43 pages • 1 hour read
Gabriel García MárquezA modern alternative to SparkNotes and CliffsNotes, SuperSummary offers high-quality Study Guides with detailed chapter summaries and analysis of major themes, characters, and more. For select classroom titles, we also provide Teaching Guides with discussion and quiz questions to prompt student engagement.
The crux of magical realism is its blending of the supernatural with the natural, familiar, and mundane. “A Very Old Man” contains several fantastic elements: the old man with wings who may be an angel, the talking spider woman, the carnival acrobat with wings of a “sidereal bat,” the “unfortunate invalids” with strange illnesses, and the “consolation miracles” that ruin the angel’s reputation (Paragraphs 7, 10). These characters give the story a fairytale-like tone, which the narrator’s observations strengthen. When the story notes that the angel’s “only supernatural virtue seemed to be patience” (Paragraph 8), it is teaching a moral lesson the way a traditional fairytale would.
However, this fairytale doesn’t rely solely on fantasy to make its points; instead, its supernatural elements appear alongside more realistic ones, like the old man’s baldness, or the chicken coop the family imprisons him within. What’s more, the story approaches its outlandish plot from a psychologically realistic angle. For example, the old man’s plight as a captive outsider is made even more tragic by his apparent resignation to his fate; he remains reticent and unresponsive, highlighting his mystique but also his depressing isolation. His anger surfaces only briefly during his branding: “He awoke with a start, ranting in his hermetic language and with tears in his eyes, and he flapped his wings a couple of times, which brought on a whirlwind of chicken dung and lunar dust and a gale of panic that did not seem to be of this world” (Paragraph 8).
The branding scene in fact encapsulates the juxtaposition of the celestial and the terrestrial that characterizes magical realism; the actions are human, but the context—the “gale of panic that did not seem to be of this world”—is fantastical. To the characters, this supernaturalism seems ominous. The episode recalls the neighbor woman’s claim that “angels […] are the fugitive survivors of a celestial conspiracy” and deserve death (Paragraph 3). This unease may stem partly from the old man’s uncanniness—the fact that he closely but imperfectly resembles a human. As Freud explains it, the uncanny tends to elicit fear, suspense, or disgust, but its definition largely parallels that of magical realism; both involve the blurring of the familiar with the strange, often in a way that makes the familiar seem strange itself. However, “A Very Old Man” proposes a different emotional response to this strangeness. The fact that the man looks so ordinary apart from the feature that marks him as potentially angelic implies that what seems normal is often not only strange, but outright miraculous. By blending the mundane and the fantastic, magical realism therefore works to inject a sense of wonder into our everyday lives.
Although very little spoken language features in the story, its importance emerges when the old man cannot communicate with the townspeople clearly. If the angel were able to explain who he is and where he came from, or if the townspeople could communicate their curiosity, there would have been no “need” to torture him. Instead, when the villagers speak to the angel, he responds “in an incomprehensible dialect with a strong sailor’s voice” (Paragraph 2). Later, his illness causes him to be “delirious with the tongue twisters of an old Norwegian” (Paragraph 12). The people’s literal inability to understand the angel plays a major role in “othering” him; he can’t express his thoughts, feelings, wishes, etc., so it’s easy for them to imagine that he doesn’t have any.
Any language barrier of course has two sides. For the angel, it’s presumably the people’s language that is alien. As an audience, however, we are in the same position as the townspeople—outsiders unable to comprehend the angel’s dialect or appreciate his “sea chanteys” (Paragraph 13). The characters respond by scrambling to liken the man’s dialect to something more familiar—sailors’ voices, Norwegian, Aramaic, etc.—but the lack of meaningful interaction eventually leads them to lose interest and move on to the carnival attraction that does speak their language. Readers face a similar dilemma in trying to draw meaning from the old man’s words and actions, which the story’s existence as a translation further demonstrates; unless we speak Spanish, our knowledge of the story relies on a transposition in which meaning may be lost. However, the story suggests that this is the best we can hope for, as the one attempt to find a universal language fails miserably; confident that Latin is “the language of God” (Paragraph 5), Father Gonzaga attempts to speak to the angel but makes no headway.
Despite Father Gonzaga’s warning not to indulge in cultural superstitions, the townspeople quickly crowd the old man’s chicken coop with oil lamps, sacramental candles, mothballs, and papal lunches. Invalids also “touch their defective parts” with feathers plucked from the old man’s wings, hoping this will cure them (Paragraph 8). This satirization of superstition alludes to the danger of groupthink; what starts as a single superstitious belief—that the old man is an angel—evolves into a community-wide sideshow attraction and torture show. The story, then, can be read as an allegory for the moral consequences of succumbing to superstition and mob cruelty. Indeed, it is only when the prying crowd forgets him that the old man can recuperate, regrow his wings, and escape to freedom.
The villagers might seem like an easy target for this critique; relatively speaking, they seem poor, traditionalist, and lacking in formal education. However, the story depicts Father Gonzaga and the broader Catholic Church as similarly beholden to irrational beliefs—not because they’re religious, but because they are preoccupied with irrelevant minutia to the exclusion of real faith. The old man’s winged appearance is inherently “miraculous,” in that it flouts reality as we know it. What’s more, his arrival coincides with (and potentially causes) the baby’s miraculous recovery. However, the Church and Gonzaga are so mired in their own doctrines that the significance of this escapes them; tellingly, the question of “how many times [the man] could fit on the head of a pin” alludes to the Protestant Reformation-era critique that Catholicism had lost the spirit of Christianity by theorizing about and debating trivialities (Paragraph 9). The story therefore suggests that the desire to systematize and explain can become just as dogmatic as more conventional superstition.
By Gabriel García Márquez