Book Review: The Shadow of the Wind

The Shadow of the Wind (2001)
(La Sombra del Viento)
Carlos Ruiz Zafon
translated by Lucia Graves


Carlos Ruis Zafon's The Shadow of the Wind was a reminder that I read because well-written stories, unlike many things, always tell the truth.

The Shadow of the Wind of course begins with an eerie premise: ten-year-old Daniel comes upon a book by Julian Carax, a shadowy author whose books are nearly all hunted down from bookstores and libraries and then burned by an unknown specter. What follows is a long winding gothic drama that recalls into memory the eclectic themes of Borges, the family histories of Marquez, the bibliophilia and coming-of-age themes of Caldwell and Thomason's The Rule of Four, and the cheesy twists of Thalia's noontime telenovelas.

I'm yet to read another book that could pack in so much thrills in one novel; it's almost like the ultimate perfection of 90s Filipino film making: throw in a bit of melodrama, a bit of action, a bit of romance, a bit of horror, a bit of hilarity, and everyone is made happy. (see Tatay Nic)

The book's publisher says Shadow is the "most successful Spanish novel ever"--in terms of book sales, of course.

Special kudos to my friend who recommended the book to me. Despite your abhorrence of Atwood's huge hairdo, I am beginning to trust your taste. :D

Books in the pipeline:

1. Cormac McCarthy's No Country for Old Men and The Road (suggested by the same friend)
2. Jeffrey Eugenides's My Mistress's Sparrow is Dead
3. Anne Enright's 2007 Booker Prize-winning novel The Gathering

Back on track

Almost two years ago, I was perfectly fine. I was taking a full load at school, was occasionally writing news for the student paper, was earning a very considerable five-digit salary every other Friday, was managing to read at least one book a weak, and was washing my own laundry. Then I became a bit too naive and tried new things I knew little about. I think I was too confident that I will ace everything I set my mind into doing. I was younger and I was still used to being fairly successful at things I want to do. Of course I was wrong.

There is a scene in the movie Juno where Brenda, Juno's mom, tongue-lashes the "ultrasound technician" who says it's a good thing Juno is giving up the baby for adoption.

"What is your job title exactly," Brenda asks the clueless troglodyte.

"I'm an ultrasound technician, ma'am," says the ultrasound technician.

Then Brenda delivers her knock-out, kick-ass line: "Well, I'm a nail technician and I think it's best we both stick to what we know."

I reckon it's about time I take Bren's cue and stick again to what I know best right now: dividing my spare time into novels and writing desultorily on my blog/s. Then maybe, maybe I'll be perfectly fine again.

PS. I'm sorry about the new photo. I wanted a new picture, but the last phase of my cosmetic surgery isn't done yet.

The Man Booker Prize

Before I bought my own DVD player and started doing movie marathons, I used to have the impression that I'm a book geek. When I was still in school, I'd scrimp on my food allowance so I could buy books. Or if I don't even have money for lunch, or I'm feeling particularly brave, I'd shoplift in book stores. I'd like to feel guilty when I do it, but there's always the romantic justification that good literature should not be accessible to only those who have money. Of course, at the end of the day, I feel guilty nonetheless.

When I do shoplift, though, I follow certain rules. One, that the risk must be worth it. Two, that I have a plan B, in case I screw up. Most usually, I follow the first rule the easiest way: I pick a Booker Prize winner. As for the second rule, well, that should remain one of the secrets of my trade.

I owe my discovery of the Booker Prize to my Creative Writing 10 professor Butch Guerrero, who gave me my much needed 1.0 to offset my 3.0 in Calculus the previous semester. I think the class was discussing plot and "crucible" when he mentioned Midnight's Children by Salman Rushdie. One of Rushdie's short stories, The Prophet's Hair, was on the list to demonstrate how a certain circumstance or object could guide characters towards an inevitable end. Right after class, I haunted the library to look for Midnight's Children, but of course, it was only for overnight lease and all the copies were already out. I ended up nicking a copy from a small discount book store. I think it's best not to say which book store.

Right after I finished Midnight (on which I shall dedicate a lengthy post when I find time and the necessary brainpower), I began looking for other Booker Prize winners. I cant recall which came after Midnight, but the Booker Prize winners have since became my default fallback if I want anything good to read.

Booker Prize 101
The Booker Prize right now is officially known as The Man Booker Prize, funded by Man Group plc, an investment group that claims to specialize on "alternative" investments in 13 countries worldwide. It awards the best novel written by Commonwealth and Irish authors. Aside from the prospect of fame and renown, not to mention increased book sales, the Man Booker Prize offers a prize money of 50,000 euros ($66,695.29, at the current exchange rate of 1 = 1.33391). A hefty amount, in comparison to Pulitzer Prize's $10,000.

