The labyrinth of the spirits

It could have been fascinating but felt drawn-out, cliche-ridden. I'm a native upanishad speaker but lately I can't be bothered with writers other than Perez-Reverte.

This terrific novel, set in Franco’s Spain, is part historical fiction, part noir thriller, and with its labyrinthine book “cemetery,” part homage to Jorge Luis Borges. This last part is interesting because as a writer par excellence of tight, truly multidimensional short stories, Borges sort of represents the antithesis of the 800-page behemoth that Zafón has handed us. His aim was to bind up the infinite into a handful of pages that leave you altered after reading them.

I have to be honest, this book, in particular the middle third or so, was a challenging read. Not because it was intellectually superior, but because Zafón took his time leading us through his labyrinth. This is a book for folks who like to read like they’re at a nine-course meal, but don’t mind some of the courses being simple or bland. Most of Zafón’s characters are wonderful creations, but some of them, and the dialogue involved, are sort of cliché. This shortcoming is mostly overcome by the fantastic character Fermín, who though absent for much of the book, is the heart of it.

Overall, Zafón’s writing is very good, and he tells an important story in a fascinating way. This is the fourth and final book of the Cemetery of Forgotten Books series, which supposedly can be read in any order. Well, I haven’t read any of the others, and I never felt lost reading this one. When I am ready to reenter his labyrinth, I may resume with the third book and proceed in reverse order, sort of like how one cheats at a maze.