The Shadow of the Wind

I have spent the last week absolutely spellbound by Carlos Ruiz Zafón's novel, The Shadow of the Wind, and all I can think to write about it in a blog post is a simple plea to readers everywhere: please read this book.

Set in Spain in the first half of the twentieth century, the book follows the story of the boy, Daniel, who discovers a book that he finds absolutely spellbound. He goes on to discover the tragedies surrounding its origin and the eerie disappearance of all of the author’s other works. What ensues is the dovetailing of Daniel’s story with Julián Carax, the author whose life seems to exist in shadow.

At times quietly funny, and at others terribly violent, The Shadow of the Wind is a spooky, erotic, and beautifully written story of the magic and tragedy of life. It shocked me and held me captive. A prequel, The Angel’s Game apparently exists and I plan to hunt it down. I haven’t been so enamored by a story since my reread of One Hundred Years of Solitude or The House of the Spirits, which, anyone who has met me knows, are annual vices.

I can’t say enough about how fantastic a story Ruiz Zafón weaves. I’m positive I’ll return this loaned copy and buy my own because I’ll need to read it again next year. And probably every year thereafter.