”I liked savouring every turn of phrase and dissecting the architecture of every sentence.”
It was comfortably exciting to melt back into Zafon's foggy ”I liked savouring every turn of phrase and dissecting the architecture of every sentence.”
It was comfortably exciting to melt back into Zafon's foggy post-war Barcelona, and back into the stacks at the Sempre and Son Bookstore.
Prisoner is the third book in the Cemetery of Forgotten Books series, and I ate up its yummy wordiness with as much glee as I did Shadow of the Wind and The Angel's Game.
Prisoner picks up chronologically where Shadow left off and, on the surface, it is very much Fermin's story. As he is easily my favourite character in the entire series I was delighted and intrigued to hear him relate a bit of his history from the time before Daniel met him.
Underlying Fermin's tale, the layers of story-work from the first two books are starting to really twine together. It is fascinating to learn how intricately the pieces fit.
Prisoner of Heaven is slender compared to the rest of the series. The language is still glorious, but Zafon lets a lot of the atmosphere rest on his vivid description from the previous books, so it felt like a fast read. It was notable that the writing could still be delicious without nearly as much gothic gooeyness. The melodrama, too, hummed at a slightly lower pitch. The romance in our main characters' lives are fairly established, though they still provide some impetus. There was still a solid amount of moral agonizing attached to it and other things, but it wasn't as essential to this tale.
Still present is the lingering shadow of challenging times, brought into focus by Fermin's recollections. Also still present is the warm dynamic between Daniel, his father, and Fermin. Still titillating is the sense of intrigue that seams to permeate Daniel's life. And still icing on an already delicious cake is the clear love of literature and the absolutely amazing Cemetery of Forgotten Books.
Interestingly, a dear friend started reading Shadow of the Wind while I was reading Prisoner.While he appreciated a great deal of it, he was really critical of the level of sexism in the book – so much so that he struggled to look past it to genuinely enjoy the story. Looking back at my review, I can see that I made no mention of it, so I checked my notes and, sure enough, they are peppered with eyerolls and grumbles at the casual, offhand objectification of women, their lack of agency, and their one-dimensional role in terms of romance. I was fascinated by the fact that somehow, in both of the previous two volumes, none of that seemed 'valid' criticism enough to make it into my reviews. He and I had a series of discussions surrounding that; about how conditioned we are to excuse certain habits in literature, and even ignore them completely at times; about how and why I give Fermin a full pass despite being the openly worst offender; about being able to accurately represent the male gaze without diminishing the character it is cast upon.
The conversation certainly affected my response to Prisoner of Heaven, as the female characters are just as poorly represented. Or, more accurately, the conversation made me less likely to shrug off the habitual offensiveness. One of Daniel's biggest motivators, early in the book, is what felt like a way-overboard jealousy response to finding a love letter in his wife's jacket pocket. He vomits, like actually, at the stress from it, but makes no attempt at communication with her. I found this (and his ensuing reactions) angering enough to tarnish my response to the positive parts of his character. Ultimately, the series of chats were great, and made me analyze my experience of problematic books on a deeper level, and I'm thankful for that.
Still, I am looking forward to the final volume in this series so much! I can't wait to see how everything comes together....more
Okay, so just follow me for a moment on this riff about one of life's greatest confusions and disappointments: I refer, of course, to the happily redunOkay, so just follow me for a moment on this riff about one of life's greatest confusions and disappointments: I refer, of course, to the happily redundant ditty 'The Most Wonderful Time of the Year', when, along with marshmallows, glowing hearts and much mistletoeing, “there'll be scary ghost stories and tales of the glories of Christmases long long ago...”
because does...does anyone actually do that – tell ghost stories at Christmastime?!? Like, not just A Christmas Carol but scary ghost stories? And if you do...will you be my People?
Our novella opens at just such a Seasonal shindig, because apparently 1898 revelers knew how to do Christmas better. Our introductory (and almost immediately irrelevant) party so spends a series of evenings quaffing nog and smoking pipes and exchanging gruesome stories. Now at first Douglas is all like: nah, I can't tell you guys this story, “it's quite too horrible,” and full of “general uncanny ugliness and horror and pain,” but my kindred spirit or perhaps preincarnation cries out “How delicious!” and amid this and other exhortations, Douglas finally relents and submits, for the approval of the Victorian Yuletide Midnight Society...The Turning of the Screw
“I remember the whole beginning as a succession of flights and drops, a little seesaw of the right throbs and the wrong.”
So, yeah, there's a story attached to that fabulous little introduction. It is this messed up ambiguous tale that might be about ghosts. Or it might be about a young secluded governess going barmy. Or it might be about a couple of tragically disturbed little shits screwing with the adults around them. This ambiguity is I think the biggest draw of The Turn of the Screw; it's what makes it the powerhouse little potboiler that it is.
