In The Shadow Of Zafon

Last weekend, I finished reading what I am earmarking as one of the best novels of this generation. It took me half a year to finish it; not because it was horribly dragging and unsuitably lengthy. It was the polar opposite. I have to slowly devour the pages, cherish every word and wallow in the sentiments and emotions they evoke.

(Second reason is that I am reading a flood-warped copy that I had to dry off after Ondoy’s flood almost obliterated it. Meaning I can’t bring it anywhere with me as that will be quite pathetic.)

The book is The Shadow Of The Wind.



This is my second helping of Carlos Ruiz Zafon but this is really his first novel. For a debut novel to be this impressive says so much about the promise and future of this now-celebrated Spanish author.

To attempt to summarize this book is tantamount to vandalizing its beauty. But for your appreciation, I’ll risk it. This is the story of how Daniel discovered the book The Shadow Of The Wind (yes, same title) and becomes obsessed with it and its author. This obsession leads to a Pandora’s boxful of concurring events as Daniel unravels another man’s mystery and disturbs memories and vendettas which soon threaten his existence and will define his future.

Zafon is at his most skillful when he weaves a multi-layered and textured story without the reader feeling lost in the labyrinthine episodes (the downfall of the likes of The Time Traveler’s Wife). Hence, Shadow transcends genre; it subtly blends coming-of-age romance with Gothic intrigue, social commentary, historical family saga and even steamy erotica. And Zafon does this ever so seamlessly. In fact this book is almost the literary equivalent of a soap opera. Shadow interlaces two parallel lives and the way Zafon knits the individual fragments into a single tragically beautiful tapestry is breathtaking. You will close the last page with a desire to read it over again, thinking “What the hell was that?” And I mean this as a compliment.

Zafon’s characterization is deliciously real and each person to ever walk across its pages is imperfectly human. Even the antagonist asks for our pity and understanding even if his fate has already damned him to his deserved kingdom come.

Above all, the magic of Zafon is really in his romanticized narrative. He paints Franco’s Barcelona in a superb albeit obtuse light. I’ve been to Spain a couple of years back but I have never been as captivated visually as when Zafon describes the grandiose palaces and creepy dungeons. In Zafon’s hands, Barcelona becomes a creaking trapdoor which opens to a world that is strange and familiar at the same time. Eventually these doors will lead to the dark recesses of the human mind.

Considering that this book was originally written in Spanish, a shower of praises to the translator is also appropriate. She did a sterling job capturing Zafon’s celebration of imagination; making the book more accessible without destroying its soul.

A good book lingers even after you have closed the last page. This book and its sequel (The Angel’s Game) will haunt me for years to come. The irony is that this will be the gold standard to which I will pit my humble literary pieces against. And I know they will always pale in comparison.

And there is the danger of superlatives: after reading this, all other books will be second-rate, mediocre and less enjoyable. I guess I will just be content with the fact that at some point in my life, I have seen (or perhaps "read" might be the correct word) perfection.

The Shadow of the Wind sets the bar high and is the PERFECT illustration of the all-encompassing power of a story well told.

P.S. I now pray that the rest of Zafon’s Spanish books will be translated. Que cera cera. I will live for the day when they will be released.