Boxwood, which can perhaps best be described as a non-novel, has none of the structural signposts readers generally expect: there is no plot, no crux, no denouement. Instead we have a mix of folklore, tradition, superstition, autobiographical snatches, cooking directions, a litany of nautical disasters on the Coast of Death - ships from afar with cargoes of oranges, typewriters, iron ore, oil, spices - elements of nature both cruel and beautiful, of man both saint and sinner, whales, witches, mermaids, ghosts, the exquisite, the crass, all against the background of Cela's birthplace, Galicia.