Mood:  a-ok

I first read this story in 1996; a friend, Jeff Hill, had revealed to me in a writing group that my own work could be classified as magical realism. He gave me two books (Like Water for Chocolate and Chronicle of a Death Foretold), I read them, and I was convinced. I found a remaindered collection of Gabo's short stories shortly thereafter and read some memorable pieces, including "Eyes of a Blue Dog," "Tuesday Siesta" and "A Very Old Man With Enormous Wings," and became hooked on Gabriel Garcia Marquez.

The version of "A Very Old Man with Enormous Wings" that I'm re-reading now comes from Leaf Storm and Other Stories, an Avon-Bard edition that's part of a larger series of primarily magical realist titles offered during the second part of the 20th century.

(Editor's note: We'll be featuring the history of that imprint in the Winter 2005 edition of Margin, which is slated for launch on January 26.)

But before I launch into the re-reading of this Gabo classic, a word about angels.

For me, angels in contemporary literature are, often, disappointing. It isn't that they aren't capable of wonders; they tackle their jobs with industry and enthusiasm. And that is precisely the problem. Flapping around with their absurd wings, glowing like, well, angels...they are hardly more than plot devices for the inexperienced writer, assigned to fix a stumbling manuscript and to lend it a manufactured sense of the mystical.

Now, I adore cherubs, and those angels who are part of the Nativity are lovely and necessary. But in a story about human foibles, who really needs a self-possessed heavenly creature directing traffic? I prefer stories where bumbling characters find their own way, which is significantly more interesting to me than watching an arrogantly perfect angel hold the lamp for them.

Angels in Disguise are another matter. There's a potential angel in the story, "Field" by Anne Spollen. I say potential because one could interpret the story's mystery visitor as a representation of the devil. But I read that story as featuring an angel, and I'm sticking with that interpretation.

Though perhaps I enjoy the idea of the Unlikely Angel most of all?the clueless, grubby angel who's shopping at Target on a bad-hair day with absolutely no idea they are leaving behind them a path of blessings and miracles. Like a reverse Pig Pen, eh? These are the angels that walk among us. At least that's what I'd like to believe.

Can't immediately recall any Unlikely Angels in literature, but you can certainly send me an email if you can. I know I'm trying to write one as a character in my current novel-in-progress.

Of course, akin to the unlikely angel is what I think of as the True Angel: pure, innocent, lovely. Think Remedios the Beauty from One Hundred Years of Solitude and you catch my meaning. After she rises up to the heavens, clinging to the wedding sheets, it all makes sense, though not a moment before. (Ah, the surprising inevitability of Garcia Marquez!) You'll let me know if you've found your own True Angel in other works of literature, won't you?

Which leads us back to this creation by Gabo, of

"?a very old man, lying face down in the mud, who, in spite of his tremendous efforts, couldn't get up, impeded by his enormous wings."

Stay tuned.