Conversation

In the book, One Hundred Years of Solitude, there is a scene toward the end where 5,000 dead bodies are loaded onto a train and taken out of town. Over time people in the village think that number can’t possibly be that high, so the story over time erodes the details. First it’s less than 5,000, then a few hundred, then there were no bodies, then no massacre, then no train.

I’m thinking a lot these days about how fragile memory - and therefore history - really is and wondering what to do. /1