“A novel? Goodness, Nurieta…. The novel is dead and buried. A friend of mine who has just arrived from New York was telling me only the other day Americans are inventing something called television, which will be like the cinema, only at home. There’ll be no more need for books, or churches, or anything. Tell your husband to forget about novels.”

This paragraph comes near the end of the novel, The Shadow of the Wind by Carlos Ruiz Zafon, where the protagonist, a bookshop owner’s son named Daniel, is reading a manuscript written by Nuria Monfort. She is telling her story about the connection she had to Daniel’s favorite novelist, Julian Carax.

Carax is an unsuccessful novelist from Barcelona that goes missing during World War II. Daniel discovers his novel, The Shadow of the Wind and is determined to find out more about him and his other books.

Daniel’s journey leads him into a city’s dark underbelly, failed career dreams, doomed love, and renewal. Ruiz Zafon vividly portrays 1940s Barcelona, which resonated with me since I recently visited the city. Moreover, he shares a story that offers a surprising argument in favor of literature, countering the earlier paragraph in this review.

I have to acknowledge that while reading the novel, there were several disturbing elements that made it far from an enjoyable experience. The Shadow of the Wind is a dark tale, and its essence is crucial to the story Ruiz Zafon aimed to convey.

It’s clear why this novel became a bestseller in Spain during the early 2000s and captivated readers worldwide. Despite my lack of reading enjoyment, I will write this is a great novel. The word “great” is often overused, but it truly applies to The Shadow of the Wind.

Will it be one of my all-time favorite novels? No, it won’t.  But I believe it is one of the best novels written since 2000 and a must for all readers.