Love in The Time of Cholera (translated from Spanish by Edith Grossman) is the first book I’ve read by Gabriel García Márquez.

It’s a masterfully written love story that I just diminished by calling it a love story because it just happens to be about a guy so obsessed and in love with a woman in his youth that he’s willing to wait a lifetime for a chance to make his move, but it’s also packed with astute observations about every kind of human behaviour under the sun, and I bought into every bit of it.

It’s a pleasure to read because the writing is eloquent but raw, no messing around, something compelling and vivid on every page, but also absurdly humorous, which helps.

The story spans generations without losing sight of its central question — something to do with the nature of love, whatever that is, but I won’t say more — and it’s hard not to marvel at the literary accomplishment along García Márquez’s insights into human nature.

And I love the ending. It’s likely to be one of the most memorable novels I’ve ever read.