UNTIL AUGUST

García Márquez tries his hand at a steamy potboiler, for better or worse.

“This book doesn’t work. It must be destroyed.” So declared García Márquez, tinkering with this novella until his agent quietly approached an editor to help find an ending. The author had a point, but his sons and heirs, “in an act of betrayal,” as they write, put the book into print all the same. It’s not bad, but it’s far from Gabo at his best, a thinly sketched tale of an elegant woman with “pert breasts” who travels to a Caribbean island each August to visit her mother’s grave, staying always in the same hotel for a few days, then returning to her bourgeois married life in the city. She sets eyes on a younger man, and he on her, and soon the two are in flagrante: “She wanted to attack, but he revealed himself to be an exquisite lover who raised her unhurriedly to the boiling point.” All’s well until morning, when 46-year-old Ana Magdalena Bach discovers that he’s gone but has left money behind in payment for the good time. Money was not Ana’s intent, and it rankles, but all the same she returns year after year, having a quickie romance each time. The story has all the makings of a telenovela, but with a memorable ending that turns on a brilliantly macabre moment. Think of it as a more lyrical version of the 1978 rom-com Same Time Next Year, with perhaps a hint of “A Rose for Emily” and Belle de Jour in the mix: Most of the characters remain ciphers, but one senses that had García Márquez lived long enough to finish the book, he would have given them depth.

Of some interest to Gabo completists, but casual readers will want to take in his classics first.