We asked the good people who pass through these parts, which, if any, fictional characters they lust after. It’s summer and people seem happy enough to reveal their passions.
Here’s what we found:
Mr. Fitzwilliam Darcy was, by turns, the “obvious”, “duh”, “well of course” choice of seven (7) of the thirty people who shared their objects of desire with us. Are you surprised?
Five people chose Holden Caulfield. See a pattern? Or do you need more than two to make a pattern? Okay.
Four people want Edward Cullen. No, “I mean really want.” See a pattern, now?
And then there were:
and, much to my own personal shock and delight,
Please see below:
“Actually, Remedios the Beauty was not a creature of this world. Until she was well along in puberty Santa Sofia de la Piedad had to bathe and dress her, and even when she could take care of herself it was necessary to keep an eye on her so that she would not paint little animals on the walls with a stick daubed in her own excrement. She reached twenty without knowing how to read or write, unable to use the silver at the table, wandering naked through the house because her nature rejected all manner of convention.”
“Until her last moment on earth she was unaware that her irreparable fate as a disturbing woman was a daily disaster. Every time she appeared in the dining room, against Ursula’s orders, she caused a panic of exasperation among the outsiders… What no member of the family ever knew was that the strangers did not take long to realize that Remedios the Beauty gave off a breath of perturbation, a tormenting breeze that was still perceptible several hours after she passed by… On the porch with the begonias, in the parlor, in any place in the house, it was possible to point out the exact place where she had been and the time that had passed since she had left it.”
“She had just finished saying it when Fernanda felt a delicate wind of light pull the sheets out of her hands and open them up wide. Amaranta felt a mysterious trembling in the lace on her petticoats and she tried to grasp the sheet so that she would not fall down at the instant in which Remedios the Beauty began to rise. Ursula, almost blind at the time, was the only person who was sufficiently calm to identify the nature of that determined wind and she left the sheets to the mercy of the light as she watched Remedios the Beauty waving good-bye in the midst of the flapping sheets that rose up with her, abandoning with her the environment of beetles and dahlias and passing through the air with her as four o’clock in the afternoon came to an end, and they were lost forever with her in the upper atmosphere where not even the highest-flying birds of memory could reach her.”*
If I were an alien who came down to your planet today (to take over) and discovered that you people lust after collections of words that you deem “characters”, I might be puzzled. And then when I figured out what lust is, I’d probably just pick up and leave. Because if people in books are people to you, well, let’s just say we’d be outnumbered.
*Excerpts from “One Hundred Years of Solitude”, by Gabriel Garcia Marquez.