Disclaimer: this book's author is a friend of mine. I am even proudly and undeservedly mentioned in the last pages of the book. I would try to be impartial, but perhaps that makes me too overcritical.
Let's start with the negative, which is not really a downside of the book, but mine. I have difficulties dealing with nostalgia. And Fraga's view, from his very fantastic first book (A-Z), is kind of a reenactment of a lost paradise, his lost London as a migrant boy. This one, 'Virtudes (and mysteries)', is the story of his own family, the migrant women who came from Galicia to the UK in the middle of the 20th century, with no English and no more tools than their own back and no more skills than their endurance and resilience. It has to be nostalgic! So I resisted for a while; I bought the book but didn't read it; I kept it on the shelves, even after being awarded one of the most important prizes in Spain, perhaps waiting for my recent exile from the UK to evolve into a lost paradise too. Eventually, a new book club launched these days, they picked this book as a first reading, and I had no option but to confront my prejudices.
Most of my comments, though, are positive. The characters (and particular his grandma) are so powerful that they would be a reason enough to read the book. The more Virtudes, the better. Then, despite everything, there is happiness, or optimism, in particular through the first half of the book. The life of migrant workers was a hard life, with endless hours, many jobs at the same time, hunger, deprivation... and it is beautifully narrated, with perfect restraint, without excesses of sentimentalism that would be easily forgiven if they occur. Only here and there the author lets some personal feelings go, and these occasions are even more brilliant in the background of his writing restraint. Those occasions make this story even more human, more real. Spoiler: there are tears on occasion.
I couldn't help to comment on the research. The author has researched, has checked, has revised pictures, objects, and certificates. But he author as a researcher is never the main character. How easy would be to fall into a story of exploring the family sources and documents, and however, this has been carefully avoided. But the research is still there: there are pictures, there are documents, there are lists of objects here and there to show us that the novel is not just a random collection of memories, but a dedicated effort of careful, touching research.
Towards the end, the sad notes are more frequent. As in every end, death is approaching. And this is not fiction. Deaths are real deaths, his pain is for real. That hit me deeply.
Finally, the book was initially published by one of the 2 major publishing houses in Galicia, yet it seems that there is no one at the wheel in that company. Pictures, so critical to the story, to the memory's truth, couldn't be more poorly printed and with less care. I would ban these guys from getting near a printing press for a couple of years. That is definitely not my friend's fault so I am genuinely angry. Otherwise, I am very comforted, touched, moved, by this simple, beautiful story.