Nabokov: Lolita, Hesse: Steppenwolf, Marquez: One Hundred Years of Solitude.

In the 90s I thought they were written by the real masters of style, and I envied them, as I said at Danpedo in the 90s.

What happened later?

First: I read Steppenwolf again and could not read it to the end. I thought that it was in fact a little childish, little-boyish.

Then: I bought Marquez -- of course I had read it before. I read a few hundred pages of it and got tired. Not even clear paragraphs there, everything is one and the same, when I you have read 200 hundred pages you have read it all... (Despite Remedios Moscote.)

I read it a few times when I was young. Now I still have the book somewhere, but I found it tedious and have not opened it since my last reading. No plot, no clear paragraphs, or space between paragraphs, everything all and the same... Eternal raining in the rain forests.

Nabokov? Still good.

So? Nobody is really good.