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A review by js2313
Hippie by Paulo Coelho
1.0
When I was seventeen, I read "The Alchemist" in order to impress a girl. Much to my surprise, I found myself enraptured with Coelho's most famous offering and summarily pronounced him the greatest living author in any language. This sent me on a binge, and over the course of the next three or four years, I read approximately a dozen of his books, immersing myself in the Brazilian scribe's metaphysical narratives and attempting very sincerely to adopt his deep and meaningful worldview.
But over that same stretch of time, I also did some living - went to college, traveled a bit, exposed myself to challenging writing of all sorts - and by the time I finished "Love" sometime in 2011, I had seen enough of him for a lifetime. His writing no longer grabbed me the way it had. It felt cheap and easy - a mixture of tired cliches and pretentious characters.
But there is a still a nostalgia that comes with falling in love with a writer and their work, and when I came across "Hippie" this year, I thought he might be worth revisiting. Perhaps I'd become jaded in college and gave his work an unfair shake. As it turns out, that was not the case. "Hippie" is every bit as unambitious, pompous, and shallow as I had feared. Coelho (who I am sure is a fine person) leans on the language of vague mysticism to prop up a semi-autobiographical retelling of a mediocre story. The dust jacket promises a story of an adventure, set against the turbulent backdrop of the hippie movement. Instead, we get endlessly pedantic discussions about the nature of the universe and love, none of which would seem out of place in a freshman dorm room. Add to this the fact that Coelho can't write dialogue to save his life (every character speaks in stilted, melodramatic tones which conveniently underscore his philosophy) and you've got a book that just isn't worth your time.
The ending is a fitting punchline to this half-baked attempt at a memoir. In spite of the lovingly hand-drawn map in the opening pages, which shoes the winding journey all the way to Kathmandu, Coelho doesn't even make it halfway to Nepal before abandoning his journey. His trip peters out in Instanbul, more than 3,000 miles from his destination. And thank God for that, because I seriously doubt I would have survived the Asian continent with Coelho as my guide.
But over that same stretch of time, I also did some living - went to college, traveled a bit, exposed myself to challenging writing of all sorts - and by the time I finished "Love" sometime in 2011, I had seen enough of him for a lifetime. His writing no longer grabbed me the way it had. It felt cheap and easy - a mixture of tired cliches and pretentious characters.
But there is a still a nostalgia that comes with falling in love with a writer and their work, and when I came across "Hippie" this year, I thought he might be worth revisiting. Perhaps I'd become jaded in college and gave his work an unfair shake. As it turns out, that was not the case. "Hippie" is every bit as unambitious, pompous, and shallow as I had feared. Coelho (who I am sure is a fine person) leans on the language of vague mysticism to prop up a semi-autobiographical retelling of a mediocre story. The dust jacket promises a story of an adventure, set against the turbulent backdrop of the hippie movement. Instead, we get endlessly pedantic discussions about the nature of the universe and love, none of which would seem out of place in a freshman dorm room. Add to this the fact that Coelho can't write dialogue to save his life (every character speaks in stilted, melodramatic tones which conveniently underscore his philosophy) and you've got a book that just isn't worth your time.
The ending is a fitting punchline to this half-baked attempt at a memoir. In spite of the lovingly hand-drawn map in the opening pages, which shoes the winding journey all the way to Kathmandu, Coelho doesn't even make it halfway to Nepal before abandoning his journey. His trip peters out in Instanbul, more than 3,000 miles from his destination. And thank God for that, because I seriously doubt I would have survived the Asian continent with Coelho as my guide.