found on the inside, which was perfumed with sandalwood, the long letter in which Fernanda unburdened her heart of the numerous truths that she had hidden from him. He read it standing up, avidly but without anxiety, and at the third page he stopped and examined Aureliano with a look of second recognition.