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'Aleph' by Paulo Coelho (Courtesy of Knopf)
Paulo Coelho is most famous for his über-bestseller “The Alchemist,” which has been translated into dozens of languages and has sold over 65 million copies—and for good reason. The inspirational allegory about a young boy finding the Philosopher’s Stone and his “ Personal Legend” is a favorite book of many including this reviewer.
So I was very excited to read Coelho’s autobiographical, newly released “Aleph.” With a title like “Aleph,” a word used in the Jewish tradition of Kabbalah and the title of a mystical short story by another Latin American writer, Jorge Luis Borges, I wondered if Coelho’s new book would be allegorical too and steeped in mysticism.
Instead, it is a very down-to-earth and insightful recounting of Coelho’s own quest for meaning, the mystical in his own life, and the fulfillment of his Personal Legend. It is surprising that a man who could write a book that brought inspiration to so many was himself in such need of insight.
It begins at his home in the hamlet of Saint Martin in the French Pyrenees, in the midst of a midlife, spiritual crisis. His life is deluged with routine, what St. John of the Cross referred to as the “dark night of the soul.” His teacher suggests that he go on a journey to reconnect with himself and the present, and “reconquer his Kingdom,” just as Homer’s Odysseus did thousands of years before.
Coelho is very articulate in describing his spiritual struggles. He pinpoints accurately the challenges many of us face. We don’t seem to rule our kingdom and, whether successful or not, we are at a deep level not happy. In fact, sometimes the unhappiness is heightened by success, because we think that success is the key to happiness.
Coelho isn’t happy. He is one of the most successful writers of his age, has money to live anywhere, a strong marriage, and can travel at will. But something is missing. So he must make the outward journey for the inward journey to unfold.
He leaves home and, just to commit to something, makes an impetuous decision to take a two-month trip from one side of Russia to another on the Trans-Siberian Railway.
At the center of the story is the evolving relationship between Coelho and the young violinist Hilal, who appears outside of Coelho’s hotel in Moscow. Her “eyes speak of love and death,” and she insists she is there to help him and needs to accompany him on his journey. At first, he brushes her off, but eventually impressed by her determination, allows her to accompany him. It turns out that her intuition was right. There is indeed a connection between them. Together, standing in the vestibule of the train, they enter the aleph, a place where all points collide. He discovers he needs her forgiveness for a sin he committed against her in a past life.
I found much of the novel engrossing, and while I am a bit hesitant to bring forward any criticism toward a writer I like so much, I found the idea of it asking forgiveness in this life for something that happened in a past life challenging to relate to. Yet I can appreciate the idea of karma. Maybe the crux of the redemption in the story sped past me, like the train Coelho was on. The descriptions of his journeys into the past seemed a little unrealistic somehow.
Coelho’s “The Alchemist,” on the other hand, pulled off the otherworldliness with aplomb. The entire story was otherworldly. But in “Aleph,” the switch back and forth between the present and the historical made the historical parts feel as if they were painted with broader strokes than the detailed, present-day accounts and so felt a bit contrived.
“The Alchemist” is successful in its simple telling of the story without unnecessary explanation. In writing classes, the rule is “show not tell.” “The Alchemist” is a model of showing, whereas “Aleph” tells a bit too much for my taste. For example, in one chapter where he visits a shaman, he adds what feels like a mini Wikipedia entry on shamanism to explain the situation. I would rather just experience the mystery of the event itself.
That being said, Coelho is a highly gifted writer, and it shows in “Aleph.” Using a well-picked trope, he can encapsulate a central idea on multiple levels. For example, in the African city of Tunis, he is with one of his readers who is an aspiring novelist. They see a lantern, which the reader explains, is the origin of the phrase, “The light falls only on the stranger.” It is apt because Paulo is the famous one there while the reader is still trying to make a name for himself. It functions on a different level too, as it is the lantern of the stranger, or the “sacred fire” as the Paulo calls it elsewhere, that helps to illuminate Coelho’s path.
Coelho’s book served as a lantern for me as well, helping me reconquer my kingdom. I felt stuck doing the same thing over and over and not making any progress. So, I took a trip to New York City and then shortly thereafter moved to San Francisco where I now live. The change of venue broke me out of the routine of the everyday, helping me to grow further, just as Coelho’s trip did for him.
The importance of a book may be measured by the effect it has on one’s life. If that is so, “Aleph” might help you break out of the monotony of routine and once again become the ruler of your own kingdom, if you let it.