is the third (almost fourth) I read about him. "Eleven minutes". Preceded by "Veronika Decides to die, "" The Alchemist "and" Manual of the warriors of the Light "(which I read in bits and pieces because they already can not stand aphorisms and maxims, so messianic in versions later, just can not for).
not I know because I have four beds. usually happens to me that if I like a book, I read everything possible in the bibliography of the author. If I do not like a book, however, I have no shame to close it in half and remove the names of ' author from the list of possible readings (not from memory, the concept is the same as the phone: do not delete the contacts of the worst number in order not to respond, if necessary).
by Paulo Coelho, Brazilian writer praised, there is was not a text that I liked.
I can not explain why he has so many awards, but I suspend the proceedings because I always read in translation (which can be extremely harmful, if wrongdoing). From
translations reflected a superficial intellectualism to reality, which translates into an endless series of cliches and phrases aseptic absolutely not related to the climate / environment of the story.
books I normally do-gooders, smelensi more than ten put together my posts, highly "constructed".
There are no smells, the colors are no shades, all roads are well paved.
And there's that sense of superiority, atmosphere of a poet-prophet, wisdom, granted that it is extremely annoying.
The first read it because the protagonist had my own name, and then the book I was given. A story that looked interesting, which was destroyed on its way from the redundancy of language and communication of thought, and ended without mercy by a final trivial, obvious and diabetic.
The second - "The Alchemist" - I read it because my husband asked me to read it. For him it was a very important text and had given it to me. I hope that in Portuguese is more polished in the Italian translation because I found some syntax errors even really annoying.
The "Manual" I gave it to a friend felt very warrior of light. It has a nice edition, and all blue baby. Sin is the Kingdom of Common Place and Wisdom by two soldiers.
of "Eleven Minutes" (gift from my brother who has no idea what they are good and bad literature, but I wanted to please: "Like my sister, my sister likes to read + + if you ask Brazil a book by a Brazilian author Coelho = anyone tells me is the perfect gift! ") told me that was different from the others. The author himself believes differently, in the preface to the book.
Now: I do regret the way in which the self and the vainglory of a writer who introduced one of his books through the narration of a meeting with one of his "fans", but perhaps digress. Anyway, I already did. And since I already did add that, in the book, Coelho is to tell the protagonist that one of its fundamental books was "The Alchemist"! Not explicitly, of course, but those who have read the book recognize him. Well, since it is the true story may well be that "The Alchemist" has really been a basic text for a Brazilian studies from just above the inside. But the taste was still unwritten rules rather clear on this.
The cover I had alarmed (Bompiani in the A5 hardback in glossy and removable top: Hell editorial aesthetics) but the number of input of "revolution Coelhana" led me to avventurarmici.
And I wondered what on earth we have found different.
The narrative is always there: tank, without peaks and without changes, the linguistic register constant and unchanging: far away from the road, from local, country. Suffering and joy only as described in a picture story without pictures. The pearls of wisdom scattered abundantly as grainy benevolently by a wire jewelry suddenly broken.
have defined a novel raw because it's about prostitution and sadomasochism. Or maybe because it's about human relationships and difficult patients, and raw buckets as there are in the real world. But it is not cruel because it speaks so far, without emotion, without a heartbeat, without even the contrary, without the coldness of who becomes cold and asocial to the bitter experience, without the cynicism of survival.
is a sleek way of writing that relies on the raw object and its colors, its sounds.
Mindful of this, my opinion is not very satisfactory, very unbalanced and absolutely summary I would say that for me, "Unique minutes" is a bad book. Yet another bad book.
Maybe one day I will read something in Portuguese to make sure there is a particular misfortune Coelho in the choice of translators.
Basically I like Coelho *, I love it: baked, with olives.
Coelho * Rabbit in Portuguese means
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