El Palacio de la Medianoche, by Carlos Ruiz Zafón

I've been anxiously waiting for more by the author of "The Shadow of the Wind" and until he writes another novel for a more mature audience, I'm going through his novels for young adults. "El Palacio de la Medianoche" is the second I've read of his novels for teenagers, and I've found it just "enjoyable". A comparison with "El Principe de la Niebla" reveals some similarities in that they both have aspects of the gothic novel, but this one didn't seem to me as well-written or as effective as the first two. While "Principe" had a steadily growing atmosphere of suspense, mystery, and fear, this one seemed overly contrived and less involving.

The story revolves around a mysterious, evil character intent on murdering fraternal twins when they reach the age of 16. Elements of the plot are revealed slowly, what could have built up suspense and excitement, but I was sad to discover that this effect didn't work on me. There were some "switchbacks" in the story in the sense that resolution to mysteries are presented only to be discredited as lies later on. Even considering that there was a point to presenting the story as such, I felt that the way this technique was used failed miserably for me. Also, in spite of his efforts to flesh out Calcutta as a setting for the story, I felt it irrelevant to the story. Zafón efforts to make the city an integral part of the story didn't resonate with me because in spite of all the information given, I couldn't establish a believable connection between the plot and the locale.

It is hard to feel involved and to be gripped by your emotions if you don't really develop some kind of relationship with the characters. I cannot quite explain why the twins or the other member of the Chowbar Society never really grew on me, but the fact was that halfway through the novel I discovered that I didn't care enough for them to feel the excitement that they experienced in the story. An artifact that Zafón used well in the two novels I read previously is his play with the supernatural. The reader is made to struggle in figuring out what is real and what is fantastic. There is normally quite a bit of tension until the resolution finally arrives. He uses this artifact a little differently in this novel. I think he wasn't effective because there wasn't a clear, causal chain of facts to establish the foundation upon which he could have constructed a believable fantasy.

While I don't regret reading this, I think it is the only forgettable novel I've read by Zafón so far. I hope that I find "Las Luces de Septiembre" more in line with what I expect of his writing.

Heat, by Bill Buford

Bourdain's Kitchen Confidential left me with the desire to read more about the crazy underworld of the professional, restaurant kitchen. It was only natural that I'd be attracted to a book recounting the experiences of a writer who decides to start learning to cook professionally in his early forties. It's a rocking cool book. Buford talks about apprenticing (and suffering) in Mario Batali's Babbo's kitchen, about the passion for food in Italy, about the strange and fascinating personalities in the restaurant business, and about his obsessive research about various aspects in food and cooking. Of the latter discussions, my favorite one was his quest to discover when people started to use egg in pasta dough (yes, "pasta dough" would be an obscene redundancy in the Italian language, but I'm writing in English, so "lasciami in pace." The book culminates in Bufords apprenticeship with a Tuscan butcher and that segment is at the same time informative, amusing, and disturbing.

If you're a confessed foodie, you will want to read this book.