People are like clouds. Sometimes they stay welled up, greyed, and full of pain. Sometimes they let it all out, sometimes they rain.
But whether the drizzle is a happy one or just a premonition of an upcoming storm is quite hard to figure out. There is one thing, however, that we can be sure of and that is the reason behind all they do –
L O V E.
Sometimes it’s the lack of it that drives them mad, sometimes its abundance. But whatever the case, it’s always the extremes that lead to every outburst. Something similar is at the heart of T H E Z A H I R by Paulo Coelho.
I have never really been that keen on Coelho, to be honest. Yes, I have read The Alchemist, and yes, it was a brilliantly written novel but that was years ago and since that one book by him, I never quite got myself to pick up any other of his books. I don’t know but there is something about the way he writes. It’s mysteriously unsettling.It’s like something inside of me wants to escape whenever his words enter my thoughts. I feel…well..I can’t quite put it into words but whatever it was, it stopped me from reading whatever Coelho wrote. That’s why I put off reading The Zahir. It was given to me by my boyfriend who made me promise that I would read it. And I did, thinking that he will soon forget about it and I won’t have to go through that unknown and tremendously disturbing feeling again.
But he would NOT let it happen! DAMN, he would pester me EVERY DAY about it! xD SO MUCH THAT I HAD TO READ IT AND GET IT OVER WITH. He claimed that once I read The Zahir, I will change my opinion of Coelho. I doubted it but I decided to give it a shot anyway.
AND HE WAS RIGHT!
I admit that the first few pages, I didn’t know what was going on and was uninterested. But just as I was about to quit (I was, after all, looking for reasons to just close the book), I was hooked in.
It was like the words were clawing me in and the more I resisted and wanted to leave, the more I kept getting drawn into it. It was like quicksand and I could not break myself free.
I was now a captive of this treacherous little book.
And I never realised when my hate for my captor turned into Stockholm syndrome*!
*ONE DIRECTION, ANYONE??? oh, come on!!!!!
That was the moment I knew I was falling in love with Coelho and what’s weird is that I ENJOYED IT!
The Zahir was becoming my obsession. The sheer volume of the narrator’s thoughts! THEY WERE VERY LOUD! I could hear my mind screaming them back to me, just to ensure that I never forget it.
I was enjoying this kidnapping!I was enjoying how completely detached from the world I was becoming. And somewhere in this process, I found the one answer I too had been searching for soo long, without even realising it –
Am I happy?
There is someone for everyone which sets their souls on fire, who ignites such a passion in their hearts that it becomes impossible to not think about them in every thought, to not see them in every face, to not dream of them every passing night.
But the tragedy is that some people realise this a little too late – that once broken, the fragile thread is never smooth again, the heart is never again. That’s something that happens with our story’s protagonist. He is rich. He is famous. He has the passport to be with any woman he likes and still lead a happily married life. But he isn’t happy. He loves his wife. He loves his career. But he isn’t satisfied. His wife loves him. She loves her life. And yet, she isn’t satisfied either. Neither of them is happy. They need to find that SOMETHING. THAT FEELING OF BEING ALIVE. And in search of their respective obsessions…what will they eventually get?
Passion or despair?
I am T H E Z A H I R.
I was left enthralled by the time I finished reading this absolutely gorgeous book. Have you read The Zahir?
Did you feel the same?
Do you plan to read it?
What are your opinions of Coelho in general?
Do you feel the same aversion as I felt before reading The Zahir?
White lines run in an artistic fashion (on the cover of the book) to form a slender, wild, yet graceful girl walking around, making her way through the chilly woods with an ease of a fox.
She trots on the snow ️ covered ground delicately, taking care not to disturb the lovely white ground. She carries an ocean in her heart, as blue as her eyes, frozen like the frost on her hair. She is a miracle. She is mundane. Look at her and you see two things, the ORDINARY and the OTHERWORLDY, both combined in such beautiful proportions that you cannot help but reach out your hands to touch her cheeks, caress them. Hug her and hold her close.
My interest in this book was limited to the title. I was intrigued. I JUST HAD TO READ IT BUT somewhere in my mind I had this feeling that I was going to be disappointed by what I encounter when I saw the email stating that my request for the book had been approved (on Netgalley), I felt giddy with excitement but there was also a hint of sadness – THAT IT’LL BE A BIG-ASS DISAPPOINTMENT.
And let me tell you one thing –
I HAVE NEVER BEEN SO FUCKING WRONG IN MY ENTIRE LIFE (except maybe once, when I was little and thought that if I dug deep enough, I’ll find lava ;p)
If you find your heart sighing and writhing for the same person OVER AND OVER AND OVER AGAIN, Can you resist? Can you overlook those cries and go back to seeming completely and utterly at peace? No. I BET YOU CAN’T.
READING is the utmost pleasure – that’s true enough.Anyone up for debate on THIS topic, here is my reply to you –
But sometimes it also serves as a reminder of the acute lack ( of what, exactly? ) in our lives. When I see all those characters so intimately involved in each other’s thoughts and feelings – the inner workings of their minds – I can’t help but feel a sharp sting. It reminds me of all the things that I don’t have in my life yet – all those things that I haven’t experienced. And what’s more – it makes me wonder IF I’ll EVER have it all? And these realizations pave way to skepticism. So, in a way reading is dangerous. It is AS TREACHEROUS AS IT IS PLEASURABLE.
”A perfect misanthropist’s Heaven – and Mr. Heathcliff and I are such suitable pair to divide the desolation between us. A capital fellow! He little imagined how my heart warmed towards him when I beheld his black eyes withdraw so surprisingly under his brows as I rode up, and when his fingers sheltered themselves, with a jealous resolution, still further in his waistcoat as I announced my name.”
I was tired from the day’s nothingness. Everything seemed static. I had accomplished nothing that day. I just spent all those hours thinking about how NORMAL my life had become – devoid of any REAL excitement. NOTHING. And that was when I spotted the book, just lying on my side table.On top of it was a half-finished cup of coffee and a piece of cake. SEE, I WAS THAT TIRED!! I did not even finish my CAKE!!! But I mustered strength enough to pick up the book, dust off the crumbs and finally LOOK AT IT. It’s blue cover – the deep of the sky. A girl sitting with her back to my face. I wondered what she was thinking. I wondered what she might be looking at. AND THEN I READ THE TITLE. LIARS AND SAINTS.
I remember when I first read it. And I remember feeling cheated. YES. THAT’S how I was left feeling by the end of the book. A story filled with passion + heartbreak + revenge PITIFUL revenge, I could not get it out of my mind for MONTHS! I was introduced to Gothic Literature by this very, soul-wrenching book and it became a part of me. And so, I have decided to discuss WUTHERING HEIGHTS this month.
Recently, I had the honor of reading a blog post by Blue from To Be a Shennachie where she answers a bunch of super fun questions as a part of the Hobbit Tag started by Kate from Story and Dark Chocolate and I HAVE NEVER BEEN MORE EXCITED TO DO A TAG BEFORE!!!