I do not think it is often the most effective use of your time to consume yourself with Coelho book after Coelho book as I have done for a week and one day.
It started off with a casual suggestion by my soon to be mother-in-law to read the alchemist on the way from Spain to Philadelphia before I embarked on my enlightening Vermont trip.
I read the Alchemist, and was so moved I decided to then read Eleven Minutes, which turned into me also reading Veronika Decides To Die, which has now led me to finish, as of five minutes ago, The Zahir, which was my least favorite of the four, but still I now have Brida waiting for me to begin.
I thought, maybe, I have an addiction, and I should spare myself from Coelho’s philosophical grasp, so I got two books by authors Bryan Furuness and Junot Diaz, who both come highly recommend from Google Play and my mother. Yet, all I want to do is begin reading Brida, and I’m rightfully afraid I will.
I have been overcome with “finding myself” thoughts, “going against the grain”, being ” different as a symptom of being insane and yet free”. I am thinking about holding on less. Being free more. Loving deeper. Feeling the Lady or rather the divine wind.
I stare at my partner in wretched pain, desiring to tell him my thoughts, if, only to release myself. But he hasn’t read any of the books, my inconsistent philosophical ramblings will be loss on him.
As I sit here, heavy in thought from my last Coelho book, I know I must surrender to Brida. I must just turn the page and get it over with. Oh Paulo, if only you knew how much control you have taken over my life!
I even Wikipedia you to learn more about you, although, I feel your writings have already spoken volumes, and yet, more books! I could swim in them!
Is it safe to say, I’ve fallen for the words of a sixty year old Brazilian author?
Sigh, so as Brida begins “I want to learn magic….”