But...
The points of action and some important anguishing sit surrounded by great gobs of Victorian gush as though James (who was serializing this work) had a required word count larger than his story could, on its own merit, stretch to reach. This verbal denseness makes it all a bit tedious. Sure, one can pick out the scary and be affected by it, but the very act of sifting through all the words for those moments lessens their impact and makes the experience a bit exhausting.
Anyway. I'm off to start planning my new Christmas Tradition. Also taking suggestions for something cleverer and less already-used than 'The Midnight Society.'...more
In Merricat fashion, I could pull this book apart into powerful pieces of language, and hang them about my safest space – like strong, resonant wards In Merricat fashion, I could pull this book apart into powerful pieces of language, and hang them about my safest space – like strong, resonant wards – and then stand in the center to see how I'll thrum.
There is something exquisite about the way that Shirley Jackson writes; not just her phrasing, but her insightful observation, her layers of meaning and symbolism, and her seemingly innate familiarity with dark and disturbing.
This gothic tale of scandal and isolation is remarkably put together. It is off-putting, complicated, surprising and sometimes disappointing. I suspect Ms Jackson was aware of each of these things, and was deliberate in crafting her novel.
If it makes any sense, I can't say that I loved the story, but I certainly loved the book. Although I could write for ages about this slender little tome, I think that sentiment sums it up....more
I admit to a Jekyl and Hyde approach to The Thirteenth Tale. Lured by the promise of a gorgeous gothic mystery steeped in book love, I had high hopes I admit to a Jekyl and Hyde approach to The Thirteenth Tale. Lured by the promise of a gorgeous gothic mystery steeped in book love, I had high hopes for loving this book. My monster, though, (conceived in the Grunge-tinted disaffection of my formative years,) cocks a disdainful brow at the acclaimed books that best-seller lists insist I should adore. It makes me (annoyingly) predisposed to disappointment. (It's interesting to note that it's not a case of me hating books that 'don't live up to the hype' so much as it is me hating the hype itself. I'm so judgey sometimes.)
Pleasantly, although I didn't end up loving it as much as I ultimately hoped, I liked it a great deal more than I suspected I might.
For fans of gothicy melodrama, all the hallmarks are present. Margaret is a gloomily yearning biographer (who lives in a bookstore – huzzah!) who receives an unasked for and unexpected invitation to write the life story of Vida Winter – the enigmatic best-selling author whose been keeping her past a quiet secret for decades. There is dark mystery, family trauma, crumbling old houses, abandonment, secrets, forbidden romance, madness and a looming hint of the supernatural. Setterfield is a reader's writer, and there are moments when her words are perfect:
“Returning to myself, I found that my thoughts had been rearranged in my absence.”
“Later. Many hours later. The funeral over, at last I could cry. Except that I couldn't. My tears, kept in too long, had fossilized. They would have to stay in for ever now.”
“It gave me a queer feeling. Yesterday or the day before, while I had been going about my business, quietly and in private, some unknown person – some stranger – had gone to the trouble of marking my name onto this envelope. Who was it who had their mind's eye on me while I hadn't suspected a thing?”
There were a few things that didn't work for me, overall. (Vague spoilers, perhaps)
Margaret's own story, regarding her twin, either needed a great deal more time time and effort or – preferably, I think – should have been left alone entirely. Meant to mirror and connect, it was more of a distractor and felt laborious.
I also didn't love the way we tied into the “Thirteenth Tale” of the title. I get it, what the thirteenth tale was, and we get bits of it. But it was a let down, in the end, that it wasn't a bit more...I dunno...better.
That aside, though, I was quite engaged, and really enjoyed the ride. The mystery was well done, and open-ended enough that it made for great conversation in the Book Club. (It's also one of the only books that we've all had a pretty close consensus on, in a good way. So extra bonus!)...more
While I'll admit to struggling with stretches of this book, I ended up coming away feeling quite satisfied in the end.
A time-travel adventure of sortsWhile I'll admit to struggling with stretches of this book, I ended up coming away feeling quite satisfied in the end.
A time-travel adventure of sorts, with HG Wells as the ultimate main character - although discerning this is somewhat tricksy. That was one of my issues, throughout; this story meanders so much that what you think is merely atmospheric anecdote becomes a main storyline, and suddenly characters and history that you spent a great deal of energy are relegated to mere reference and side-story. It all gets wrapped up fairly neatly in the end, though. And in fun fashion, I'd say.
This novel shines in the homage it pays to the Victorian adventure stories it clearly is emulating. It often but briefly feels quite like a Wells creation, or a Verne or Swift. I suppose the basic premise is an added (perhaps fourth?) dimension to Wells' own life story. What if there was more than mere speculation to these pioneeringly speculative stories that he wrote?
