Lost In the Cemetery of Forgotten Books

The trouble with not writing in my blog for ages and ages is finding just the right tone and topic to come back in on. Do I write about what I did over the holidays? Do I rant about the economy or my ex-husband? Do I wax nostalgic over 2008 and make pithy predictions for 2009?

No, no, and no.

Instead, I am going to do you a favor and tell you about a wonderful book. It is the best book I've read in a long time, and quite possibly the best book I've read in my entire life.

No, really.

It has everything a book should have: earnest heroes, terrifying villains, mysterious figures of uncertain origin, damsels in distress, femme fatales, haunted mansions, and family secrets all told in exquisite, lustrous prose. Oh, and books. For it is a book about books. And the people who write them. And the people who read them and love them.

It's the kind of book you want to read slowly so you can savor every word. It's the kind of book you want to read quickly because you can't wait to see what is on the next page. It's the kind of book that you never want to end, but you can't wait to finish so you can read it all over again.

But why am I telling you all this? Read it for yourself:

"Welcome to the Cemetery of Forgotten Books, Daniel."

[...]

My father knelt next to me and, with his eyes fixed on mine, addressed me in the hushed voice he reserved for promises and secrets.

"This is a place of mystery, Daniel, a sanctuary. Every book, every volume you see here, has a soul. The soul of the person who wrote it and of those who read it and lived and dreamed with it. Every time a book changes hands, every time someone runs his eyes down its pages, its spirit grows and strengthens. This place was already ancient when my father brought me here for the first time, many years ago. Perhaps as old as the city itself. Nobody knows for certain how long it has existed, or who created it. I will tell you what my father told me, though. When a library disappears, or a bookshop closes down, when a book is consigned to oblivion, those of us who know this place, its guardians, make sure that it gets here. In this place, books no longer remembered by anyone, books that are lost in time, live forever, waiting for the day when they will reach a new reader's hands. In the shop we buy and sell them, but in truth books have no owner. Every book you see here has been somebody's best friend. Now they have only us, Daniel. Do you think you'll be able to keep such a secret?"

My gaze was lost in the immensity of the place and its sorcery of light. I nodded, and my father smiled.

"And do you know the best thing about it?" he asked.

I shook my head.

"According to tradition, the first time someone visits this place, he must choose a book, whichever he wants, and adopt it, making sure that it will never disappear, that it will always stay alive. It's a very important promise. For life," explained my father. "Today it's your turn."

The Shadow of the Wind

by Carlos Ruiz Zafon