By the River Piedra I sat down and wept

Review by Booklist Review

Coelho's The Alchemist (1994) was a surprise smash and made him the second most widely read Latin American author (after Gabriel Garcia Marquez). Here he offers another parable, this time about love, both personal and transcendent. The story's heroine, Pilar, remeets an old childhood friend, a charismatic seminarian who centers his devotion on Mary and the feminine face of God. Pilar, who has deliberately chosen a narrow life, is literally swept away by her unnamed friend as he takes her on a trip to the French Pyrenees. Each must search their hearts to discover whether the love they want to share can become compatible with the young man's vocation. Although the story has its charming and vibrant aspects, it is also occasionally muddled, especially in its theology, which is only vaguely explained. Readers will have only the dimmest sense of how (and, for that matter, why) the young man is torn between heaven and earth. Given that lack of definition, it's no real surprise when the couple gets together at the end. Still, the path they take to get there has a few interesting twists and turns, and Coelho's familiar message about the spirituality of love will please his devoted following. (Reviewed March 1, 1996)0062513982Ilene Cooper

From Booklist, Copyright (c) American Library Association. Used with permission.

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Review by Publisher's Weekly Review

Before James Redfield there was Coelho, whose fiction laden with spiritual messages has proved more popular overseas than here. (The Alchemist, first published in Brazil in 1988 and here in 1993, glanced PW's paperback bestseller list but has sold two million copies in South America.) Though likely to please the author's fans, this new novel, a didactic love story set in modern-day Spain, may not extend his reach. Its heroine is Pilar, 28, who, in the company of her former boyfriend, learns over the course of seven days that "the spiritual path is traveled by means of the daily experience of love." That may be music to Coelho devotees, but others will note the surrounding cacophony-the incessant lapsing from narrative into lecture; the stilted characters, who lack motive and verisimilitude (after 10 years of separation, the ex, a former seminarian, now an esteemed miracle worker, invites Pilar for coffee and declares his love for her). Coelho's message, though, informed by his adherence to the Roman Catholic sect of the Order of Ram, is invariably heartfelt and challenging, emphasizing the feminine aspects of the divine and the charismatic aspects of worship. "Some day," Pilar learns, "people would realize... that we can perform miracles, cure, prophesize and understand." Whether that understanding will encompass Coelho's reasons for sacrificing dramatic integrity to polemic, and for insisting on cloaking sermons in fictional trappings, remains to be seen. $75,000 ad/promo. (June) (c) Copyright PWxyz, LLC. All rights reserved

(c) Copyright PWxyz, LLC. All rights reserved

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Review by Kirkus Book Review

By the Brazilian author of The Alchemist (1993) and the nonfictional The Valkyries: An Encounter with Angels (1995), a more mature work of fiction that may sell big. Coelho adds fiber to his usual dish of inspirational spun-sugar with this new Christian romance, set in Spain and the Pyrenees. The story follows practical law student Pilar, who at 28 has lost her faith and who suddenly finds herself pursued by a childhood friend she hasn't seen for ten years. One day in December, she receives a letter inviting her to a lecture on religion that that long-lost friend will give in Madrid. Pilar finds that he's now a believer in the miracle of the ``Magic Moment,'' an instant in time when God gives us a chance ``to change everything that makes us unhappy.'' He's also a fervent believer in the Virgin Mary, the ``feminine face of God.'' Has her friend become a seminarian, as he's suggested in a letter to her? Pilar doesn't know, but he wines and dines her and asks her to accompany him on a trip. Soon the two are sharing confidences (but not their bodies), while visiting churches and shrines, including Lourdes. This is mostly a two-character novel, with a priest used for exposition and as a means of filling in the background of Pilar's beloved (who remains nameless, being referred to simply as ``he'' in the narrative) as a Charismatic healer. Yes, he has the gift of laying on of hands, granted him by the Virgin when he spoke to her in tongues at a meeting of Charismatics. Even Pilar finds she can speak in tongues. Mild erotic tension grows as The Bridges of Madison County (will martyr Meryl run off with Clint?) meets The Garden of Allah (will disillusioned Dietrich wed deserter Trappist Boyer?) and Love demands that Pilar's beloved abandon healing for sexual/spiritual fulfillment. Sex and God whipped into a tasty mayonnaise. ($75,000 ad/promo)

Copyright (c) Kirkus Reviews, used with permission.

