The Shadow of the Wind by Carlos Ruiz ZafónMy rating: 2 of 5 stars
It is a mildly terrifying thing when I read a book that is much-loved by a great many people, and come out the other side wondering why the book is so popular in the first place. I suppose I simply came to the hype much, much later than everyone else did; after all, the book of which I speak was first released, to much popular acclaim, some twelve years ago, and I am only reading it now, when the hype has long since quieted and the book likely lives in the warm, rosy glow of nostalgia for those who claim to love it. I, for my part, come to it with fresh eyes, with an awareness of its popularity and yet unaffected by it, since the hype is a part of my past and therefore does not affect my reading of the novel.
This blindness can be a boon, in its own way; it allows me to appreciate the book on its own strengths, its own merits, my judgment unclouded by hype. At the same time, however, I worry that those who read my thoughts regarding a book they love may turn into a metaphorical lynch mob. This may seem laughable to some, but this is the Internet: such things are not impossible.
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