A Fatuous Fable of Obsession (The Zahir - Paulo Coelho)

Member Name: Puggers

Product:	The Zahir - Paulo Coelho
Date:	21/04/09 (317 review reads)
Rating:

Advantages: Some nicely-written sections, promising concept.

Disadvantages: A loosely-connected collection of near-meaningless waffle.

The Zahir, according to Jorge Luis Borges, has at various times been a tiger, a compass and a vein in the marble pillar of a synagogue. These are only three of its many incarnations, for the Zahir is not something tangible in itself; it can take any form. Rather, it is an object of extreme obsession. The Arabic word "zahir" has a number of direct translations, all connected to but not precisely defining the notion - it has instead become what one makes it. In Paulo Coelho's interpretation, it is a woman.

A fusion of autobiography and fiction, but mainly the latter, The Zahir relates the story of a vastly successful novelist living in Paris, who narrates his search for his missing wife. Previously a war correspondent, Esther had no apparent reason to leave, but neither is there any hint of a sinister aspect to her disappearance. The narrator comes to thinking that there is some aspect of his life, or existence - perhaps his conception of the world - which is deficient, incomplete. If he can figure this out, maybe he can track down Esther. Coelho's novel, then, is the protagonist's mental and physical quest to bring his wife back home.

I was once asked, upon finishing Coelho's most famous book, The Alchemist, whether I had enjoyed it. As I recall, I said that it was "pretty good" - I meant this in relation to the hype which surrounds it, suggesting it is a truly great novel. Unfortunately, my intended (very) faint praise was read as something more enthusiastic, and I've been deluged with Paulo Coelho titles every Christmas since. I haven't read them all, and have scant intention of doing so, finding his novels inevitably pretentious, pseudo-deep waffle, without a well-developed character in sight. Occasionally, I do read one though - and as such, I approached The Zahir with low expectations.

The topic, on the face of it, is a good one, rich with potential. After all, there are many good books about obsession, and many more which require their protagonists to re-evaluate the lives they thought they knew (indeed, my previous review, The Remains of the Day, is a fine example of this). A talented author should be able to bring plenty out of this - although it's a strange paradox that there's great doubt as to whether Coelho is this, even having sold hundreds of millions of books.

I don't know whether my initial low expectations only became a self-fulfilling prophecy - but at no point did this novel become any more than I was expecting. Adam Mars-Jones (The Guardian, 2005) refers to the books as being made up of 'fatuous parables', and I find this an intensely accurate description of both The Zahir and Coelho's writing as a whole.

Unfortunately, there's just no way in which the novel delivers upon the promises the premise makes; for a novel about obsession, we see very little of this in the first-person narrative, which should be geared up to lay open the narrator's troubled soul. We get instead a series of tenuously linked little stories and quaint fables that make neat points and are nicely told, but are entirely absent of any real impact, and contribute imperceptibly to the plot. Coelho has always trod a fine line between deep philosophical insights and empty hokum, even at the height of his powers - and this is no zenith.

The plot, too, is weak. I referred to the dual focus of the narrator's journey earlier, both a mental and physical quest. The mental is weak, and the physical does little to make up for this. In relocating the narrative from Paris to Kazakhstan, the setting changes, but the story does not. The narrator could be anywhere in the world, reciting the same vague "deep and meaningful" mantras - where the outside world should be at least an influence on the plot, it is instead only a two-dimensional, hurriedly-painted backdrop, swapped over while the curtains are closed without the actors noticing.

I'd like to find something positive in this book; the best I can do is to say that there are obviously plenty of people out there who do appreciate Coelho - perhaps if you take his contemplations as a starting point for thought, rather than as an ends in themselves, there's merit here. Perhaps. There's nothing especially wrong with the writing, taken in smallish chunks. It's diverting enough, and includes some nice scenes and well-written dialogue - it just doesn't add up to much of a story when put together.
Coelho is of course, greatly successful, and bad reviews have never stopped his books selling astoundingly well. But if he's into these novels examining the peculiarities of the human psyche, I'd be interested in reading his account of his own success. Actually, that's a lie - I probably wouldn't, but it'd sell millions.

Summary: A tale of obsession from the curious phenomenon that is Paulo Coelho.