The Alchemist…

I hate not finishing a book, but two-thirds of the way through Paulo Coelho’s The Alchemist, I’m sending my copy to the charity shop. I know it’s fairly old now, but I picked it up in a book sale for a good cause, so it’s not an entirely wasted purchase. Plus, I got Gabriel García Márquez’s One Hundred Years of Solitude at the same time and I’m looking forward to reading that.

I wouldn’t attempt a review of The Alchemist so long after publication, but suffice to say that it felt so trite, one-dimensional and clumsily ‘self-help’that I was just left wandering what all the fuss was about – I remember it being a huge publication back in the day. But, it seems to have been written by a ten-year-old for an audience of five-year-olds.

The gushing blurb from Madonna (of all people) on the back should have been a warning I suppose, but I honestly do try not to judge a book by its cover – an error of judgement in this case…

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