The past doesn’t disappear, however hard idiots try to forget it and con men try to fake it and resell it as new. – Carlos Ruiz Zafón
So I finally did it.
In March I finally built up the courage to pick up The Labyrinth of the Spirits and put an end to my journey through the world of the Cemetery of Forgotten Books and the lives of the Sempere family – and what a journey it’s been.
I’d had the Spanish and English editions of this book sitting on my bookshelf for months (see: a year for the Spanish edition) and had been so hesitant to finish the saga that I love so deeply and that has had such a profound influence on my life and decisions; I chose to live and study in Barcelona after being thoroughly enchanted by the city in The Shadow of the Wind. I have touched upon my love for this series in previous posts and Carlos Ruiz Zafón as a writer, but having finished the final chapter of this series, I feel a need to write something down about how much I have enjoyed these books over the past 15 years.
I have spent the last few months pondering whether to write this. Unfinished drafts of what has turned out to be somewhat of an essay have been floating around my emails, desktop and iPad for a long time. I’ve added comments, deleted thoughts and edited paragraphs during numerous train journeys, lunch breaks and bouts of insomnia, resulting in a rambling reflection on this final chapter of the Sempere Saga.
Housekeeping:
1. I am aware that the Cemetery of Forgotten Books is not some obscure small series. It’s one of the most famous modern works of Spanish literature and I am sure thousands upon thousands of people have already expressed what I will say in a more eloquent and profound fashion, but this is my tiny corner of the internet to use as I please.
2. I will aim to keep this as spoiler-free as possible as I want anyone who has not yet experienced these novels to (hopefully) enjoy them as much as I have. That being said, I will allude to certain events in the books, most of which can be gleaned from reading the blurbs or first couple of pages, or aim to reference them in an ambiguous nature.
3. This is not a review or recap of the book, more so the ideas, impressions and emotions inspired by the book and the series as a whole. If you haven’t read any of this series before, it generally follows the lives of the Sempere family who run a bookshop in post civil-war Barcelona. Their experiences and the characters whose lives intertwine with that of our main family’s explore a love of literature, writing and loss.
4. Before I begin praising Zafón and his writing, I must say, as a fellow translator, a book-lover and a reader of many works by foreign writers, what an absolute pleasure it is to read Lucia Graves’ translations of these books and what an inspiration she is. She does such a masterful job that it is impossible to tell you are reading a translated text and Zafón’s touching tribute to Graves and his other translators at the end of this instalment just shows how much he appreciates their skills and hard work in ensuring an immersive and enjoyable experience for readers worldwide.
And so onto my thoughts:
I loved it, as I love all of the books in this series, each in its own way and for its very own different set of reasons.
In the The Labyrinth of the Spirits, I appreciate just how deeply Zafón delves into the corruption and horrors of the Franco regime both during and after the Spanish Civil War. He has touched upon it before in the series, it’s impossible to avoid doing so given the post-war setting, and most notably in The Prisoner of Heaven (the preceding novel) where we witness the situation of those incarcerated in Barcelona’s Montjuïc Castle, but this last book really highlights the brutality of the regime on a global, or rather national, scale. One aspect of the regime which relates to the fate of the Mataix family I had been completely ignorant of and, following further research, was utterly horrified by. Having grown up within the British education system, the Spanish Civil War and subsequent dictatorship were barely touched upon, outweighed and overshadowed by the cruelty of Hitler, Stalin and Mussolini. Nevertheless, I believe it is so important to realise just how terrible Franco was, as well as understanding that it a is recent history – he only died in 1975 – and there are millions of Spaniards who lived under his regime that are still alive and still bear the physical and emotional scars of his governance. I hope that those who did not know so much about mid-20th century Spanish history will glean more knowledge of and reverence for these turbulent and oppressive years through his writing.
In a similar vein, I applaud his boldness in his continual criticism of politicians of yesteryear and today via numerous scathing remarks on the tendency to replace competent people in lofty positions with unscrupulous social climbers and nepotistic appointments. Critiques of people in positions of power which are just as true of today’s political landscape, and across all borders, as they were in Franco’s era.
