SPAIN BOOK REVIEW: ‘The Angel’s Game’ (El juego del ángel) by Carlos Ruiz Zafón

In an abandoned mansion at the heart of Barcelona, a young man, David MartÌn, makes his living by writing sensationalist novels under a pseudonym. The survivor of a troubled childhood, he has taken refuge in the world of books, and spends his nights spinning baroque tales about the city’s underworld. But perhaps his dark imaginings are not as strange as they seem, for in a locked room deep within the house lie photographs and letters hinting at the mysterious death of the previous owner. 

Like a slow poison, the history of the place seeps into his bones as he struggles with an impossible love. Close to despair, David receives a letter from a reclusive French editor, Andreas Corelli, who makes him the offer of a lifetime. He is to write a book unlike anything that has existed – a book with the power to change hearts and minds. In return, he will receive a fortune, perhaps more. But as David begins the work, he realises that there is a connection between this haunting book and the shadows that surround his home. 

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The first installment of this series, The Shadow of the Wind, was a triumph and to follow-up such a tale would have been a huge undertaking. But this book, The Angel’s Game not only continues the story, it also becomes a whole tale on its own and makes Barcelona come to life in a dark, gloomy way.

The story starts with David Martín as a young boy of a murdered father, working as a writer for The Voice of Industry. He manages to get himself work writing fiction, dramatic over-the-top murder mysteries for the newspaper, which doesn’t turn out to be as fun as he thinks it will be. Thanks to having a wealthy friend, Pedro Vidal, a failed writer to lean on, Martín is lucky to eek out a living in gloomy and depressing Barcelona.

Martín’s fortune changes when he gets a new publisher, two greedy men who aren’t worth his time, and Martín is able to lease the tower house of his dreams, an ancient and dismal place where he quickly falls into a habit of writing and neglecting his life and self. Writing as Ignatius B. Sansom, Martín pumps out dark murderous novel after novel, barely eating or sleeping. He soon finds that his 20’s are just rolling by as he sits at the top of his poisonous tower house and bleeds onto his typewriter.

Gothic is the best way to describe the scenes as Martín goes through many changes in 1920’s Barcelona. The scenes are rich and easy to understand, and the characters, while all dark and troubled, are all equally entertaining. Enter Andreas Corelli, a French publisher with an offer too good to be true. With love-life trouble of the highest order, Martín has little else to do but work on the most dreary and thought-provoking novel, one never quite accurately described. A fable, a religious work, a family story – but what ends up on the pages turns out to be pure evil.

As Martín deals with increasingly terrifying meetings with Corelli, ‘the boss’, the history of the tower house and the last writer who lived there and attempted to write a great tale takes ever murderous and scary turns. From basements filled with dummies, evil dogs lurking in the shadows, doves stabbed through the heart, an ageless boss who smiles like a wolf, fires and disasters all over the city, and even a spiderweb-like tumour, Martín’s life descends into madness.

As this book is the prequel of the first in the series, Martín has one bright spot in his life, the Sempere and Sons bookstore. The characters are the grandfather and father of Daniel Sempere, protagonist of the first book, and give more insight into the lives of the Sempere family. Another bright spark is Isabella, a young aspiring writer who latches herself onto Martín and is his saviour multiple times over. Isabella is the only person who can cope with Martín and his bleak attitude, and it’s great to have a strong female character in a book that isn’t there to be some kind of love interest, but a fully fledged character with thoughts and actions that contribute to the story.

The first half of this book is immense; the detail and the writing is superb. Through the latter half of the book, hints fall from all over to give the full picture of what is happening to Martín as he fights to stay alive and try to protect those he loves. Both his friend Pedro Vidal and his wife Cristina, the love of Martín’s life, get in the way of Martín’s spiralling determination to discover the fate of the last owners of the tower house, and the whole picture becomes very desolate. In the end, the body count is high, prices are well and truly paid and Martín’s fate is disturbing indeed.

I rarely read reviews by others before I review, so it doesn’t influence my own opinion, but I couldn’t resist reading a few between reading and reviewing. Yes, this book is very complex, and it seems that this book divides people. There are people who relish the florid prose and detailed vision of the author, and some seemed disappointed. Some felt the book was too complicated at the end. Personally, there are so many hints to the fate of Martín and of Andreas Corelli. Yes, there is a huge cache of characters to follow, but with such vivid descriptions, I felt it easy to keep up and the outcome, to me, was sad but simple. This book is far removed from the first in the series, it’s a dark prequel which only has a slim connection to the first book. Readers should be prepared for that fact. There is a third book in the series, which I will review next week, and that ties together The Shadow of  the Wind and The Angel’s Game  beautifully, for all to see. If you do find The Angel’s Game complex, you should read the third book, as it gives you a clearer picture of the characters and how they bind together.

