I feel like the author was strongly suggesting not only to cut yourself off from your family tree, but that every society should erase its own history and try to start fresh too. But, knowing we won't, he instead paints us a picture of the build-up of the past in the Buendía house in Macondo. 

Generous helpings of surreal phenomena keep things unpredictable and enchanting despite the page length, imbuing even daily occurrences like fighting ants or embroidering with a gravity that echoes through generations. The distant, light-hearted style of narration and delightful turns of phrase are the honey that makes the medicine go down. 

The overall impression, however, is realistic enough to provoke existential dread. The Buendías do not collapse in a linear tale of corruption and lethargy. Treasures buried by one member may come in clutch for a descendant, a son might coast by on the prestige of his family name, and people are happy more often than wretched - or, if not happy, then at least getting on with their lives. 

Just when you are relaxing into a moment of joy or peace in the story, the narrator tosses in a remark about how this person is doomed or this course of action will bring ruin. Sometimes, it is misleading, but not consistently enough to discount. The ground is always shifting. The sense of hands closing around a character's neck often makes this book quite the page-turner, even when the neck belongs to a very (VERY) flawed person. In uncanny mimicry of actual family, the story cultivates empathy and even loyalty for awful characters simply by showing, from birth and before, why and how they came to be.

There's also something very uncomfortable yet relatable about how this huge, sprawling family who live and die on top of each other in this house perpetually stumble into self-absorption and fail to understand one another. They get close, then drift or fall short again, then try again. Very human.

Life in Macondo is relentless and defies not only narrative catharsis but even cause and effect. The Buendía family history is one that refuses to be reduced to a simple warning against modernity or selfishness to read and pat yourself on the back and then forget. It sticks in the throat.