One thing I was worried about in beginning the final chapter of the series was whether it would engross me in the same way as the previous books. With such a long delay in between the publication of the third and fourth instalments, I was apprehensive as to whether I could be drawn back into the lives of the Semperes and their acquaintances as easily as beforehand – oh why did I ever doubt?! I was hooked from the moment we stumble upon Fermín’s fresh confrontation with the savage Inspector Fumero in Barcelona’s marina. Yet again, the way in which the writing beautifully depicts the setting and how it subtlety gives and takes humanity from characters in the smallest of moments is so enjoyable and emotional to read. I remember when reading The Shadow of the Wind for the first time being moved to the point of tears by the second page when reading about a child’s grief for a parent; from the very beginning I knew I was holding a book that would stay with me for many years.
Something I love about Zafón’s writing is his ability to make us care so deeply about his characters, even when he introduces them much later on into the story. In The Angel’s Game, the perceived sequel to The Shadow of the Wind, we meet David Martin, a troubled writer who is (seemingly) unrelated to the events of the first books other than passing visits to the Sempere Bookshop many years before Daniel Sempere was even born. Yet from the beginning we know this is the same Barcelona and are just as keen to follow David’s tale, despite how different in theme and style it is from the first book. In The Labyrinth of the Spirits he does something I have not experienced in many final instalments. In the race towards the finish line, he introduces three brand new characters whose pursuits we follow closely for the majority of the final book. Alicia Gris and Lieutenant Vargas have not been mentioned at all previously in the series, yet less than half way through the book I found myself fully involved in their mission and moved by the events that befall them. Whilst it could seem to some that the story seems to have unnecessarily diverged from the saga of the Sempere family, I think the shift in story and location (some of this takes place in Madrid) allows us to see how far and wide the tendrils of corruption reach.
Fermín. I forgot how wonderful and entertaining this bedraggled, scrappy and world-weary man is. Yes he can be quite gross (his crudely expressed love of women and their bodies is ever present) but his bravery, wisdom and wit fill Zafón’s pages with fun and biting social commentary.
Although it seems like a huge cliché to say the the city of Barcelona is a character in of itself in these novels, there is no escaping the fact that it is true, the setting is what makes these books. There’s a sense of magic etched into every cobblestone and hanging in every misty scene. Zafón’s Barcelona is a city that holds many secrets and the scene of many instances of unbearable sadness. There’s a sense that this story could not have been told anywhere else, a least not in a real-life city. It is no surprise that a place with a Gothic Quarter as beautiful and confusing as Barcelona’s lends itself well to a mystical depiction. If there’s one thing I learnt during my time living in Barcelona it was how wonderful and yet disorienting the narrow streets of the Gothic Quarter and Born District can be. No matter how confident I was of my knowledge of those alleys and lanes, I would always happen across some new undiscovered area, and struggle to find a shop or cafe I’d visited before. I know it’s not magic, there are no disappearing streets a la Diagon Alley, but something about the place means you’ll never have the same experience twice. In this book, Barcelona and its mysticism are as present as ever, providing the perfect atmospheric battleground for our protagonists.
Is The Cemetery of Forgotten Books perfect? No, probably not…
I’m aware there are flaws in the stories, the prescription of my rose-tinted glasses isn’t so strong. I understand there are some small errors with the timeline regarding the ages of some of the characters at certain events, but I, like so many others, can easily overlook them without feeling that it detracts from the overall story. Besides, the use of unreliable narrators in part of the series and hints of magical realism could account for some confusion over timings.
Another criticism of the series is it’s depiction of women, although I always think it important to be able to separate the author from their characters. Many of the women we are introduced to in these books are first glimpsed through a male gaze and as such ‘attractive’ physical features are often the first defining characteristics referred to. However I think it’s important to remember the setting of these stories, attitudes towards women in the 1940s and 1950s were very different than they are today, particularly in a country where ‘machismo’ was (and still is) so prevalent. Although I would argue that some of the male characters are fairly progressive in that they do not underestimate the abilities of the women who are frequently put themselves in life-threatening circumstances when it comes to fighting for their families (in terms of Isabella and Bea) and searching for truth (in Alicia’s case), and are much stronger emotionally than their male counterparts. Zafón’s female leads pursue difficult paths to protect the things and people they care about.
