Eleven Minutes (2004)

Author : Paulo Coelho

Genre : Fiction

Pages : 320

Rating : 6/10

For the record, I had considered writing a review of “The Alchemist” first, but then I thought, it would be quite inconsequential to review a book that is worshipped around the world (a simple research would tell you how, an obscenely large number of people around the world believe that it “changed” their lives). Then I suddenly recalled reading a book by the same author which I still believe is a little bit of a disappointment.

I know that all the true fans of Coelho would argue that it isn’t a bad book at all, it’s just “different”. I too agree that it’s not bad. But, seriously, being probably the only guy in this world, who read “Eleven minutes” before he read “The Alchemist”, believe me, I know the true difference. I read both these books at a time, when I didn’t even know who Paulo Coelho was. And that’s why I can safely say this that I found it awkwardly tasteless. I kept reading it at a stretch, and kept thinking to myself,”what the hell is this guy trying to say!”. I mean I couldn’t understand the whole point of telling this story (if you can even call it that). It was like, I was a zombie, and I was eating away normal food, my stomach is getting filled, but then, what’s the point of my being a zombie.

OK now don’t think I am being overtly critical, I liked what I read, that’s the only reason I went on reading it till the finish. But you see, I didn’t get that feeling of satisfaction of being a bit wiser after reading it. No other word describes it better than “Tasteless”. And now that I know very well who Paulo Coelho is, I feel even more dissatisfied. It is a good read, with all that (a bit too much) sex going on around there, but for that purpose, we have Shobha De (the queen of mindless sex in print). It is just not Coelho..!!

It’s about Maria, a girl who chooses to become a prostitute, since she is convinced that true love is something that’s not meant for her (in fact, she thinks it doesn’t even exists). So she lets the life take its own course, thus, never finding any happiness. Maybe that’s one reason of it being a tasteless story, Maria is a bit overtly pessimistic and for a bit too long. A little excitement comes in the end when she has to choose between that insipid life and sacred sex (whatever that means), with the introduction of a handsome young painter. Even I thought that there was some secret message woven in there (as Coelho’s writings generally have), and I couldn’t understand it. But since I understood “The Alchemist” very well, I am quite convinced that there was none here.

If the idea was to depict the picture of a woman’s mind, I think the attempt fell quite flat, since you might hardly ever encounter a woman like Maria in your life (if you do, you’re one lucky bastard!). The only thing good about this book is that, when you read it in one go, you actually connect with Maria. And you will see why Coelho is such a great writer, that’s the only thing making it Coelho-ish. I know, it’s unfair to compare two such different books, and, yes, if you don’t do that, then it’s definitely worth a read, but don’t expect anything remotely Alchemist…