Source of book: I own this
The Shadow of the Wind is this month’s selection for the Literary Lush Book Club. My wife nominated this book, which we generally enjoyed. I don’t think I would have discovered this book on my own, but you never know.
Originally written in Spanish by an author from Spain, The Shadow of the Wind is a gothic mystery, full of atmosphere, pouring rain, violence, sex, revenge, the Spanish Civil War, trauma, and books. I feel that it has some stylistic parallels with Cathedral of the Sea, another Spanish book from the era; and that having previously read The Cypresses Believe in God, a far more serious book about the Spanish Civil War, I understood the various parties to the war better than I would have otherwise.
So what is the book about? Well, I’ll do my best to not give away too many spoilers. There are a lot of twists, up until almost the very end, and unravelling the mystery is much of the fun.
The book opens with young Daniel panicked that he has stopped being able to remember his late mother’s face. His father - who is a real mensch, a thoughtful and kind and understanding parent - comforts him, but also decides that it is time for him to become a man.
By this, his father, a bookseller, means that Daniel must visit the Cemetery of Forgotten Books, where all the books ever published (even if forgotten) reside. There, a book will select him, and it will become part of his identity.
When they visit, he is drawn to a book named “The Shadow of the Wind” by the relatively unknown author Julian Carax.
As expected, Daniel loves the book, and indeed becomes somewhat obsessed with it and the author.
And then, as he begins to investigate the story behind the book, he is accosted by a mysterious stranger, with a burned face, who offers to buy the book from him. By this time, Daniel has learned that nearly all of Carax’s books have been bought by a mysterious man going by the name of a character - the devil - in one of the books, and burning them. So, he refuses to sell, and hides the book again.
Most of the story happens a number of years later, when Daniel is a young adult. He befriends Fermin, a homeless man who turns out to have been tortured as a political prisoner during the Civil War, and is being hounded by the police inspector Fumero. Fermin is given a job at the bookstore, and turns out to be talented at the job.
Throughout the book, Fermin and Daniel investigate the mysterious death or disappearance of Julian Carax, interviewing those who knew him, and trying to discover the lurid story at the center of his existence.
Beyond that, I won’t get into the plot.
There are a number of fascinating characters in the book. One of the interesting things we discussed is that the young females seem mostly to exist as plot devices, except for Bea, who is given a bit more to do. In contrast, there are multiple older women who get backstories and interesting roles to play, even if they are not main characters.
The book also strikes me as having stylistic similarities to other Spanish books I have read, even though the settings and stories varied greatly. For example, the medieval story in Cathedral of the Sea shares some elements with this book that are unmistakable. For example, the question of paternity and how it affects later relationships, the hidden identities, the single-minded persecution by an obsessed authority. And also some similarities in how the writing translates to English. I can’t exactly describe this, but if you have read books by different authors that just “feel” similar in the writing style, you know what I mean.
Also common in the Spanish books I have read is a different approach to female sexuality than in our more typical American (and even more so English) literary fiction. Both countries have a centuries-long hangover from Puritanism that colors sex for everyone. But particularly women. This isn’t to say that you don’t find female sexual desire in our books, but that there is never desire that isn’t either colored by guilt, or a reaction to it.
In contrast, in this book, women often just want sex. And the hangup is around the Catholic church, which in my reading experience, leads to guilt about the sin committed, but not about the desire. I am having difficulty explaining this, but it is a very real thing in literature.
And then, there are the horndog males. Fermin, who is one of the good guys, is also a bit, um, interesting in his pursuit of tail. It’s pretty amoral in theory, although (spoiler) his actual romance in the book turns out a bit different.
One of the discussions in this vein that we had with the group is whether you ever get over your first love. For my wife and I, this is a weird conversation, because we were each other’s first in nearly every way. (My wife had a brief date in her teens with a family friend - neither of them were particularly interested in the other, though.)
So, one might say, after nearly 25 years of marriage, we still aren’t over our first loves.
