There’s an awful lot about following your heart and the truth being in all of us etc. It’s because the novel tries to become extremely profound, and succeeds in sounding rather silly. And it’s not even my documented reluctance for magical realism. I’ve never been to Morocco, but I felt rather like I had when I was reading this.īut as the novel moves forward, and Coelho loses any sense of being tethered to the ground, then I lost my affection for The Alchemist. All of the stuff in Morocco was a delight, and I would happily have read a novel of his experience in the crystal shop – becoming something of a surrogate child to the crystal seller. Santiago is a wonderful character – an interesting mix of determination, hope, uncertainty, and naivety.

So, what did I think? Well, I really enjoyed the first third of the novel. And then it all becomes a mixture of magic realism and an Aesopian fable. Rather late in the day, he does get to Egypt and meet the alchemist – who seems more minor a character than I’d have anticipated from the title. He is still determined to raise the money to find this supposed treasure. I can’t remember if it’s spelled out, but I’m pretty sure he’s in Morocco – where his money gets stolen by a conman, and he must work for a crystal merchant. Off he goes to Africa but not, he quickly learns, materially nearer Egypt than he was when he started.

But he dreams of more from life, and can’t stop thinking about a fortune he received from a fortune teller – that he should travel to Egypt to discover treasure. In case there are others who didn’t know the plot – it’s about this boy called Santiago who lives in Andalusia, where he is a shepherd. … an enormous sycamore had grown on the spot where the sacristy had once stood. Dusk was falling as the boy arrived with his herd at an abandoned church. I was certainly intrigued by the atmosphere of the opening paragraph: This edition is translated from the Portuguese by Alan Clarke – I don’t know if there are mutliple translations out there. Well, my book group chose this book and I borrowed a copy from my brother Colin, who hadn’t been enthusiastic in his mini review of it. Except that I’ve always got it mixed up with Perfume by Patrick Suskind, which I also hadn’t read. I’d obviously heard of The Alchemist (1988) by Paulo Coelho, but I couldn’t tell you a lot about it. It always feels slightly different to read a book that is a worldwide bestseller.

The alchemist book