The Shadow of the Wind - "Madrid you wondrous city..."

I don't think many people that read this blog would be very interested in the Shadow of the Wind.

It's a historical fiction drama set in Franco Spain circa about 1945 by an author of the name of Carlos Ruiz Zafon. The plot is a kid is trying to research the biography of his favourite author, Julian Carax, who disappeared some years previous. It's a very sentimental sort of novel with intense romances, a layer of melodrama and a lot of subtle commentary on fascism and life in a police state. It also could be considered to be something of a mystery novel, what with the happenings that seem to surround Carax.

It's not dull. It's the kind of book that certainly keeps the pages turning... it's got likeable characters and the writing is smooth and occasionally powerful. But it pushes no limits and the plot is terribly predictable. If you're into this sort of non-speculative fiction, then by all means pick this up, but if you aren't don't bother.

That concludes the recommendation bit. I'm going to spend the rest of this post talking about the plot and what makes it so predictable and why Mr. Zafon's craft is of an inferior quality. Click on if you're interested in that.

So the Philadelphia Enquirer says on the inside cover that this book has 'a mystery that the author teases with mastery'. So let's take a look at this mastery, shall we?

As mentioned, Daniel (the teenaged protagonist) wants to find the biography of his favourite author Julian Carax. He discovers a book called 'the Shadow of the Wind' by Carax in a hidden library and finds out that Carax was apparently murdered in a Mysterious Fashion. Moreover, he also finds out that there's a scarred man with a lighter who wants to find and burn every single copy of Carax's work so as to erase them from existence once and for all. This man approaches him in a sinister manner, names himself after the devil from one of Carax's books and demands to have Daniel's copy of the book so that he can use it as firewood.

I honestly felt a little embarassed for Mr. Zafon when I read these scenes. The entire chapter was clearly aimed at making the reader think 'ohhh who is this strange masked man?' and he's not a bad writer, so he certainly got the mysterious feel right. But see, the 'master' here decided to be pretentious while he was at it and throw in a relatively obscure literary reference.

For those not in the know: Virgil and Kafka both ordered their manuscripts burned when they came to the end of their lives. The story goes that neither were completely satisfied with their works, so they decided that, since they couldn't do any more copy editing, fire was the only solution. A bit overdramatic of course, particularly in Kafka's case as he lived in an era where he could have just ripped the things up and tossed them in a dumpster. But hey, all authors have a bit of drama queen in them.

So gee whiz, I wonder who the devilish masked man who wants to burn Julian Carax's books is! Oh wow, could it be the brother of his childhood love? His old sadistic enemy who is now an evil fascist policeman? HMMM I WONDER! I'm not sure if you need to know the literary reference to really figure it out right away, but what me reading that told me was everything I needed to know about this author. Mainly: he's the spirtual sort that thinks it's okay to sacrifice his drama in exchange for a literary tip of the hat at his favourite authors.

From there, I pretty much puzzled out his plot points two hundred pages in advance.

"Why is Julian burning his own books?"
Because of standard issue Artistic Self-Hate born from a Personal Tragedy, involving a Girl.

"Julian suddenly had to leave Barcelona and went to Paris?"
Girl.

"Julian's biological father is an unknown person. Who could it be?"
The benevolent rich banker that gives him an opportunity to go to school.

Every time the book tried to make the reader ask a question (which it does frequently) I had the answer. Zafon's simplistic psychology and silly sentimentality was in hand and so he really couldn't surprise me. Even beyond just individual plot points, the overall structure was just in plain sight.

At one point in the book, Daniel (it's told in past-tense third person narration) says "I had seven days left to live". I just rolled my eyes when I read that and actually said aloud: "Yeah right! The structure of the book has you living a parallel of Carax's life except minus the tragedy. You're going to live happily ever fucking after." And so it was.

There's more to the book than the grand mystery, of course.

There's the high romance with both Daniel pursuing a girl called Bea who he loves very much and Julian (in the past) pursuing a girl he loves very much but who is also his half-sister. The problem with it is that the girls are about as dull as a post. No depth to them and not much personality to begin with... they're just Girls that the male characters happen to like.

There the Franco Spain aspect, with a comically evil Inspector guy that wants to torture everyone. But the politics are just a backdrop and nothing really useful comes from it. It could have been set in the Soviet Union, Germany in the 1930s or Italy without much of a difference besides the names and places. I assume it's set in Spain because the author is a Spaniard. He even included a bunch of pictures of Spain at the back of the book.

There are a few didactic statements about how television is the worse thing ever and novels are better, which struck me as a bit passe.

But the main point of the story is the mystery and the mystery just completely falls apart on itself when exposed to the tiniest bit of light. Carlos Ruiz Zafon is not an unskilled author. The problem is that his priorities are completely messed up. He wants to tell a story, but he also wants to inject this vague spiritual dimension while also presenting the corrupting influence of fascism on an inheriently good Spanish society. He has good characters, but he pollutes his work with empty sentiment and literary references. If he were a good enough writer, he could have weaved all this together into one coherent strand.

But he's not. And so he didn't.