posted Monday, Mar 6 9:55 pm

I just spent an entire sleepless night captivated by the book, devouring each page with a vigour I thought I no longer had for exceptional literature. Just earlier in the day I was questioning myself on how I would rate the many books I've read, and how I'd pick my favourites among the lot. I wondered if my fickleness that's evident in some things also exists in this department; if I'd have a new favourite each time I chance upon something new and something good. Then in the night, as I continued reading 'the shadow of the wind' from where I left off, determined to finish about ten pages before I hit the sack, I found myself unable to put the book down. I couldn't deny myself the pleasure of knowing what happens next.

There's a strange quality to the book, something almost magical. It's like a morbid fairytale with a happy ending, despite the seeming contradiction. While it's descriptive to a point that could almost disguise it as one of Stephen King's genre, it's also poignant, moving, profound, and highly mermerising. The precise morbidness of the story appeals to the essential dark side that's within us, while the direction towards a somewhat happy reconciliation tends to our want for a hopeful future.

The book tells a story about a book, about the author of the mystical book, about someone's life, about undying and selfless friendships and love, about living vicariously through others, and most of all, about living eternally through the memories of others.

This story begins with the fascination of a boy with a book he found in the Cemetery of Forgotten Books, a secret vault that held books long forgotten by people who used to own them. His fascination with the book extends to that of the mysterious author, of whom no one seems to know. Such fascination turns into an obsession where he seeks to find out everything he could about the author and his life. The story unfolds in the most dramatic fashion, revealing much about friendships and love in the process.

There are many times in the process of reading this book that I would chance upon something that the protagonist's hero wrote, and had to stop to ponder on those words.

"The moment you had to think whether or not you love a person, you have already stopped loving the person forever." I thought about it and wondered if it's possible that in the course of loving someone, one has never been plagued with doubts and uncertainty. Is there still a love this strong that there is no moment in time when one feels unsure if what he/she feels is true love, and if this would last him/her forever? When one stops to wonder, does it really mean that the love has ceased to exist? I suppose in a romantic world, this would be the case. True love is supposed to withstand the test of time, distance, and all the other annoyances in life. Just like Julian Carax could carry his love for Penelope till death, all marriage vows are structured to bind married couples till "death (do them) part." But I wonder at the validity and practicality of such a notion at this present time. As cynical as I may seem, it's not with such mentality that I question such an assertion. It's just that it appears to me as a terribly unforgiving accusation at someone, if one were to be accused of having forsaken his love for his lover if he ever stopped to doubt or wonder. Human beings are fallible. Times of vulnerabilities should be allowed. If one doesn't stop to wonder, how would he know that his love for the lover is not there due to habit, duties, or any other explanations other than true, blind, inexplicable love?

"Books are mirrors of ourselves. We see in the books what we already have within us." We live vicariously through the characters in the books we read. We transform into who we want to be and can't be in this world of fiction. Yet no matter what we metamophorse into, the characters reflect qualities that we already see in ourselves. Especially the side of us that we know exist but try to suppress or even repel, for reasons beyond our control. While I smirk and mock at characters who sacrifice for love, I might secretly wish I could do the same, even though I know that given the chance, I still wouldn't. Because I won't have the courage. Because I would remain silent. And "silence are for cowards."

'The shadow of the wind' gives me a newfound understanding of my love for reading. It reminds me of the power of words and how much words could affect me; sometimes empowering, and at other times, defeating. Reading is a grown-up way of playing make-believe. Once you throw yourself completely into the world of fiction, you allow yourself to be temporarily removed from the reality, however desirable or undesirable it is.

There are books that left you feeling all warm and fuzzy inside. There are books that make you go 'wow!' Then there are a few select books that you'd want to read and reread. And each time, you'll gain a new understanding and a new bit of enjoyment added to what you've gained from the previous read. This is one such book.