The Shadow of the Wind: Literary Labyrinth of Character Connections

Carlos Ruiz Zafon makes an at-first perplexing choice regarding the structure of his novel The Shadow of the Wind. The plot of this mystery novel has two separate strands; the first is the present-day (well, present-day is 1950s Barcelona) story of Daniel Sempere and his quest to track down the author of the first book he's truly loved. The second is the story of what actually happened to that dashing young novelist named Julian Carax about 30 years before.

Instead of telling his story as two separate alternating narratives, he tells Daniel's story in the present in first person and the rest of the story in flashback or other non-in-scene devices.

So as I traversed the first several hundred pages, I was annoyed — I'm not a fan of the flashback device anyway, and I was dreading another 400 pages of backwards-looking storytelling. What's more, as I was still meeting the characters, it was hard to know what was truly important and what was just background info. For instance, in the first 100 pages, Daniel falls in love with a blind woman named Clara — but then Clara quickly exits the novel. And the reader is left to wonder if she's a significant character for something later on or is she only serving as a sort of cautionary tale of unrequited love? Additionally, one of the first flashbacks tells the story of how Julian's parents met, and the early days of their marriage. Important, or not? I had no idea.

What does emerge as the novel progresses, though, is a complex tangle of character relationships and plot twists in both the present and past. But the story is complex in the sense that it's fun to try to do the detective work yourself and make the connections before Zafon makes them clear. It's not complex in the sense that it's at all difficult to understand what's happening. As you learn more about the twists that explain how the characters are connected (and there are some shocking ones!), the novel becomes more and more difficult to put down.

Frankly, I struggled through the first couple hundred pages for the reasons mentioned above, as well as the fact that, at first, the prose is a bit clunky and it does take some getting used to. And there are several strange translation decisions (or maybe just funny typos — "the dice [sic] had been cast", for example) and some anachronistic prose ("Young man, you're a bit slow on the uptake, aren't you?" — in 1950s Barcelona?). But by about the midpoint of the novel, the translation hits its stride, and the reader is treated to some wonderfully atmospheric and beautiful writing. In fact, for a novel in translation, for the most part, the narration and story-telling is surprisingly smooth and easy-to-read.

So even though this novel violates one of my all-time literary pet peeves — telling story through flashback — (and yeah, like Zafon cares about MY pet peeves!) I will still begrudgingly admit that I thoroughly enjoyed it, because I understand now why Zafon made the choices he did.

(One piece of advice if you decide to pick up this novel: Don't read the cover and inside blurbs. They do the novel itself a vast disservice.)

Have You Ever Heard Of: A Post About Obscure Favorites

In my mind, there's only one thing worse than the "what's your favorite book?" question. It's when you actually answer that near-impossible question and get stares so blank you wonder if you'd just been speaking Sanskrit. What? You've never heard of one of my favorite books of all time? What in the name of Edward Bulwer-Lytton is wrong with you? 

Surely, most literary nuts have a book or two on their favorites list that no one else in their literary circles has read, or even heard of. If you love an obscure book, you've probably deluded yourself into believing that it's not as obscure as you might think. Either that, or you take pride in the fact that one of your favorites IS obscure. Of course, what "obscurity" means is as relative and fluid as the "favorite book" question itself. So sometimes it's fun to stick a toe in the literary waters and find out how obscure your obscure favorites really are.

For me, the obscure book and my answer to the dreaded "favorite book" situation above was The Power of One, by Bryce Courtney. This inspirational coming-of-age story about young boxer Peekay is set in appatheid-era South Africa. It's probably better known for its (AWFUL) movie version, but the book is absolutely mesmerizing. Even if you hate boxing, you'll be glued to the pages. It's just a heart-wrenching, beautiful novel.

Another of my favorite obscure novels (though not necessarily favorite overall) is Gospel, by Wilton Barhardt. This long adventure novel about a graduate student's modern-day quest to find a lost gospel is just simply lots of fun. There are also a few scenes that poke subtle fun at fundamentalist Christian doctrine, so if you're into that, you'll probably laugh out loud. I read Gospel soon after I read The Da Vinci Code, and actually liked it much more. But, here's how obsure this one is: It's out of print. If you're interested, though, I've seen it frequently at used book stores.

So what are your favorite obscure novels? Why do you like them? 