The first book is a dream; no question. The Angel’s Game feels like the author let go and wrote everything he had ever dreamed of, and was given all the rope he needed to produce the work he loved. If I was asked to pick which book is best in the series, I would say The Angel’s Game is the narrow winner, because it’s dark, complex, sophisticated and you can feel the dampness of the tower house, the pain in Martín’s head, the warmth of Sempere and Sons bookstore and the ice underneath Cristina’s bloodied feet. I did a little Carlos Ruiz Zafón wander last May on my last visit to Barcelona, and he makes the city seems so alive in all new ways. This book is for everyone who wants characters who hold nothing back. Just don’t sit alone in the dark while you read.

Valencia Photos of the Month: Abandoned Watchmaker’s on Calle del Micalet

There are many beautiful buildings in Valencia, and this one is my favourite. She may not be much to look at, but she gives great inspiration to writers (well, me).

Everyone knows the gorgeous and majestic 13th century Micalet bell tower against the cathedral. Next to it lies the sweetest street in the city, Calle del Micalet. A busy road in the Valencia for hundreds of years, it is now pedestrian  only and so important for the city. Anyone who has visited the city will have walked down this tiny street, and features in both of my recent Valencia-based novels (shameless plug). Most fiestas features heavily in this street’s activities, has the old water court held there on Thursday’s and the prime plazas of Valencia sit at either end of this lane. Sitting quietly on this street is the abandoned building once belonging to the local watchmaker. The cathedral used to have a clock attached to the Micalet tower, and the watchmakers lived across the street from the important town landmark. When the clock and the adjoining buildings were torn from the cathedral side on Calle del Micalet, the watchmakers store and building across the street also became abandoned, and has sat in a state of despair ever since. Tucked just behind the bell tower, it just hides itself in multiple photos of the cathedral entrance, but the adjoining buildings can be seen. These buildings were still standing in the early part of the civil war, but then disappear from photos, around the same time the watchmakers abandoned their building. The building has been used for a few different businesses on the ground floor since, but in the decade that I have known the place, it has never once been open.

Good news came just yesterday that work has begun to stabilise this old relic, with metal beams going up, and mesh covering the facade for protection. While the Valencian government claim to have to no money to fully restore the building, it will be stabilised now, at a cost of €35.000, to preserve it for future use. El ayuntamiento consolida su finca junto al Micalet para evitar que se caiga.

I love this little street and the watchmakers building. When you walk past it, it whispers a grand history of this ancient city. Expect it to be a main attraction in a historical novel by me soon as I uncover its full history.

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Historical photos from Juan Antonio Soler Aces and current photos by Caroline Angus Baker

SPAIN BOOK REVIEW: ‘Adventures of a Doctor’ by E. Martínez Alonso

Martínez

Adventures of a Doctor by Eduardo Martínez Alonso seems to be so rare, I can’t find any cover art or a blurb about this book. I managed to purchase a damaged copy from the New Zealand parliamentary library, and when they tossed this book to me for a mere $6 (about €3.60), they obviously didn’t know what a treasure they had. Eduardo Martínez is quite an extraordinary man with a story that seems to have been largely lost. With the market flooded with 1001 Spanish civil war books, it comes as a great surprise that this book doesn’t get more recognition.

The story starts with the author born in Vigo, Galicia in 1903. His father was from Uruguay, and was the consul in Vigo. As a young boy, Martínez travelled to his father’s homeland, along with his family (he was one of eleven children, and talks of his mother constantly having to nurse his siblings). The story tells of life in northern Spain in the era, and exploits with his brothers and attending a boarding school with mixed success. In 1912, Martínez’s father received a post to Glasgow, and the whole family moved north for a new life. Martínez dreamed of working in hotels or on ships, able to meet people and travel far and wide. He became bilingual at a young age, seeing the benefit of speaking Spanish, English, French and more. But it was his father who said he would be a doctor, not a sailor. As each of the eight boys grew and carved out professions (sisters, of course, were to be wives and caregivers), the prophecy of the hard-working consul came true. The family and Martínez recalls the first world war, his school years and an eventual trip back to Uruguay.

As a trained doctor, Martinez moved to Madrid with his grandmother, and speaks of seeing Anna Pavlova dance at Teatro Real, with the King and Queen in attendance.  He quickly took up a post at Red Cross Hospital, and met Queen Ena, British wife of King Alfonso XIII, and the Duchess of Lecera, who were delighted to have an English-speaking doctor. News travelled of an English-speaking doctor in favour with the queen, and Martínez was in hot demand. Just eighteen months later, Martinez graduated from San Carlos Medical Facility and while meeting the King and Queen socially and professionally, was appointed the medical adviser to the royal family. This proved to be an amazing and dangerous post.

