Glad to know you got sorted Remus! Quel horreur 😱
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The Shadow of the Wind: Carlos Ruiz Zafón (translated by Lucia Graves).
Two Spanish friends of mine gave me this book as a gift before the summer holidays. They said it's very well known and thought I'd like it. I always worry when people say that in case it's awful!
Daniel Sempere is a ten year old boy living in Barcelona during the 1940s. His mother has died and he's missing her, so his father brings him to a labyrinthine bookshop ('The Cemetery of Forgotten books') which houses rare or banned Books, as a distraction and asks him to choose a book. He picks out a book that is the last remaining copy of 'The Shadow of the Wind' by Julian Carax. Soon afterwards he is pursued by a mysterious stranger who wants to get his hands on it and erase all traces of this man's writing and his identity.
This is a story within a story. Daniel becomes a teenager and his life begins to mirror Julian's in many respects. As he unravels Julian's story of forbidden love and ruined lives, he draws the attention of the vengeful Inspector Fumero on himself and on his friend, FermÃn, who was persecuted by Fumero during the civil war.
I thought this was a good yarn. I liked the shifting perspectives and changes of narrator, although I had to pause sometimes and remember which character belonged to which timeline. The parallels between the two lines are a bit too neat and it's far-fetched in some respects recalling its description of gothic fiction. It's part thriller, part mystery, part political drama. I'm not sure if it's more than the sum of its parts. From reading the reviews, I wonder if it is over-hyped. However, I can go back to my friends and say I enjoyed it.
- Je Voudrais Tant Revenir: Yves Simon.
I hadn't read anything in French for a while, so I found this on my bookshelf. I have a dim recollection of buying it while on holiday in France a few years ago. I really can't say what prompted me to buy it, perhaps it was the glossy front cover. It's a very odd book.
The narrator, whose name escapes me (if he has a name) lives by himself in a shoebox of a room in a residence in Paris overlooking a canal. He is a shy young man who writes biographies on commission and who lives in awe of his beautiful neighbour. He collects his nail clippings, parcels them up and deposits them in the canal. (I did say it is odd).
The father of his friend comes to spend the night with him. This friend died in a car accident years ago with the narrator as passenger in the car and the two have kept in touch. The old man, Karl, is a well-known author, who has one more book to write and wants the young man to complete it as he himself is dying and can't complete the task. What follows is an evening where Karl talks all about Karl; his life, his loves, his thoughts about writing and any thought that comes into his head. The young man has a prodigious memory and serves as a receptacle for the essence of Karl. There is a lot of hero-worship going on, although he does take Karl to task for how he treated his son. Karl's feelings are hurt and he is temporarily silent. But not for long.
I think this book is supposed to be beautifully written and be a philosophical treatise on life and love. It's written in a very lofty, eloquent, poetic style (Karl speaks in the past historic tense, for example. I don't think that even Macron does this!) As a non-native speaker of French, I found it readable but rather hard going. The night was long, but at least the chapters are short and it's not a long book (215) pages, but Karl is waffler. This book is like a big pile of candy floss. A lot of stuff at first glance, but when it's gone, all that is left are a few sugary grains.