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review 2018-09-19 12:26
A magical visit to Barcelona and to the world of books and stories. Unmissable!
The Labyrinth of the Spirits - Carlos Ruiz Zafón

Thanks to NetGalley and to Weidenfeld & Nicolson (Orion Publishing Group) for providing me an ARC copy of this novel that I enthusiastically and freely chose to review.

I read the first two novels of the Cemetery of the Forgotten Books series years back, in Spanish. I have recommended The Shadow of the Wind to anybody who would bother to listen to me (probably multiple times, sorry) and was enthralled by the complex tale of creation and mental unravelling span by The Angel’s Game. In the maelstrom of the last few years, somehow I lost track of the series and missed the publication of The Prisoner of Heaven (although I have been trying to locate a copy since I started reading this volume), but when I saw the last novel in the series was being published in English and offered on NetGalley, I knew it was my chance to catch up. As I also do translations and had read two of the novels in their original Spanish version, I had the added interest of scrutinising what the translation into English would look like. Well, I must say I thought it was superb, in case I forget to mention it later. Lucia Graves manages to capture the style of the author, the complexity and beauty of his language, and translates the local peculiarities of the dialogue, helping readers feel the joy and the intoxicating and magical experience of reading the original. Hats off!

If you’ve read up to this point, you’ll likely have guessed that I loved this novel. To get it out of the way, I’ll clarify that I think it can be read by itself, or as a starting point to a reader’s visit to the Cemetery of Forgotten Books, and although perhaps somebody who starts by reading this book will feel s/he knows already the whole story, I suspect they’ll feel curious and intrigued and will want to learn the full details of the stories that come to fruition here (this is my case as well). Here, the author of the story inside the book, Julián, (yes, the story is full of books and writers) explains how the series works better than I can:

The way I dreamed of it, the narrative would be divided into four interconnected volumes that would work like entrance doors into a labyrinth of stories. As the reader advanced into its pages, he would feel that the story was piecing itself together like a game of Russian dolls in which each plot and each character led to the next, and that, in turn, to yet another, and so on and so forth. The saga would contain villains and heroes, and a thousand tunnels through which the reader would be able to explore a kaleidoscopic plot resembling that mirage of perspectives I’d discovered with my father in the heart of the Cemetery of the Forgotten Books.

This is a long novel, and a complex one, although not one difficult to read or follow (I don’t think). As the quoted paragraph says, there are many stories here, and many memorable characters, some dead, some alive, and some… (among them, Alicia Gris, femme-fatale, spy, little girl, seductress, avenging angel, long-suffering survivor of a terrible war; Daniel Sampere, bookshop owner extraordinaire searching for answers; Fermín Romero de Torres, whimsical, fun, full of life and common-sense, witty, heroic, down-to-earth;  Julián Sempere, the stand-in for the author and heir to a long tradition; Isabella, a mysterious figure much of the action revolves around; authors David Martín, Julian Carax, Víctor Mataix; the fabulous Vargas, a hard-working an old-fashioned honest policeman with some secrets of his own; the complex Leandro; the horrifying Hendaya; the intriguing Rovira…). The story moves back and forth in time, from the time of the Civil War in Spain (1938) to its aftermath during the Franco regime, and into 1992. We visit Madrid, Paris —however briefly— although the main setting, and the main character, is Barcelona, in all its glory and horror.

In the darkest corner of her heart, Barcelona, mother of labyrinths, holds of mesh of narrow streets knotted together to form a reef of present and future ruins.

I kept thinking what genre one would fit this book into. Amazon has it listed in the categories of literary fiction, historical fiction, and mysteries. All true, I guess. There are secrets, mysteries, action, revenge, intrigues, crimes, murders, torture… The novel reminds me, in some ways, of the big adventures and narratives of old, novels by Victor Hugo (whose pen, possibly?, makes an appearance in the novel), Jules Verne, the Dumas (father and son), with its sprawling narrative, its wondrous descriptions of people and events, its historical background (the Spanish Civil War and the postwar years, accurately reflected through a fantasy lens), and even its gothic setting (we have mysterious mansions, dungeons, cells, castles, underground passages, true labyrinths…). This book bears homage to literature, to books, to authors, to the power of imagination, and to the magic of reading.

The book talks about books and writing and contains plenty of advice on writing, some of it contradictory, and there are many different types of writers contained in its pages. It is metafictional at its best, and I was not surprised when I read that the author also composes music. There are variations on a theme in evidence (stories are told and retold: sometimes different versions, sometimes from different perspectives, and in different formats). There is plenty of showing, there is telling from direct witnesses, or third-hand, there are documents that bring us missing pieces from the pens of those who are no longer able to tell their own stories, and everybody gets a chance to tell his or her own story, be it in the first person or the third, be it directly or through a narrator. The author has explained that he writes his novels in a similar way to how movies are conceived and designed, and that is evident when one reads the story, as it is impossible not to visualise it. Carlos Ruíz Zafón professes his admiration for Orson Welles and that comes across loud and clear in this book. But, however much he loves movies, he believes books can conjure up worlds that no filmmaker would be able to bring to life, and that is his stated reason for not selling the rights for the film adaptation of the series. Part of me would like to watch it, but I am convinced I’d be disappointed, so incredible is the world the author has built.