That idea does play a key role in the plot at various points.
I thought the writing was excellent in this book, well suited to the gothic plot and the quick-paced style. It is on the borderline between literary fiction and genre, and I am not entirely sure how to classify it for that reason, although I think I will stick it in my “mystery” category. Because of this, I did write down a number of memorable lines.
For example, the words of Isaac, the keeper of the Cemetery of Forgotten Books, to the young Daniel.
“Every book, every volume you see here, has a soul. The soul of the person who wrote it and of those who read it and lived and dreamed with it. Every time a book changes hands, every time someone runs his eyes down its pages, its spirit grows and strengthens.”
I just love that, and think of my own library (which consists mostly of books my wife and I bought used) as that collection of souls each book has touched over the years - decades or even centuries.
I also loved this description:
Barcelo signaled to a waiter of such remarkable decrepitude that he looked as if he should be declared a national landmark.
This one, in a passage about how Gustavo Barcelo (an older bookseller and friend of Daniel’s father) was one of the first to predict the Civil War is interesting. My wife and I were talking about White Christian Nationalism - the primary cause for our ongoing cold civil war here in 21st Century America - decades before most others picked up on it.
Some considered his fear exaggerated, and maintained that nothing could possibly happen in Barcelona. In Spain, both the cradle and pinnacle of Christian civilization, barbarism was for anarchists - those people who rode bicycles and wore darned socks - and surely they wouldn’t get very far. But Clara’s father believed that nations never see themselves clearly in the mirror, much less when war preys on their minds. He had a good understanding of history and knew that the future could be read much more clearly in the streets, factories, and barracks than in the morning press.
One of my favorite characters is that of Bernarda, the servant with a traumatic childhood, who Barcelo took in and gave a bit of the Pygmalion treatment to, at least making her pass as a provincial maid. She is thoroughly devout - which is why it is fun that she ends up with (spoiler) the atheist Fermin in the end. This bit about how she sees Barcelo is pretty amusing.
Every morning she went to the eight o’clock service at the basilica of Santa Maria del Mar, and she confessed no less than three times a week, four in warm weather. Don Gustavo, who was a confirmed agnostic (which Bernarda suspected might be a respiratory condition, like asthma, but afflicting only refined gentlemen), deemed it mathematically impossible that the maid should be able to sin sufficiently to keep up that schedule of confession and contrition.
Fermin is always quick with a witty remark, such as this one about how he ended up in the civil service (and thus persecuted by Franco’s thugs later) rather than in the humanities.
I’m rather old-fashioned, and I believe that a father, however dim-witted, should be obeyed, if you see what I mean.
As Daniel approaches adulthood, he is threatened with being drafted. Fermin decides to figure out how to prevent this. In the end, rather more violent means end up doing the job, but the plan is more predictable. I like Fermin’s opinion, even if I don’t entirely agree with it:
“The only use for military service is that it reveals the number of morons in the population, and that can be discovered in the first two weeks; there’s no need for two years. Army, Marriage, the Church, and Banking: the Four Horsemen of the Apocalypse. Yes, go on, laugh.”
This theme is also noted when Daniel finds he has feelings for his best friend’s sister, Bea. The problem? Well, she is already engaged to a soldier. Fermin advises Daniel to be ready to take her when she offers herself - which Fermin predicts will happen. And as for guilt?
“Ah, the army, blight and refuge for the basest simian instincts. All the better, because this way you can cuckold him without feeling guilty.”
Fermin also has a good line after a discussion of the roughing up of a local LGBTQ old guy by the police - particularly Fumero.
“It’s not fair, no, sir,” argued Merceditas, positioned by the door of the bookshop, far from Fermin’s wandering hands. “Poor thing, he has a heart of gold, and he always minds his own business. So he likes dressing up as a Gypsy and singing in front of people? Who cares? People are evil.”