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By the River Piedra I Sat Down and Wept Chapter One By the river Piedra I sat down and wept. There is a legend that everything that falls into the waters of this river -- leaves, insects, the feathers of birds -- is transformed into the rocks that make the riverbed. If only I could tear out my heart and hurl it into the current, then my pain and longing would be over, and I could finally forget. By the River Piedra I sat down and wept. The winter air chills the tears on my cheeks, and my tears fall into the cold waters that course past me. Somewhere, this river joins another, then another, until -- far from my heart and sight -- all of them merge with the sea. May my tears run just as far, that my love might never know that one day I cried for him. May my tears run just as far, that I might forget the River Piedra, the monastery, the church in the Pyrenees, the mists, and the paths we walked together. I shall forget the roads, the mountains, and the fields of my dreams -- the dreams that will never come true. I remember my "magic moment" -- that instant when a "yes" or a "no" can change one's life forever. It seems so long ago now. It is hard to believe that it was only last week that I had found my love once again, and then lost him. I am writing this story on the bank of the River Piedra. My hands are freezing, my legs are numb, and every minute I want to stop. "Seek to live. Remembrance is for the old," he said. Perhaps love makes us old before our time -- or young, if youth has passed. But how can I not recall those moments? That is why I write -- to try to turn sadness into longing, solitude into remembrance. So that when I finish telling myself the story, I can toss it into the Piedra. That's what the woman who has given me shelter told me to do. Only then -- in the words of one of the saints -- will the water extinguish what the flames have written. All love stories are the same. We had been children together. Then he left, like so many young people who leave small towns. He said he was going to learn about the world, that his dreams lay beyond the fields of Soria. Years passed with almost no news of him. Every now and then he would send me a letter, but he never returned to the paths and forests of our childhood. When I finished school, I moved to Zaragoza, and there I found that he had been right. Soria was a small town, and as its only famous poet had said, roads are made to be traveled. I enrolled in the university and found a boyfriend. I began to study for a scholarship (I was working as a salesgirl to pay for my courses). But I lost the competition for the scholarship, and after that I left my boyfriend. Then the letters from my childhood friend began to arrive more frequently -- and I was envious of the stamps from so many different places. He seemed to know everything; he had sprouted wings, and now he roamed the world. Meanwhile, I was simply trying to put down roots. Some of his letters, all mailed from the same place in France, spoke of God. In one, he wrote about wanting to enter a seminary and dedicate his life to prayer. I wrote him back, asking him to wait a bit, urging him to experience more of his freedom before committing himself to something so serious. But after I reread my letter, I tore it up. Who was I to speak about freedom or commitment? Compared to him, I knew nothing about such things. One day I learned that he had begun to give lectures. This surprised me; I thought he was too young to be able to teach anything to anyone. And then he wrote to me that he was going to speak to a small group in Madrid -- and he asked me to come. So I made the four-hour trip from Zaragoza to Madrid. I wanted to see him again; I wanted to hear his voice. I wanted to sit with him in a caf‚ and remember the old days, when we had thought the world was far too large for anyone ever to know it truly. Saturday, December 4, 1993 The place where the conference was held was more formal than I had imagined it, and there were more people there than I had expected. How had all this come about? He must be famous, I thought. He'd said nothing about this in his letters. I wanted to go up to the people in the audience and ask them why they were there, but I didn't have the nerve. I was even more surprised when I saw him enter the room. He was quite different from the boy I had known-- but of course, it had been twelve years; people change. Tonight his eyes were shining -- he looked wonderful. "He's giving us back what was ours," said a woman seated next to me. A strange thing to say. "What is he giving back?" I asked. "What was stolen from us. Religion." "No, no, he's not giving us anything back," said a younger woman seated on my right. "They can't return something that has always belonged to us." "Well, then, what are you doing here?" the first woman asked, irritated. "I want to listen to him. I want to see how they think; they've already burned us at the stake once, and they may want to do it again." "He's just one voice," said the woman. "He's doing what he can." The young woman smiled sarcastically and turned away, putting an end to the conversation. By the River Piedra I Sat Down and Wept . Copyright © by Paulo Coelho. Reprinted by permission of HarperCollins Publishers, Inc. All rights reserved. Available now wherever books are sold. Excerpted from By the River Piedra I Sat down and Wept by Paulo Coelho All rights reserved by the original copyright owners. Excerpts are provided for display purposes only and may not be reproduced, reprinted or distributed without the written permission of the publisher.

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