Paulo Coelho comes across as one of that breed of new-age Gurus who have themselves convinced that their pseudo-intellectual babble actually amounts to something. Coffee-house philosophers usually follow the same literary curve: The wisecrackin’ smartly-titled first book, blatant self-promotion, countless spinoffs to milk the initial premise dry, oblivion. But Paulie C. don’ kno’ when to quit. He refuses to respect his best-before date.
I have had my fair share of cheap laughs poking fun at corporate trainers and self-help a-holes but this guy really gets to me. I hate to see him on every best-seller list, having to wave away recommendations from enthusiasts who also, somehow, manage to be my friends. And his rabid rabbit approach to writing does nothing to soothe my condition. “Darn, I missed the March deadline. Better turn out 3 in April so that I can enjoy my Tibet getaway and get my mojo back.”.
Which brings me to the Alchemist, the ultimate turd to sell more than 100 copies. If I owned a polygraph (and had the polygraph any credibility as an accurate instrument of science), I would put everyone who claim they liked it to test. “Umm, yeah.. I liked the book.. I mean the first part was a little boring but it got better towards the end.”. Shut up Sh**face! You didn’t even read the book!!
Check out these links to see him in the “thoughtful author in a tight black Armani tee” and “Practicing archery on the hill-top” poses.