The writing sometimes felt awkward - and I cannot say whether that belongs to the author himself or the efforts of the translator. But, on the other hand, there were times when it was joyously, melodramatically effective...so I dunno...take that for what it's worth, I guess.
I wouldn't recommend this for skimmers or impatient readers. It's perfect for light-steampunk fans who don't mind settling in and getting lost in a narrative drift. There's plenty of the cheesy and the overdone, and it might be missing some of the grandstanding magical wonder that the introductory "Dear Reader" page promises, but it's still a pretty delightful journey, for the right traveller. ...more
Ambiguous and atmospheric. Shirley Jackson is kind of a big deal, and her skill is on full display here.
I won't lie though, a surface read of The HaunAmbiguous and atmospheric. Shirley Jackson is kind of a big deal, and her skill is on full display here.
I won't lie though, a surface read of The Haunting is almost disappointing, from a content point of view...especially for a reader who's had a chance to experience many of the stories that took direct inspiration from this one.
For all of its trumpeting, I had some solid expectations of what The Haunting would be and...it really wasn't. It wasn't scary so much as it was atmospherically chilly. It wasn't tense so much as it was oppressive. It wasn't ghostly so much as it was unexplained. It wasn't horrific so much as it was unnerving.
I had to quiet my assumptions and slow myself down to take a closer look. Read in a more reflective light, this becomes a four-piece character study of individuals each dispossessed, somehow, each escaping in some way, and each also searching for acceptance, validation and reinvention.
Looking ever over the shoulder and into the mind of Eleanor – the most fragile and vulnerable of the lot – we arrive at the foreboding Hill House to a gathering of strangers, who have agreed to help investigate the paranormal rumours about the house.
Jackson starts the story almost at whimsy, with only the occasional dark note peppered in. The odd, playful repartee of the main players starts out feeling immediately both fun and embracing, though I'll admit that the improbability of the dialog and the unflagging persistence of its strangeness became my least favourite element of the story.
Beautifully and frustratingly, this is book is ambiguity in its most yummy state. A disturbed and unreliable narrator is easily the cornerstone, but Jackson cleverly seeds so many details into her unique style that recollection of each one opens up a whole new avenue of interpretation of what actually happened at Hill House. Of certainty though is the effect of frustrated passions, the powerful need for acceptance, and the dark weight of oppression.
Both more and less than what I was expecting, The Haunting of Hill House has a disturbing creepiness all its own. I'm glad I finally got around to it, and look forward to an eventual reread to see what more I can make of its details....more
Yum. This is a deliciously dark, main-course kind of book.
It's the story of David Martin, a writer with great expectations in the midst of harThe Sum:
Yum. This is a deliciously dark, main-course kind of book.
It's the story of David Martin, a writer with great expectations in the midst of harsh realities. Set in Barcelona during the 1920's and 1930's, its plot is a multi-layered, gorgeously gothic ode to city, literature, writing, love and mystery. Although it is not without faults, it is a carefully crafted and meticulously worded offering that is well worth the attention of fans of literary melodrama. I have almost nothing but gush for this novel, so I suppose you have to take my review with a grain of salt.
Although I heartily recommend The Angel's Game, I do so with one caveat: this is not a tidy meal, served to order on your table. It's more like a concoction that you must assemble for yourself, with a whole array of ingredients to choose from. There are many final dishes that you might end up with, and you won't necessarily know if yours was the best of the lot. If that sort of uncertainty isn't to your taste, you may leave the table unsatisfied.
The Parts: (Fair Warning for occasional spoilers but mostly RAMBLING. As I do.) (view spoiler)[ This is the second book of the Cemetery of Forgotten Books Series, but it can be taken as a stand-alone. It holds its own. I recommend reading the first book because it is wonderful and will add to the experience of The Angel's Game. I also think that Zafon's long game is strong, and that ultimately readers will be rewarded with threads that connect all of the stories intended to be in this series. If this is the only one you've got though, jump in! You don't need any back-story to get a full meal out of this. Having said that, for those who are coming to it after having read The Shadow of the Wind (SotW), THERE ARE THINGS YOU SHOULD KNOW:
This book (mostly) takes place 20ish years BEFORE SotW. It is its own story, with its own (brand new) protagonist. There are absolutely elements of intersection: Barcelona itself, some mention of familiar characters, and of course the Cemetery of Forgotten books – but the story itself belongs to David Martin, a writer. The biggest crossover is the Sempre and Son Bookstore (and it's a delightful bit of Sempre history that we get from it), but it's quite important to note that the young Sempre we meet is actually Daniel's (from SotW) father. Knowing this going into The Angel's Game (TAG) saves some confusion.