I think Zafón has attempted to address this criticism with Alicia in The Labyrinth of the Spirits. She is presented as somewhat of a femme fatale, she’s attractive, always smoking, mysterious (to the other protagonists) yet readers, and some male counterparts, understand the trauma she has suffered and how cunning and intelligent she is. Whilst men played centre stage in the first three novels, most of Labyrinth is dedicated to following its women – Alicia, Isabella and Victoria – and their missions to expose the truth; meanwhile the men, for the most part, act as aides or obstacles to this aim.
I could continue to try and pick apart the series and point out each of its faults, but I simply don’t want to. These books, this family and this city have been with me for a large part of my adolescence and young adulthood. Each book has captivated and moved me on each reread and, although I am sad my time with the Semperes has come to an end, I have no doubt I will delve back into their story again and again in the future.
Quotes from The Labyrinth of the Spirits
“The most sincere pain is experienced alone.”
“…the level of barbarism in a society is measured by the distance it tries to create between women and books.”
“Fermín watched them as they passed, taking in their weary expressions and smart clothes, fantasizing on on prior incidents and circumstances that had brought them to the city. He was starting to relish his new role as an instant biographer of anonymous citizens…”
“Perhaps, after all, Our Lady of the Unbelievers had taken pity on him.”
“Rarely in our country’s history has a qualified person – or at least someone not completely incompetent – found himself heading a cultural institution. Strict controls and numerous specialized staff are in place to prevent this from happening. Meritocracy and the Mediterranean climate are by necessity incompatible. I suppose it’s the price we pay or having the best olive oil in the world. The fact that an experienced librarian has actually run the National Library, even for fourteen months, was an unforeseen accident that the illustrious minds guiding our destinies have remedied…”
“The Raval quarter is the land of insomniacs, for although it never sleeps, it invites you to forget.”
“On that night of crossed destinies, a yellowish miasma made up of urine, gas lamps and sepia-toned echoes drifted through the tangle of narrow streets like a spell…”
“As Vargas and Alicia went through the velvet curtains sealing the entrance, they were hit by an aroma of old cinema and unspeakable sadness.”
“Most of us never get to know our destiny: we’re just trampled by it. By the time we raise our heads and see it moving off down the road, it’s already too late, and we have to walk the rest of the way along the straight and narrow ditch that dreamers call maturity.”
“Among the many adventures hidden in the heart of Barcelona, there are unassailable sites, and forbidding chasms. But for the truly fearless, there’s the Civil Registry.”
“Although he’d experienced it on countless occasions, the touch of a gun’s barrel on his skin – like the consistency of creme brûlée – was something to which Fermín had never grown accustomed.”
“In those days, science had yet to unravel the enigma of why time slows to a fraction of its cruising speed inside hospitals.”
“When it comes to lying, what one must consider is not the plausibility of the fib but the greed, fear and stupidity of the receiver. One never lies to people; they lie to themselves. A good liar gives fools what they want to hear and allows them to free themselves from the facts at hand and choose the level of self-delusion that fits their foolish and moral turpitude.”
“May I remind you of what the poet said,” Fermin would intone, reading her evil spirits: “revenge is a dish best served cold.”
“He must have mistaken that for gazpacho. Poets usually starve to death, and they don’t have a clue about cuisine.”
“The pleasure of the blank page, which at first always smells of mystery and promise, vanished as if by magic. As soon as one begins to place the first words on it, it becomes clear how in writing, as in life, the distance between intentions and results is much the same as that between the innocence with which one undertook the first and accepted the second.”
“The heart is an organ that pumps blood not sonnets.”
“Decent people are killed slowly in this country. Quick deaths are reserved for scoundrels.”
Before high piled books... 