Reading as An Invitation to Love and Reflection
At the border between seasons, when warmth lingers and work resumes, a reader seeks a book that restores a sense of love as an essential path. It is that transitional moment that makes emotions rise, leaving a touch of fatigue and vulnerability in its wake. In such times, returning to familiar stories can feel like a recharging of the spirit. A first glance at the bookshelf reveals a candidate that promises both surprise and solace. In the world of award–winning fiction, a Nadal Prize title often signals new voices and quality, without the burden of years of acquisitions and mergers that can cloud a publisher’s identity.
This is how the novel Un amor, published by a well known publishing circle in 2018, comes into focus. It is the kind of work I had not yet explored, even though the author has produced other novels linked to the same family of narratives. There are countless writers and countless books, after all.
The story unfolds in the first person and centers on a family: Amalia, a seventy-year-old mother who is both divorced and visually distinctive, her three adult children Silvia, Emma, and Fer (the younger son and the narrator), along with their partners. The action unfolds amid Emma’s wedding to her girlfriend, while the father remains largely absent and Aunt Inés, a close family friend, keeps company. Everyday life is painted with intimate, traditional touches.
During this wedding, Fer shares memories from the years following the parents’ separation. We witness a raw, intimate portrait of children trying to be happy in contemporary Barcelona, and above all we meet Amalia, a mother whose character drives the entire narrative. The novel is often described as a character study, given Amalia’s open-heartedness, unfiltered optimism, and an almost morbid naivety that brings humor and warmth to the pages. The memorable scene in the doctor’s office, where new words and their meanings are explained in a way that invites classroom discussion about social and cultural context, becomes a bright highlight that readers will likely quote aloud for its humor and insight. Yet the real power of the book lies in Amalia herself. Knowing the author’s own commentary on childhood abuse experienced from a teacher and a clergyman adds depth and gravity to Amalia’s bond with her children and the way motherhood is portrayed, giving the reading experience extra resonance and emotional weight.
The novel reads smoothly and quickly, though the prose often leans toward long sentences. This stylistic choice is noticeable, with some passages running deep into dozens of words per line. Yet the flow remains perfectly readable and, in fact, serves as a master class in punctuation rhythm and the evolution of subjunctive mood in contemporary Spanish writing. The family’s introspection and recurring themes of emotion and memory end up strengthening the reader’s empathy rather than feeling repetitive. The narrative pacing, punctuated by tender humor and candid emotion, invites attention to how a family negotiates identity, resilience, and shared history through conversations, reactions, and evolving relationships.
So why pick up this novel now? Because Amalia embodies a blend of affection, hope, sorrow, and wit that resonates with readers at any age. The story confronts universal concerns—love, aging, care, and the ties that bind a family—while offering a perspective that feels both fresh and deeply human. It leaves a lasting impression because it captures the complexity of emotion with honesty and warmth. In this rereading, the work does not disappoint; it invites a renewed appreciation for the ways characters navigate joy and struggle, and for the richness that a well-drawn family drama can bring to a reader’s life.