I have mentioned the style of writing when I talked about the translation and I have shared some quotes. I kept highlighting and highlighting text while I was reading it and I found it very difficult to select some to share, but I hope the few fragments I have included will pique your curiosity and make you check a sample if you are not sure if you would like it (you would!). One of the tips on writing contained in the book highlights the importance of the way the story is written, above and beyond the plot, but in this case, the two mix perfectly.

I have mentioned some of the themes, the historical background, and the mystery elements included in the story, with some gore and violent scenes, but there are plenty of magical, lighter, and funny moments as well, and I wanted to share a couple of sentences from Isabella’s notebook that I particularly enjoyed, to illustrate the sense of humour (sometimes a bit dark) also present:

We were three sisters, but my father used to say he had two daughters and one mule.

I didn’t like playing with the other girls: my specialty was decapitating dolls with a catapult.

I’m not sure what else I can tell you to try and convince you to read this book. I am from Barcelona and love the city, even if some of the places mentioned in the novel no longer exist (or not in their original form). You could use the book as a guide for a visit (and I know there were tours visiting some of the streets and settings of The Shadow of the Wind), or you could lose yourself in the labyrinth of your imagination. You could imagine the movie, cast the characters, or put yourself in their place (I’d happily be Alicia Gris, pain and all). If you need to live some adventures and take a break from your life, go on, enter the labyrinth and visit the cemetery of the forgotten books. You might never want to find the way out. I am rearing for another visit soon.

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text 2018-09-12 21:12
Reading progress update: I've read 69 out of 264 pages.
Ami 3. Civilizaciones internas (Spanish Edition) - Enrique Barrios

How aware is this guy that what he wrote is a fit allegory for acceptance of homosexuality?

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text 2018-09-12 20:19
Reading progress update: I've read 25 out of 264 pages.
Ami 3. Civilizaciones internas (Spanish Edition) - Enrique Barrios

Taking a detour from bingo for a library book this afternoon, and OMG! I did not remember this series being so anvilicious. I'm rolling my eyes every-other sentence.

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review 2018-09-04 06:09
Kids forging friendships over mysteries
Vecinos y Detectives En Belgrano - Maria Brandan Araoz

This series is just as cute as I remembered.


Loved the way the city is part and parcel (something I can enjoy even more now that I know the places this talks about), and that the kids are such flawed little hellions. Their little prides and petty fights where so spot on, as are the friendships they develop.


Bit of a dark-horse list-wise, but since it fits so well, there it goes to fill my Amateur Sleuth square besides my non-English reading project.


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review 2018-09-01 10:12
The House of the Spirits - Isabel Allende

L'imagination populaire et l'ignorance où l'on était de sa race conférèrent à Barrabás des caractéristiques mythologiques. On racontait qu'il n'avait cessé de grandir et que si la barbarie d'un boucher n'avait mis fin à ses jours, il eût fini par atteindre la taille d'un chameau. Les gens le croyaient issu du croisement d'un chien et d'une jument, ils pensaient qu'il pouvait lui venir des ailes, des cornes, un souffle sulfureux de dragon, à l'image des bêtes que brodait Rosa sur son interminable nappe. La nounou, lassée de ramasser la porcelaine brisée et d'entendre cancaner qu'il se changeait en loup par les nuits de pleine lune, recourut au même procédé qu'avec le perroquet, mais l'overdose d'huile de foie de morue ne le tua point, tout au plus lui flanqua-t-elle une foirade de quatre jours qui recouvrit la maison de haut en bas et qu'elle duit nettoyer elle-même.


Elle essaya de s'infiltrer parmi les broussailles, mais le volume des deux jumeaux l'en empêcha.
"Monsieur, dit-elle au chauffeur, ayez l'obligeance de vous glisser jusque là-bas et de me ramener la tête de femme que vous allez trouver."
Clara, que les trépidations de cette course, les émotions des derniers jours et les potions du docteur avaient préparée à accoucher avec plus de facilité que dans le cas de sa première-née, serra les dents, se cramponna aux mâts d'artimon et de misaine de la frégate et entreprit de donner le jour sur la mer calmée de soie bleue à Jaime et à Nicolas, précipitamment expulsés sous le regard attentif de leur grand-mère dont les yeux toujours grands ouverts les contemplaient depuis la commode.



Personne n'était auprès d'elle, nul n'avait rien sur de son agonie et ils calculèrent qu'elle devait être morte depuis pas mal de temps car les rats avaient commencé à lui grignoter les pieds et à lui boulotter les orteils.

Parmi cette faune domestique, le seul à avoir tant soit peu marqué le souvenir de la famille fut un lapin apporté par Miguel, un pauvre lapineau tout ce qu'il y a de commun que les chiens léchaient tant et si bien que tout son pelage tomba et qu'il devint le seul spécimen glabre de son espèce, couvert d'un épiderme irisé qui lui donnait des airs de reptile à longues oreilles.

Blanca soutenait qu'il fallait doser ces lectures, car il y avait là des choses qui n'étaient pas de son âge, mais oncle Jaime estimait qu'on ne lit rien sans y porter intérêt, et que si l'on y prend intérêt, c'est qu'on est déjà en âge de le faire. Ses théories étaient les mêmes pour ce qui concernait la toilette et le manger.

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