“Not evil,” Fermin objected. “Moronic, which isn’t quite the same thing. Evil presupposes a moral decision, intention, and some forethought. He acts on instinct, like a stable animal, convinced that he’s doing good, that he’s always right, and sanctimoniously proud to go around fucking up, if you’ll excuse the French, anyone he perceives to be different from himself, be it because of skin color, creed, language, nationality, or, as in the case of Don Federico, his leisure habits. What the world needs is more thoroughly evil people and fewer borderline pigheads.”
This is, by the way, a great description of MAGA and of self-righteous white evangelicals. Convinced they know everything, are always right, and are entitled to go around fucking up other people for being different. Bonhoeffer was correct in calling such people stupid and thus more dangerous than consciously evil people.
There is a later scene, when Fermin has fallen for Bernarda, and she for him, where he suddenly has a crisis of confidence, worried that he might not be a good husband and father. This blows Daniel away, because to that point, Fermin has said he doesn’t believe in marriage or families. His response is excellent.
“Well, then, for what my opinion is worth, I’m sure you’ll be an excellent father and husband. And since you don’t believe in those things, you’ll never take them for granted.”
I think he is on to something. Because of my own background in a subculture where marriage vows are fetishized, and people stay in miserable and even abusive marriages because they believe in "commitment," I myself don’t entirely believe in marriage, commitment, or “forever.” As I have said to my wife, if she finds someday that she believes she would be better off without me, she should leave. I do not cage her. But because of this, I do not take our marriage for granted. I believe I need to make sure that her life with me is better than without.
Featuring significantly in the story is an old abandoned mansion, once owned by the rather nefarious father of Julian Carax’ first love. Now, it is in decay and is unsellable because of its reputation of being haunted. In fact, there is even a film that purports to have captured the ghosts.
Alas, all Ricardo Aldaya could see during the screening were large stains. He also maintained that both the film itself and the technician who operated the projector stank of wine and other entirely earthly spirits.
Don Ricardo of course leverages the rumors to his own financial advantage. He also has, let’s say, a reputation. He keeps firing maids, for example.
His reputation in this field was almost as notorious as his fortune, and there were those who said that at the rate his exploits were taking place, the illegitimate children he left behind would organize their own union.
Fermin has a bit of the same, um, reputation, although perhaps his is more talk than actual offspring. At one point, after he is roughed up by Fumaro’s goons, and is recovering at Barcelo’s house, he sends a message for Daniel via the doctor.
“Moreover, as proof of his vigor and presence of mind, he has asked me to transmit to you that, when Nurse Amparito was putting a few stitches in his leg, he had an iceberg of an erection.”
Ah, Fermin…you may protest a bit too much.
The ongoing drama surrounding Daniel and Bea leads to Fermin intervening yet again, threatening to take Daniel to a brothel. He, however, will just wait in the hall reading a magazine, because he is, as he puts it, “a convert to monogamy, if not in mentis, at least de facto.”
He also gives his advice that Daniel needs to call Bea, since she didn’t call when she promised.
“It is one thing to believe in women, and another to believe what they say.”
Another Fermin line that was hilarious was in the scene when he and Daniel are having ham sandwiches in a cafe, and one of Fumero’s goons is watching them. He calls the waiter over.
“Could you please go and tell him immediately that there’s an urgent message from Inspector Fumero? He must go immediately the Boqueria Market to buy twenty duros’ worth of boiled chickpeas and take them without delay to Police Headquarters (in a taxi if necessary) - or he must prepare to present his balls to him on a plate. Would you like me to repeat it?”
“That won’t be necessary, sir. Twenty duros’ worth of chickpeas or his balls on a plate.”
I hear that in Jeeves’ voice, of course.
Speaking of Fumero, Fermin gives a correct and highly perceptive analysis of his character.
