Das Spiel des Engels

This is a thriller mystery novel about a novel. It's about writers and being in love with books. There is a lot of mystery and bits of supernatural elements. The Gothic parts are apparent in the mood and the use of buildings especially, which are always huge, dark and gloomy, if not dank, tiny and grimy.

I am almost done with it, but man is it a slog to go through. I found that I no longer care about the main character. I just want this story to end. The journey was more interesting than the destination let's just say. The revelations I feel did not warrant the trouble the characters went through solving it.

I like the B and C plots more, as I think the supporting characters are better people than the main ones.

I think I like the first book more.

- - - - -

So I just right now finished the book, and surprisingly, I liked the ending. It dipped at the part I was talking about earlier, and I still think that the plot wasn't resolved satisfactorily. Nevertheless, the Epilogue pulled things back together.

I still think the main character is unlikeable, and that's the point of that character, which makes him a 'good' character in the sense that his interactions with the other minor characters would be interesting. I hope I am making sense somewhat.

Overall, I am interested now in how things would proceed for that character. So if he still appears in the other books I would probably read those too.

My copy

This is an epic tale. Not as a fable, but more as a detective/mystery/friendship/love story. It is so well-written, that any cliché is useless against it. Sure, it contains a few usual pushes and pulls, common in detective stories, but for example, one quarter into the book, it goes into a completely (for me) direction than I expected, and it goes on like that. Not in a tiresome way, because the book really breathes; it allows the reader to go up and down and back and forth in great ways. And there's love. And people lovelorn:

Tomorrow, or perhaps the next day, I’ll write again to tell you that I love you, even if it means nothing to you.

‘I owe you much more than an explanation . . .’ ‘Then tell me about her.’ Vidal looked at me with desperate eyes that begged me to lie to him.

This is an epic tale. Not as a fable, but more as a detective/mystery/friendship/love story. It is so well-written, that any cliché is useless against it. Sure, it contains a few usual pushes and pulls, common in detective stories, but for example, one quarter into the book, it goes into a completely (for me) direction than I expected, and it goes on like that. Not in a tiresome way, because the book really breathes; it allows the reader to go up and down and back and forth in great ways. And there's love. And people lovelorn:

Tomorrow, or perhaps the next day, I’ll write again to tell you that I love you, even if it means nothing to you.

‘I owe you much more than an explanation . . .’ ‘Then tell me about her.’ Vidal looked at me with desperate eyes that begged me to lie to him.

This is an epic tale. Not as a fable, but more as a detective/mystery/friendship/love story. It is so well-written, that any cliché is useless against it. Sure, it contains a few usual pushes and pulls, common in detective stories, but for example, one quarter into the book, it goes into a completely (for me) direction than I expected, and it goes on like that. Not in a tiresome way, because the book really breathes; it allows the reader to go up and down and back and forth in great ways. And there's love. And people lovelorn:

Tomorrow, or perhaps the next day, I’ll write again to tell you that I love you, even if it means nothing to you.

‘I owe you much more than an explanation . . .’ ‘Then tell me about her.’ Vidal looked at me with desperate eyes that begged me to lie to him.

Après avoir dévoré et adoré "L'ombre du vent" de Carlos Ruiz Zafon, je me suis plongé dans "Le jeu de l'ange" du même auteur.

Dès les premières chapitres, je n'étais pas perdu : j'ai retrouvé l'univers si particulier de l'auteur espagnol, mêlant des personnages passionnés de littérature, des histoires d'amour, une bonne dose d'enquête policière, et un soupçon de fantastique.

Malheureusement, le résultat est moins exaltant et enthousiasmant que dans "L'ombre du vent". Sans doute parce que celui-ci ressemble trop au précédent mais n'arrive jamais à l'égaler. J'ai eu l'impression que l'auteur s'était contenté de réutiliser les mêmes recettes mais sans rien apporter de vraiment nouveau. Il va même jusqu'à réutiliser des personnages de "L'ombre du vent" : ça commence comme un clin d'oeil sympathique, mais cela finit comme une tentative un peu désespérée de se raccrocher au succès - mérité - de son chef d'oeuvre.

Malgré tout, ce roman se laisse lire. Le suspense est bien présent et même si j'ai jamais vraiment réussi à me passionner pour les aventures et le destin du narrateur, j'ai lu sans peine les six cent pages du récit.

Isaac took a lamp from the floor and raised it to my face.

“You don’t look well,” he pronounced.

“Indigestion,” I replied.

“From what?”

“Reality.”

“Join the queue.”

This is not a review — you can read hundreds of them in literature journals and blogs. I am writing about this book, because I am probably one of the very few persons out there that I liked the “Angel’s Game” more than the “Shadow of the Wind,” the most popular book of Carlos Ruiz Zafon.
David Martin is a writer who lives in Barcelona (of course!). Writing is his passion and through books he develops his whole life. His friends, his relationships with other people are related and closely connected with books.

He lives a melancholy life in a big, old, full of mysteries house that its turbulent history seems to transform him. His life changes completely when he decides to accept the proposal of a mysterious French publisher (the boss) to write a book in exchange of a huge amount of money. Soon he discovers that he committed himself to a life-threatening contract, he loses the woman he love; despite the money he has no purpose in life, he feels that gave up his dreams and desires of his youth.

He is frustrated, because as the boss says,

“As life advances and we have to give up the hopes, dreams and desires of our youth, we acquire a growing sense of being a victim of the world and of other people. There is always someone else to blame for our misfortunes or failures, someone we wish to exclude. Embracing a doctrine that will turn this grudge and this victim mentality into something positive, provides comfort and strength. The adult then feels part of the group and sublimates his lost desires and hopes through the community.”

David thinks that it is essential to solve the mysteries that surround the house and the previous owner. It is this chase of truth and justice that transforms him. The last 1/3 of the book is dark and confused. It is the part of the book that unlike many other readers, I liked most.

The story becomes an exciting thriller and you are not certain if this story is real or a fantasy that takes place only within the confused mind of David. Mercy will finally find him; the moment David thinks he lost the last person he ever loved him, a second chance is given to him years, to live again.

I loved the Angel’s Game because of how it ended. I believe that it was the intention of the author to present us with a perplexed and confused ending. I also loved that dark, gothic, atmospheric Barcelona. In general, the book is beautifully written, highly intelligent, ironic, and funny in times. You may like this book, you may not, but certainly you cannot ignore it.

“Envy is the religion of the mediocre. It comforts them, it responds to the worries that gnaw at them and finally it rots their souls, allowing them to justify their meanness and their greed until they believe these to be virtues. Such people are convinced that the doors of heaven will be opened only to poor wretches like themselves who go through life without leaving any trace but their threadbare attempts to belittle others and to exclude – and destroy if possible – those who, by the simple fact of their existence, show up their own poorness of spirit, mind and guts. Blessed be the ones at whom the fools bark, because his soul will never belong to them.” p.12