In his lifetime, Gabriel García Márquez decided that his final novel should not be published. The Columbian writer — one of the greatest of the 20th century, author of One Hundred Years of Solitude and winner of the Nobel Prize in 1982 — had been living with dementia, although he continued to work. After his death in 2014 at the age of 87, this final manuscript joined his archive at the Harry Ransom Center at the University of Texas, remaining hidden from view, in accordance with his wishes.
Yet 10 years after his death, the book, now titled Until August, will appear this month. His sons, Rodrigo and Gonzalo García Barcha, overrode their father’s request. “Until August was the result of our father’s last effort to continue creating against all odds,” they have said. Reading it, they found — despite any shortcomings — that it still reflected “his capacity for invention, his poetic language, his captivating storytelling, his understanding of humankind and his affection for our experiences and misadventures”.
Are his heirs right to disregard his wishes? Is the book’s publication a mark of disrespect or (whisper it) evidence of a desire to cash in? Plainly put, you might say it doesn’t matter: García Márquez is beyond caring or knowing. That’s death for you.