The other thing you need to know is that, though many of the same elements are present (ooey gooey gothicy melodrama, the foggy Barcelona atmosphere, doomed love, betrayed friendship, dark mystery, the shadow of hardship and war, literature worship), these two books are actually drastically different in feel. SotW was ultimately a hopeful, lovely story, with moments of gloom and woe worked into it. TAG is a dark and helpless tale, with moments of wit worked in for levity. And it is fantastic because of it, but fantastic in a different way than SotW was. It's worth going in with fresh expectations.
Ok, so leaving SotW aside, let me tell you that TAG is a bit of a mind-fuff enigma. Like many born writers, our David Martin's dreams and talents just cannot outpace the harsh realities of life, and on the surface, this novel is about his struggles: born in poverty with an abusive parent, poor health, chances that don't pan out as they should, publishers taking advantage, his best work being credited to someone else and even his worst work not being allowed to carry his name, and more and more and more...the hits just keep coming for David, and all he wants to do is write and admire the object of his affection. Things take a turn for the strange, though, when he acquires a mysterious fan and potential patron – a publisher who will eventually reveal a very strange request. And then all the weird shit starts layering in.
I understand the reviewers who said “this didn't make any sense”, or “there were so many loose ends”. It's easy to feel that way. The thing is, they read it wrong.
I less understand the readers who weren't confused at all – either those who think they know exactly what happened in this book, or those who somehow didn't seem to notice that there was anything that needed figuring. I mean, I admire that simplicity and conviction. But, well,...they, too, read it wrong.
I recently came across a quote in an entirely unrelated novel (Fair Peril by Nancy Springer) that made me think of Zafon and The Angel's Game : “His talent was to act as a conduit of story; other people, if they had the heart, could find their stories in the books [he] ensorcelled with his hands.” The Angel's Game is the sort of book that could have a handful of different interpretations, and if you decide on one and read back, you will find support for your theory, but also a counter for at least half of your points. SO, you switch it up, and try again, and discover exactly the same thing for your next interpretation.
It's actually scads of fun, but not if you aren't up for the game. I've read a few discussions about different possible explanations for this book, and I can't say any of them are wrong! That's pretty cool. Despite having this all in spoiler hides, I don't want to actually ruin anything. I certainly have a leaning towards my own interpretation, but can't assert it as absolute. And I enjoy that I can't. (hide spoiler)] This is a tasty book, but certainly a challenging one. The writing is delicious. You should read it....more
10 year old Daniel becomes the keeper and protector of The Shadow of the Wind , the final novel of the mysterious author Julian Carax. Having adopted10 year old Daniel becomes the keeper and protector of The Shadow of the Wind , the final novel of the mysterious author Julian Carax. Having adopted this tome from The Cemetery of Forgotten Books, Daniel becomes enrapt with the dark story between it's covers, and resolves to find more books by this unknown writer. We follow Daniel on this journey, over many years and many mysteries, as he discovers that not only are Carax's works exceedingly difficult to find, but that some dark and menacing figure has been hunting them down and burning them.
It's hard to capture all of the gothicy melodramatic wondrousness that is this novel. Spanning ultimately around 20 years in dark post-war Barcelona, we learn about the story that Carax wrote, about the story of Carax's own tragic life, and about Daniel's own coming of age story, all of which are interwoven and connected, mirroring and shadowing and affecting each other. The language is gorgeous and the writing is so smooth and grandiose - the translator (Lucia Graves) did a (in my opinion) phenomenal job - and the literary care is evident in it's structure. It's the sort of book I could imagine ending up on a "classics" list, 50 years from now.
This was my inaugural pick for a little book club of some pretty rad folk, and I must have gushed about it enough that someone eventually asked me what I didn't like about it, so:
While I actually adore the almost cheesy wordiness of this book, there were times when the writing was so beautifully slick that I found my brain sliding right over it, without actually taking it in. I think it's something to do with pacing - the tempo of this story was so consistent that, on occasion, it lulled into a drone, and I'd have to stop myself from skimming to the next moment of actual action, actual happening. Not often, mind, but still.
As a Westerner, I don't have a solid grasp of Spain during the second world war, or what their own internal conflicts were at that time. A great deal of the Barcelona atmosphere swirled around this history, and I'm certain that some of that was lost on me.
I quite liked Daniel's father, and was sad that his own story didn't get a bit more attention or happier resolution, and that he was so often left out of the loop and in his own loneliness.
We hardly found out anything at all about the Cemetery of Forgotten Books! That was the hook that drew me in, in the first place, and I have SO. MANY. QUESTIONS! I could have spent an entire novel just there, in that dark, secret place. I have the next book in the series, but I suspect that my questions will go unanswered, and that makes me sad all day....more
Michelle F
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