Coelho Redeemed

Now I know I’m no authority on literature. I haven’t read enough to qualify as someone who could possibly reflect profoundly about the many allegorical inferences in what is hailed as the best work of contemporary literature in recent memory. To me The Alchemist was a ho-hum experience. It may be argued that it is because of the poor translation that the book loses its oomph but it wasn’t the quality of the writing alone that failed to impress but also the basic premise which has seemingly changed lives and cured heartaches and what not. I failed to see what was so great about the evangelical spiel the author doles out in that obscure tale that at the end of the day seems to have its mouth closed tightly over its own tale. Sure the message is of hope and of optimism and of faith but its not the first time someone has risen from the darkest depths of despair to rise and preach the miraculous effects of having faith in themselves.

It could also be argued that since I’m a committed pessimist I refuse to see the silver lining, but my gripe against the book isn’t based on its message of positive thinking, of keeping the faith et al. It’s more about the method chosen to relay the message.

Everyone gushes over this book but I failed to see why. To me it was a man trying desperately to preach a way of thought that most movies and fairytales have been trying to preach for a long long time for no really good reason. We don’t need people to tell us what real life is like, we live it every damn day. We live it and we know that life is essentially random, that shit happens and that you have to rise from the ashes even if it ain’t much like a phoenix and keep on moving lest we be condemned as madmen or lovers.

Then again, that’s just me. Maybe people do need people to tell them how to live their lives, maybe they believe that if they follow their dreams the whole universe conspires in their favor but I think those of us who have been around long enough know that life is a whole lot of struggle and a whole lot of hard work and whole lot of dumb luck. We know that no matter what blunders we make they remain in the past if only we have the strength of character to learn from our mistakes and not escape from them, we know that the key to success is not in blindly following dreams but in setting goals, in drawing objectives and in going after them head-first, provided that circumstances permit. Unless of course your self respect is up for sale or you are too much of a narcissist to really care about those whose lives become entwined with yours without really knowing whether you’re making your destiny or merely following it.

So with this kind of a reaction to the almighty Alchemist I had no choice but to give the dude another chance and fate (hah) brought On the bank of the River Piedra, I sat down and wept. This book was mutilated in translation. I could tell just by reading it that whoever wrote the English version did not do justice to the original. The imagery here could be beautiful, and I’m willing to bet that the guy who can conceptualize such brilliance probably can do justice to it with his words. The translation though kills the book and its meaning and its gravity. This was still a better read than The Alchemist primarily because it at least acknowledges some merit in being realistic and gives a more logical argument to the established norms of human existence. I would still not say that the philosophy preached here qualifies as something life changing or something that should be exercised in all its implications but I could feel that having a discussion over a J with the dude would probably yield positive intellectual stimulation. Nothing more though, and nothing less was I willing to give Coelho for his efforts.

Then my sister came across an old copy of The Fifth Mountain that Dad had bought some years ago. She feels much the same way as I do about Coelho and was just as curious to find out what the hell exactly is it about him that people like so much.

For both of us, The Fifth Mountain had the answer.

The translation here isn’t very impressive either but it is better than the other two books I’ve read. It does justice to the moments that the writer has crafted in his head. As someone who aspires to be a writer I know that what looks positively awe-striking inside our heads is often virtually impossible to translate into words. OF all the stuff I’ve written both fiction and non-fiction, only twice have I been able to actually realize the intensity I felt inside my head. One was in Of Ellipses and pregnant pause which remains the most honest piece of writing I have ever had the courage to pen down and Suicide note which is easily the most dishonest. To do justice to the thoughts in one’s own head is fucking hard. But to not only take someone else’s thoughts and understand them enough to actually translate them into a whole other language is a task so daunting that I have never even thought about trying it. Whoever did the translation for The Fifth Mountain must’ve made Coelho proud. Not only is the story as complete as any writer worth his salt would want it to be but its just as powerful too.

I loved the way Coelho constructed the protagonist here, Elijah breathes and blinks and walks. He’s not just in the words on the yellowed pages, he exists. I could empathize, and invoking your audience’s empathy is the single most important objective for any central character.

More importantly though, in the context of Coelho himself, what was redeeming about this book was the clarity of thought that comes across. At no time is Coelho losing control of his message here, unlike particularly in The Alchemist, At no time is a reader unaware of the personality of the protagonist or disappointed at the choices he makes. Elijah comes of as a much more praiseworthy and follow-able symbol.

Notice that Coelho’s philosophy is much the same in all his books, follow your dreams. I’m all for that, what I fail to buy or where you fail to sell your ideology to me is when you try to guarantee a happy ending. Happiness is relative and nothing that is relative can ever be guaranteed. Death is not relative, Death is guaranteed. When you acknowledge the realities of life, no matter how bitter or how disappointing they may be, you are showing courage more so than ignorance. And that essentially is what the difference between The Fifth Mountain and the other two books is, where this is courageous, they were ignorant.

What I liked about Coelho though is his consistency. He may be plagued by bad translations and by an overdose of positive thinking but the dude’s loyal to his beliefs. And that, if nothing else, earns him my respect.