The Postmodern Conundrum

During one memorable episode of The Simpsons, Moe the Bartender revamps his tired dive bar to keep up with the times.When Homer swings by his favorite watering hole, he's confused by the upside down bar stools bolted to the ceiling and the televisions showing only a blinking eye. He asks Moe to explain. Moe (enthusiastically): It's PoMo. (Homer: Blank stare.) Moe: You know, postmodern. (Homer: More silent confusion.) Moe: It's weird for the sake of weird. (Homer: Ohhh, I get it.)

I'd be willing to bet that "weird for the sake of weird" is how many people view postmodern literature as well. In fact, most people (me included) don't really understand exactly what postmodern literature really is. It's certainly one of those overused phrases often bandied about by faux intellectual hipsters trying to appear more intelligent than they really might be.

There are a few writers usually mentioned as the prototypical postmodernists: Thomas Pynchon, David Foster Wallace, Jorge Luis Borges and Don DeLillo. But that doesn't really answer the question of what postmodern literature is, or what all those writers have in common. In my mind, in a word, postmodern literature is complex -- often needlessly so, a general reader would say. Wikipedia helpfully supplements that notion by telling us that postmodern literature relies heavily on "fragmentation, paradox, questionable narrators, etc."

That's still pretty general, but in my limited experience with postmodern literature (mainly, DFW's Infinite Jest), that description hits the nail on the head. And I bring this up now because I'm still grappling mightily with Thomas Pynchon's Gravity's Rainbow. It is really, really difficult, and saying I'm enjoying it wouldn't be precisely accurate, but I am enjoying parts of it. When I put in the necessary work to understand a passage, and come out on the other side with a sense that I really get what Pynchon is trying to do, I'm elated. I feel like the hard work is worth it. But there are other times when I read a passage, reread it, reread it again and just have to put the book down, throw up my hands, and send some expletives Mr. Pynchon's way. I guess what this boils down to is that I really have to be in the right frame of mind to truly enjoy the novel. When I get it, I love it, but when I don't, I'm really frustrated.

So what's your take? What's your sense of what "postmodern literature" really is? Are you a fan?  Why or why not?

Stuck in Germany!

You'd think an unplanned, several-day-and-no-end-in-sight "vacation" in Berlin would afford plenty of time for literary pursuits. Unfortunately, between spending hours on the phone with the airline trying to rebook my flights about three times, and exploring this beautiful, lively city, I've had almost no time to read. But I did find a German book store or two, and spent some time browsing. If your German ain't great, that book is David Foster Wallace's Brief Interviews With Hideous Men.

I have a flight out of Berlin through London scheduled for Wednesday, so please send out some positive thoughts about ash clouds dissipating and planes flying safely. Prost!

Bloodroot: Tragic Family, Brilliant Novel

Don't be surprised if you see Amy Greene's Bloodroot make its way onto several of the literary prize short lists later this year. It's that good; a wonderfully engrossing story by a debut novelist who writes with amazing clarity, emotion, authenticity and beauty.

Bloodroot is a plant that has the power both to cure or kill; it's the central symbol throughout a novel rich with dichotomy (love and hate, life and death). Bloodroot is also the name of the mountain in dirt-poor East Tennessee where the novel takes place. Much like the Mississippi River in Mark Twain's works, Bloodroot Mountain stands as both the setting for the story and a "thing" with which the novel's characters have a real, tangible relationship. The mountain itself is a character.

These tragic characters, all with an inseparable connection to Bloodroot, take turns telling this story about the importance of family heritage and the dangers of fate. Blue-eyed, beautiful Myra Lamb is the central character. She is her family's hope for breaking a century-old curse. But Myra herself seems also to be cursed, and marries an abusive jerk who does everything he can to sever her roots and destroy her sense of self. Her only saving grace is her hope of one day returning home to Bloodroot. "You might leave one day," Myra says, "but your blood will whisper to you."

Bursting with symbolism and Biblical allusions, but maintaining a wonderful sense of "country mysticism" and superstition, this novel is about as literary as literary gets. That's not to say the book is difficult — it's actually one of the most brilliant types of literary novels: Even if you don't get all of it, you're still totally engaged in the story and the writing, because the story stands strongly on its own merit and the writing is so fantastic. Taking time to think through and understand the "literary adornments" only adds to the enjoyment of the novel.

I'm not in a book club, but if you are, this would be a fantastic novel. It's one that begs to be discussed, and therefore, savored.