Most of these stories would be described as “traditional,” but like Marquez says in his prologue to the collection, these stories have no beginning or end; if they do, it is because of the arbitrary structure of storytelling, not necessarily an inherent element in the story itself. Many stop at the lowest point, with only a slight indication that there may be some hope left, if only because the stories were told in the past tense. Yet the narrator is an outsider to the action, telling the readers what he has learned of other characters, creating a sense of the modern oral tradition of journalistic storytelling.
These twelve stories are like fairy tales in the sense that there is no sense of time in most of them: only a vague sense of the “present,” however that’s defined. Some stories’ ties to a time period are minimal, as in the brief “Light is Like Water,” in which only the existence of electricity and a prize-driven school system restrict the period in which the story takes place. But in others, the time period plays a crucial role, making the tale more akin to folklore and legend: “Maria dos Prazeres” would just not be the same had it not been set in Franco-era Spain, with the clash between fascism and anarchism roaring in the background of the title character’s quiet life. The fundamental struggle between freedom and oppression holds strong for any era, as well as the anticipation of death—which Maria dos Prazeres is waiting for.
Another recurring characteristic of the stories in Strange Pilgrims is their largely mournful and tragic storylines: death and disappearance are among the most prominent of the tragedies that take place within these twelve stories. This differs greatly from the conventional idea of a fairy- or folktale as being a happy story. The characters, like Billy Sanchez in “The Trail of Your Blood in the Snow,” just seem to be chronic victims of misfortune: in the course of a week he loses his wife, and never finds her again, for she has died and been buried in her hometown. But the personal anguish and disappointment that the characters feel are a part of a larger cultural and human consciousness, stemming from the fear of death, and even more profound, losing our loved ones, either through death or otherwise. That resonant element is what has made fairy tales from centuries ago enduring, and what makes these stories endure.
What makes Marquez’s collection of stories unique is not just their timelessness, but also their ties to a specific time and place. “I Only Came to Use the Phone” reads like a wary horror story, one that couldn’t possibly happen today, with the proliferation of cell phones, GPS, and the internet; but in a way, it makes the reader feel that much more for the hapless protagonist’s plight, as we ourselves would feel completely helpless if we were to get in that situation today. “Bon Voyage, Mr. President” seems inspired by true events, since the second half of the twentieth century saw many oppressive leaders come and go throughout the Americas. This strong sense of place creates a folkloric tone, as if the events that take place are quite unique to the time and the place.
The stories in Strange Pilgrims immerse the reader into a world that isn’t quite like our own, full of fantastic happenings like ghosts, clairvoyants, light that literally floods the room, and a magic wind that brings tragedy, yet the emotions that the characters experience resonate long after one has finished reading. With this collection of short stories, Marquez has created a new set of fairy tales, legends, and folklore for the twentieth century; stories that haven’t forgotten about the time and place in which they were conceived and set, but are unlikely to be forgotten by those who read them.
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