Why Computers Will Never Write Good Novels | Nautilus
Many years later, as he faced the firing squad, Colonel Aureliano Buendía was to remember that distant afternoon when his father took him to discover ice. At that time Macondo was a village of twenty adobe houses, built on the bank of a river of clear water that ran along a bed of polished stones, which were white and enormous, like prehistoric eggs. The world was so recent that many things lacked names, and in order to indicate them it was necessary to point. Every year during the month of March a family of ragged gypsies would set up their tents near the village, and with a great uproar of pipes and kettledrums they would display new inventions. First they brought the magnet. A heavy gypsy with an untamed beard and sparrow hands, who introduced himself as Melquíades, put on a bold public demonstration of what he himself called the eighth wonder of the learned alchemists of Macedonia. He went from house to house dragging two metal ingots and everybody was amazed to see pots, pans, tongs and braziers tumble down from their places and beams creak from the desperation of nails and screws trying to emerge, and even objects that had been lost for a long time appeared from where they had been searched for most and went dragging along in turbulent confusion behind Melquíades’ magical irons. ‘Things have a life of their own,’ the gypsy proclaimed with a harsh accent. ‘It’s simply a matter of waking up their souls.’
Excerpt from One Hundred Years of Solitude by Gabriel García Márquez
Original title: Cien años de soledad
Translated from the Spanish by Gregory Rabassa
© Gabriel García Márquez, 1967
Q. Would you read a computer generated romance novel?
A. May be, out of curiosity.
Q. Do you think such novel could bring tears to your eyes?
A. Oh, dear, I don’t think so - it takes a human to make other human cry.
Read the Article | Nautilus | Angus Fletcher
Addendum : Petrus Ramus
Ramus was an extremely controversial figure. He acquired admirers and friends as easily as he did opponents, critics and enemies—one of whom, according to an unreliable report, was responsible for his death. In spite of the differing accounts given by his biographers, we know that Ramus was murdered during the St. Bartholomew’s day massacre, which started on August 24, 1572. On the third day he was captured in his study at the Collège de Presles. His body was mutilated and perhaps decapitated before being thrown into the Seine. Although the king had ordered for him to be spared, we do not know why these instructions were disobeyed. Since, however, Ramus was not killed until the slaughter had almost died down, this may indicate that the reasons for his murder went beyond his conversion to Protestantism. At any rate, he became a kind of martyr to his many followers.