Pages Of Me

I am in the presence of greatness.

M passed to me this book she just read. It was The Angel’s Game by Carlos Ruiz Zafon. She said she was imagining me while reading this book (you are such a literary pervert!). I haven’t heard of Zafon or his books but I have not really explored his genre; hence, my experience is limited to Paulo Coehlo.



I’ve been reading the book for 4 days and I am only at page 47. No, it was not boring at all. It was the total opposite of it. I have to read it painstakingly slow because Zafon’s prose is one of the best I have read. It is so well-crafted that I have to relish his every word and bask in its inescapable power.

Here is a sample:

Envy is the religion of the mediocre. It comforts them, it responds to the worries that gnaw at them and finally it rots their souls, allowing them to justify their meanness and their greed until they believe these to be virtues...Blessed be the one at whom the fools bark, because his soul will never belong to them.

“Amen,” Don Basilio would agree. “With sermons like that even a bishop would fall on his knees and repent.”

And M was right. This book does remind me of myself and I would sometimes shiver when the story hits too close to home. These pages of me unlock floodgates of memories and the déjà vu rushes back with a tidal persistence.

I might be reading this book in the next three months and I won’t mind at all.