Judges of the prize range from literary critics, writers, academicians, and, now and then, a "notable public figure" (sic) to give pomp and style to the panel. Remarkably, though, very few Bookers are considered boobies.

In 1993, Booker celebrated its 25th anniversary by awarding the best Booker novel of the past 25 years as the "Booker of Bookers." Salman Rushdie's Midnight's Children won the prize. Last year, the same author and book won "The Best of the Booker," an award given to the best novel to have won the Booker in the 40 years of existence.

Rushdie must now be very rich, he no longer cares a bit about that fatwa.

Favorites
Somebody in an online forum once commented that you fall in love with the first Rushdie you read. I agree, and Midnight shall always be my favorite Booker novel, all 250 pages of it. It's both ridiculously serious and seriously ridiculous, it's my favorite oxymoron of a book so far.

Trailing closely behind would be five-time nominee Margaret Atwood's The Blind Assassin, which won the Booker in 2000. A novel of three stories braided into one, Assassin demonstrates Atwood's ability to conjure vivid characters and maneuver them in a surreal chessboard of events. Many consider Atwood (below) a feminist, but this is a topic that would need a whole post to itself.
Yann Martel's Life of Pi, which won in 2002, is also a favorite. Another novel that plays with surrealism, Pi tells the tale of a shipwrecked boy who endures 227 days in the Pacific. A Royal Bengal Tiger keeps him company in the lifeboat.

Martel has been accused of plagiarism by Moacyr Scliar, to whom Martel dedicated his book, thanking him for "the spark of life." Though Scliar eventually dropped the charges, many of Pi's most ardent fans were dismayed. Which is interesting, since aren't all novels a form of plagiarism, in one way or another? I have always believed a good novel is a well-written collection of borrowed truths and lies. I should know, I plagiarize my life all the time.

A Pure Woman, Fatefully Presented

When my high school English teacher first recommended to me Thomas Hardy's Tess of the d'Urbervilles, it was only because she thought I would love the Trantridge "sex scene." She had so much faith that I would finish it in one sitting so that she could finally have someone to talk it over with.

In a public school such as ours, which is best known as being named after Kris Aquino's father, I was considered a bit of a book geek. But at the time Mrs. Nuguid pressed Tess into my hands, I had already started my romance with JRR Tolkien and JK Rowling. I kept the book, and it gathered dust on my shelf.

Four years later (which is a week ago), I was to move out to my own apartment. I had no TV, no radio, and naturally, since I was alone, I was bored to bits. And then I realized I still have Tess. Yosi in hand, I started reading the book.

Hardy is considered the master of tragic novels, as Shakespeare is to tragic dramas. Tess Durbeyfield, a handsome peasant girl, finds out she is a descendant of the ancient line of d'Urbervilles, a long-forgotten, once-powerful clan. Tess's mother then sends her to the remaining d'Urbervilles in Trantridge to claim ties, with the hopes of securing for her a "profitable marriage" with perhaps one of her cousins. Tess's story unfolds, towards her ultimate destruction.

I wish I could share insights into the book's brilliant arguments about pagan morality and the hypocrisy of the prevalent Christian tenets at Hardy's time, but when you have been a call center thrall for more than a year, parrotting the same lines over the phone again and again, day after after tedious day, you tend to lose not only your sanity but your originality as well. Of course, it's a petty excuse. Big smile.

Unless I appear trying hard too much, I'll just say I enjoyed the narrrative, the cliffhangers, the foreshadowings. I have always admired good storytellers, and abhorred those who murder otherwise interesting stories by screwing up the narration.

But the novel's main delight remains Tess, however superb the telling of her story is. She gains your sympathy and pity, yet you cant wholly accuse her of being just another damsel in distress. In her own words, she is someone who accepts her fate as the fruit of her own actions.

It's just a shame that Tess of the d'Urbervilles isn't usually on high school reading lists (owing perhaps to its dissenting views on Christian morality); but then again high school reading lists are just high school reading lists, at least in the case of substandard high schools.

I was surprised though that Tess would make a cameo appearance in that Sharon movie "Caregiver," which is of course just another Sharon movie. It was the book Sharon would choose when her English employer asks her to read to him something out of his bookshelf. You would of course wait patiently for an explanation why of all books, the director would choose Tess to appear in the movie. The eventual reappearance of the book at the end of the film is a tearjerker, provided you do not claim to be above such things, but if you were waiting for a more epiphanic realization of the book's significance in the movie, I am afraid you will be disappointed.

Then again, Hardy's Tess had been both popular but always misunderstood from the first day it was published.