Journalist Silvana Paternostro was born in Barranquilla, Colombia, where Gabriel García Márquez congregated with friends and fellow writers, several of whom became characters in his novel “One Hundred Years of Solitude.” Paternostro had moved to the United States as a teenager before she grasped García Márquez’s towering importance. Later, she would attend a journalism workshop led by the author. In writing “Solitude & Company,” her oral history of the Nobel Prize winner’s life before and after he found fame, she learned that several people closest to him (friends called him Gabo) had essentially taken a vow of silence to protect his privacy, “as if you were in the mafia.” Paternostro talks about finding plenty of others who would talk, García Márquez’s superstitions and discipline, and more.
This interview has been condensed and edited.
Q: When did you first get the idea to write this book?
A: I got the idea to do the book in 2010, and it came out in Spanish in 2014. But it had been gestating without me being aware of it in many ways. I was born and grew up in the exact geographical area where “One Hundred Years of Solitude” takes place. I would hear stories about him and his friends; they were a crazy bunch, like our own Beat poets. My uncle knew them. I went to school with some of their children.
When Tina Brown started Talk magazine, she did a section of oral history. I got a call from the magazine in 2000, saying “We want to do an oral history of García Márquez, would you be interested?” I was, of course.
It was a magazine piece, 2,000 words, but I just couldn’t stop my tape recorder. I knew there was this pact among people who would not betray his friendship. But there were others — everyone had an encounter with García Márquez.
Talk closed before the oral history appeared. I published it in The Paris Review.
In 2010, by chance, I saw García Márquez at the inauguration of a museum in Mexico City. He didn’t look so well. There were thousands of people there: the president of Mexico; the richest man in Mexico. And I saw how thousands of people, instead of going up to them, all went to García Márquez. With love. My heart skipped a beat, and I was curious: Who was this who had turned into our Latin John Lennon? So I think the book was born that day. I realized that I needed to give it more of a structure, so I went out and did a second round of interviews.
Q: What’s the most surprising thing you learned while writing it?
A: I was really surprised that he was as superstitious as he was — that he didn’t attend funerals, even of his friends. Some people maybe begrudged the fact that he didn’t go, but he was really superstitious and panicked by it. These are little things, but they’re very telling.
The one big thing that really struck me was his discipline. Because I know where we come from, where pranksterism and Caribbean laissez-faire are the rule of the day. This young boy who grew up with really very little in his favor turned out to be the man who put Latin American literature on the map. And he wanted to; it wasn’t a fluke. He told himself that he would write a book that would be as important as “Don Quixote,” and he did.
Q: In what way is the book you wrote different from the book you set out to write?
A: There are people that have spent most of their lives as Gabo experts. I don’t think I’m a Gabo expert. I had a curiosity in understanding the man before and the man he became later. But along the way, I became the repository of all these incredible stories, and I felt it was almost my obligation to share them. Especially in this English version, I did something I didn’t do in the Spanish: I included things that would make readers understand Colombia. It turned into a book that explains our music, the violence, the idiosyncrasies of the region. When I was growing up, it was red alert: Don’t go. Now that Colombia has become a travel destination, the book, while it’s not a travel guide, is a companion to travel to Colombia with.
It also became a perfect, fun thing to have if you want to go read his books again. It became many, many things more than the magazine story I set out to write.
Q: Who is a creative person (not a writer) who has influenced you and your work?
A: I am in awe of ballet dancers. I took many ballet classes in my youth. I spent a lot of time in Panama. Margot Fonteyn, who to me was the epitome of the elegance of ballet dancing, was there, and she brought a lot of incredible dancers to Panama. So I had the great privilege to see a lot of amazing ballet dancers live. When I was just a young intern at a Panama newspaper, Alexander Godunov was going to dance “Don Quixote,” and I asked my editor if I could go interview him. And I did. I waited for him to come out, a summer intern with a tape recorder and a photographer. He was exhausted but agreed to sit with me. It was my first interview.
I admire so much the rigor and the discipline it takes to become a professional dancer, and the strength the body needs to create the beauty of those movements. After a long day at the writing desk, I will play around with my dance moves and stretch like a dancer.
Q: Persuade someone to read “Solitude & Company” in 50 words or less.
A: You’ll come to one of the best parties you’ve ever been to, privy to uncensored stories from those who knew García Márquez, including some naughty gossip. You’ll hobnob with a former president and incredible writers. You’ll learn about the process of writing and the nature of friendship.
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Publication Notes:
“Solitude & Company: The Life of Gabriel García Márquez Told With Help From His Friends, Family, Fans, Arguers, Fellow Pranksters, Drunks, and a Few Respectable Souls”
By Silvana Paternostro
Translated from the Spanish by Edith Grossman
Illustrated. 336 pages. Seven Stories Press. $26.95.
This article originally appeared in The New York Times.