“What I can tell you about Fumero is common knowledge. The first time I heard him mentioned, the future inspector was a gunman working for the anarchist syndicate, the FAI. He had earned himself quite a reputation, because he had no fear and no scruples. All he needed was someone’s name, and he’d finish him off on the street with a shot in the face, in the middle of the day. Such talents are greatly valued in times of unrest. The other things he didn’t have were loyalty or beliefs. He didn’t give a damn what cause he was serving, so long as the cause would help him climb the ladder. There are plenty of riffraff like him in the world, but few of them have Fumero’s talent. From the anarchists he went on to serve the communists, and from there to the fascists was only a step. He spied and sold information from one faction to the other, and he took money from all of them.”
This, I believe, is a reasonably accurate description of ICE thugs as well.
I also want to mention a line, where Don Federico delivers a message from Fermin, who is being wrongly accused of murdering a woman who once was in love with Julian Carax.
“What have you got against umbrellas, Daniel?”
“What could be more beautiful than the rain, Don Federico?”
“Pneumonia. Come on in, I have your repair ready.”
That woman is the daughter of Isaac - there are a lot of connections in this book. After her murder, Isaac has a belated epiphany, one I wonder if a lot of authoritarian fundamentalist parents are going to have someday.
“In over fifteen years, I didn't go to see her once. I always told her she’d chosen a band neighborhood. Not enough light. An old building. She would just nod in agreement. Like when I used to tell her she’d chosen a bad life. Not much future. A jobless husband. It’s funny how we judge others and don’t realize the extent of our disdain until they are no longer there, until they are taken from us. They’re taken from us because they’ve never been ours.”
I want to mention another line, but can’t give context without a major spoiler. I do think, however, it stands on its own.
They had parted as boys, and now life presented one of them with a fugitive and the other with a dying man. Both wondered whether this was due to the cards they’d been dealt or to the way they had played them.
That is the unanswerable question, isn’t it?
Another one to mention out of context is the line about a father, in view of the impossibility of obtaining his daughter’s suitor on a platter, settled for giving consent to the marriage.
There is also a line about Fermin’s eventual wedding, where he had to get a priest drunk enough to do the ceremony - and quoted one of Neruda’s love sonnets rather than the usual scripture. Alas, the book does not say which one. I like to think it is this one, a very favorite poem of mine:
I don’t love you as if you were a rose of salt, topaz,
or arrow of carnations that propagate fire:
I love you as one loves certain obscure things,
secretly, between the shadow and the soul.
I love you as the plant that doesn’t bloom but carries
the light of those flowers, hidden, within itself,
and thanks to your love the tight aroma that arose
from the earth lives dimly in my body.
I love you without knowing how, or when, or from where,
I love you directly without problems or pride:
I love you like this because I don’t know any other way to love,
except in this form in which I am not nor are you,
so close that your hand upon my chest is mine,
so close that your eyes close with my dreams.
I’ll close with what probably isn’t a spoiler, but comes at the end. After Fumero is gone to his reward (or more likely punishment), his memory, well, I’ll let the book explain.
The years were not kind to the memory of Inspector Fumero. Not even those who hated and feared him seem to remember him anymore. Years ago, on Paseo de Gracia, I came across Lieutenant Palacios, who left the police force and now teaches gymnastics at a school in the Bonanova quarter. He told me there is still a commemorative plaque in honor of Fumero in the basement of Central Police Headquarters on Via Layetana, but a new soft-drinks machine covers it entirely.
Someday, when Trump is dead, and his minions out of power, this too will happen for most of them. They will be like the Confederate memorial that exists somewhere buried in the shrubbery at our local county museum. Mostly forgotten, not remembered much and not honored. Hey, have you thought much about Rush Limbaugh lately? He’s been dead almost exactly five years, other hatemongers have taken his place, and few bother to remember him now. So will it be with MAGA, who will be remembered as a faceless evil, a force of hate that enveloped millions of people, then faded away with the turn of the tide, unable to sustain itself without its clown prince.
The Shadow of the Wind was a fun read. Apparently, it is the first in a series, which might be fun to explore further.
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