When the Second Spanish Republic was founded in 1931, Martínez was in the palace in Madrid with the royal family as they were deposed. He tells of sitting casually with Queen and princesses as the monarchy fell. As the family were forced into exile and as Spain underwent revolution, Martínez’s position as a monarchist him an easy target. As civil war came five years later, things changed dramatically. Martínez got his family out of Spain in July 1936, or off to the safety of Vigo, and knew he would be in danger as a former royal family aide. Through his work for the Red Cross, he was ordered by a Communist faction to work as a doctor for the Republican side of the war.

On Saturday morning the shooting started. We sat in a bar and heard the crackling of machine guns, the burst of hand grenades, and I saw smoke arising from many quarters of Madrid. By Monday morning a general strike had been called. Everything was paralysed except murder, arson, and rape. The Spanish civil war had commenced – Pg 70

Martínez talks of watching a church burning as priceless works of art were set alight along with the riches of the churches of Madrid. He saw a priest thrown on the flames but was unable to save his life when he pulled the screaming body from the blaze. Most priests were taken out to Casa del Campo to be shot. Men were burning priests but trying to revive pigeons which fell from bell towers, overcome by smoke. Martínez had an apartment in Madrid, and he hid as many people  as he could throughout the war. Nuns and priest were hidden, and forced to serve meals to men who sat and spoke of vicious murders they had committed against the clergy.

Martínez was posted to a town outside Badajoz, Cabeza del Buey,  in the south-west, working for the Communists. While running the hospital, a young nurse, Guadalupe, suggested they flee and work for Franco’s troops instead, but Martínez seemed convinced that he would be killed at some stage, regardless of where he was posted, and claimed no political alliances. In Cabeza del Buey, he was forced to attend mass executions of seemingly innocent men, and despair at violent speeches about revolution and vengeance. He performed many surgeries and saved lives in the  most atrocious conditions. But with no warning, Martínez was shipped off, with Guadalupe, and sent to Ocaña, just outside Aranjuez, to work in the prison there, and be a prisoner himself. As he had in Cabeza del Buey, Martinez managed to get some nuns freed from prison to work as nurses, and treated patients while living in a cell himself. Between dire conditions and deadly activities, a patient told Martínez that his turn to be executed was near. An in understated manner, Martínez talked of his prison escape to Valencia in March 1937, were he managed to procure a fake passport and get aboard the Maine, a ship bound for Marseilles. 

Martínez quickly got himself back in Spain, despite the dangers. He chose to cross the lines and work for the ‘white’ side of Spain, Franco’s rebel army. Red Spain (the Republicans), he felt, thought nothing of him, his work, and long suspected their cause would lose the war, one they never had a chance to win. Posted to Burgos, Valladolid and then San Sebastien, Martínez  then found himself working on the front lines as Franco’s army continued to advance into enemy territory. Towns fell one by one as Martínez fought to save lives, but writes in such a  humble, unassuming manner. Once in Zaragoza, Martínez worked hard to care for patients at the hospitals, and pioneered the use of closed casts on wounds, a procedure first tried with less success twenty years earlier. Despite the smell offending wealthy female volunteers, Martínez’s experiment helped the lives of many patients otherwise in agony as they recovered. He was then moved on to his own mobile surgical unit in Teruel in 1938.

Martínez was there on the ground when troops stopped in Sarrión, 100kms north-west of Valencia, as the war finally came to its brutal end. On April 1st, 1939, the war was over and declared won by Franco in this small town, and after helping a man and his son to Valencia, Martínez sought out all those who had helped him during the war, and moved back to Madrid. No sooner than Martínez had helped his friends and former nurses, and begged for clemency for some condemned to death by the new regime, the second world war broke out. With some family in Vigo and some Britain, travelling on multiple passports, danger was again faced. As Hitler plowed through Europe, Madrid suffered greatly after the civil war and Martínez went to work at Miranda de Ebro, near Burgos, to help war refugees from all nations. With such a humble attitude, he glossed over his feat to aid refugees out of Spain, saving their lives, until in 1942, when his ferrying of innocents was discovered and he was forced to flee Spain. His time working with British Naval Attaché, Captain Alan Hillgarth is barely touched upon, but should surely serve as an incredible tale of a man saving lives at great risk to his own. This two-year period alone could serve as a story all of its own. Just his dramatic escape would serve as its own story, but the author covers it in a few sentences, and neglects to mention he fled with a new wife. He also failed to mention his first marriage which produced two children, but was annulled after Franco took power in 1939 (His wife was a British woman who went home without him). I only found about either marriage after studying the doctor further myself. There are no clues to whom these women are at any point in the book. His personal life is never touched upon.

Again, Martínez talks little of his involvement with the rest of the world war, after being detained when first arriving in Britain (no idea if his Spanish wife was also detained), but worked as a spy for Britain throughout and barely talks about it. He worked at Queen Mary Hospital after the war and oversaw great new procedural advances, meeting some of Europe’s finest surgeons, but then returned home to Madrid. Life was hard in the beleaguered nation, and he again went to work at Red Cross Hospital, specialising in chest surgery. He then moved on to working as the doctor for the Castellana Hilton, newly opened in 1953. He recounts stories of wealthy Americans, and famous movies stars (unnamed) alike, who came to Madrid for all sorts of reasons. He spoke with frustration at his patients demanding penicillin shots, not wanting to discuss why they need this medication. Many guests, male and female, had a penchant for sleeping around and wanting medicine to atone their sins, either before or just after the liaisons which bore infections. One guest talks of being raped and demanding penicillin, though the story is far from convincing to the doctor. Sexual liberation had come to the foreign guests at the Hilton, and expected Martínez’s penicillin to cover it up. He makes his disdain clear for these patients and the abuse of this groundbreaking medication, and of the myriad of alcoholics he was forced to attend to, when little could really be done for them.

The book is written in the manner of a doctor – no-nonsense, no fussing with detail, just the raw facts given out without prejudice. Martínez is a man with the story worthy of a Hollywood blockbuster, but it wouldn’t be his style. This book was written in 1961, and Martinez lived until 1972. It shows what really stood out to the doctor in his life, because details are excluded, and there are many secret operations he simply never wanted to discuss. He is free and easy with dates – because I know the civil war, I could piece together the timelines of the book, but needed to look up world war details and the opening of the Madrid Hilton, just to give myself an idea of how much time passed between chapters.

Martinez’s daughter, Patricia Martínez De Vicente, has written several books in Spanish about her father, notably La Clave Embassy: La Increíble Historia De Un Médico Español Que Salvó a Miles De Perseguidos Por El Nazismo. The stories not told by her father in his memoir are a whole other side to this man who worked tirelessly for others, and had a strong ability to do good, without any need to be recognised.  To read his book is a gift, and I will be also reading his daughter’s books.

*above photo taken just prior to release from the Spanish army, 1939. Photo supplied in the book (page 112)

Valencia Photos of the Month: Palacio del Marqués de Dos Aguas

On the site of a gothic palace, the Palacio del Marqués de Dos Aguas on Poeta Querol was designed in 1740 by Ignacio Vergara. The main features are the male figures to represent the Doa Aguas, the two main irrigation channels to Valencia city, and after the original owner, the Marqués de Dos Aguas, the wealthy merchant nobility family who occupied the palace. The baroque alabaster facade has been added to and cared for since the orginal design was created, and the building was declared a historical monument in 1941. In 1954, the Museo Nacional de Cerámica y de las Artes Suntuarias González Martí, the ceramic museum. The building is must-see for anyone in Valencia.


Historical photos from Juan Antonio Soler Aces and current photos by Caroline Angus Baker

Valencia Photos of the Month: Palacio Arzobispal and Calle Barchilla

In 1241, King Jaime set aside an area of land next to the old mosque (where the Valencia cathedral now lies) so the new Archbishop could build his residence. Completed in 1279, and in 1348, the bridge between the palace and the newly completed cathedral was built, passing over tiny but beautiful Calle Barchilla. The building served as the main palace for bishops until the late 1700’s when it underwent a massive renovation, though the chapel was kept in its mostly original state.

In July 1936, the large imposing palace was torched by Republican supporters during the outbreak of the civil war. Like most churches throughout Spain at this time, it was burned to the ground as the oppressed population revolted against its oppressors, with violent results. The palace burned for three days and was left in ruins as Valencia grew to be a Republican stronghold (and later capital city of the Spanish Republic). When the Republicans were defeated in 1939, a plan to rebuild the palace was born. Started in 1941 and finished in 1945, the completed new building was modelled on Sevillian designs. The archway to the cathedral was mostly unscathed and is still original , but the palace is all new after its interior and exterior was totally destroyed in the war attack.

The building has gone from an important symbol of the church, to a symbol of greed burned to the ground, and now sits unassuming behind the grand cathedral and basilica, giving away little secrets about its past.

Historical photos from Juan Antonio Soler Aces and present day by Caroline Angus Baker and Elena Cassals