Paulo Coelho 11 minutes description. Eleven minutes. About the book “11 Minutes” by Paulo Coelho

This was not the first time I heard these words, but each time I rejoiced at them. However, at that moment I was very confused, because I knew that “Eleven Minutes” was a book that talked about a subject that could confuse, shock, and hurt. I went to the source, got some water, returned, asked where this man lived (it turned out to be in the north of France, on the border with Belgium), and wrote down his name.

This book is dedicated to you, Maurice Gravelin. I have obligations to you, to your wife and granddaughter - but also to myself: I must talk about what worries and occupies me, and not about what everyone would like to hear from me. Some books make us dream, others immerse us in reality, but all of them are imbued with the most important thing for the author - sincerity.

For I am the first and I am the last

I am revered and despised

I am a harlot and a saint

I am a wife and a maiden

I am mother and daughter

I am my mother's hands

I am barren, but my children are countless

I am happily married and single

I am the one who gives birth

and she who will never give birth to offspring

I ease the pain of labor

I am a husband and wife

And it was I who gave birth to my husband

I am my father's mother

I am my husband's sister

Worship me forever

For I am malicious and generous.

Hymn to Isis, discovered at Nag Hammadi, 3rd or 4th century (?) BC. e.

And so, a woman of that city, who was a sinner, having learned that He was reclining in the house of a Pharisee, brought an alabaster vessel of ointment;

And standing behind His feet and weeping, she began to wet His feet with tears and wipe them with the hair of her head, and kissed His feet and anointed them with myrrh.

Seeing this, the Pharisee who invited Him said to himself: if He were a prophet, He would know who and what kind of woman was touching Him, for she was a sinner.

Turning to him, Jesus said: Simon! I have something to tell you. He says: tell me, Teacher.

Jesus said: A certain creditor had two debtors: one owed five hundred denarii, and the other fifty;

But since they did not have anything to pay, he forgave them both. Tell me, which of them will love him more?

Simon answered: I think the one to whom he forgave more. He said to him: you judged correctly.

And turning to the woman, he said to Simon: Do you see this woman? I came to your house, and you did not give me water for my feet; and she wet My feet with her tears and wiped them with the hair of her head.

You didn't give me a kiss; and she, since I came, has not stopped kissing My feet.

Therefore I tell you: her many sins are forgiven because she loved much; and he who is forgiven little loves little.

Luke 7:37–47

Once upon a time there lived a prostitute named Maria. Wait a minute! “Once upon a time” is good for the beginning of a fairy tale, but a story about a prostitute is clearly for adults. How can a book open with such a blatant contradiction? But since each of us has one foot in fairy tale, and the other is over the abyss, let's still continue as we started. So:

Once upon a time there lived a prostitute named Maria.

Like all prostitutes, she was born pure and immaculate, and while she was growing up, she kept dreaming that she would meet the man of her dreams (he would be handsome, rich and smart), marry him (white dress, veil with orange blossom), give birth to two children (they will grow up and become famous), will live in good home(with sea view). Her father sold from a stall, her mother sewed, and in her hometown, lost in the Brazilian outback, there was only a cinema, a restaurant and a bank - all in the singular - and therefore Maria waited tirelessly: the day would come and come without warnings, a handsome prince will fall in love with her madly and take her away to conquer the world.

Well, while the handsome prince was away, all that was left was to dream. She fell in love for the first time when she was eleven years old, on the way from home to school. On the very first day of classes, Maria realized that she had a travel companion: a neighbor boy went to school with her on the same schedule. They never said a word to each other, but she began to notice that she liked most those moments when long road– there is a column of dust, the sun is beating down mercilessly, thirst is tormenting – she, exhausted, keeps up with the boy who is walking at a fast pace.

And since, as you know, time passes more slowly for children than for adults, she suffered greatly and was angry that these endless days gave her only ten minutes of love and thousands of hours to think about her lover and imagine how wonderful it would be if only they had talked.

And then it happened.

One fine morning the boy came up to her and asked if she had an extra hand. Maria did not answer, pretended to be offended by such a daring outburst, and quickened her pace. But when she saw that he was heading towards her, everything sank inside her: suddenly she would realize how much she loved him, how impatiently she was waiting, how she dreamed of taking his hand and, having passed the doors of the school, walking further and further along road until it ends, until it leads to where - people say - it stands big city, and there everything will be exactly as they show on TV: artists, cars, cinema on every corner, and all kinds of pleasures and entertainment there.

She couldn’t concentrate on the lesson all day, tormented that she had behaved so stupidly, and at the same time rejoicing because the boy had finally noticed her, and that he asked for a pen was just an excuse, a reason to start a conversation: after all, when he approached, She noticed that she had her own sticking out of his pocket. And that night - and all the subsequent ones - Maria kept thinking about how she would answer him next time, so as not to make a mistake and begin a story that would have no ending.

But there was no next time. Although they continued, as before, to walk to school the same way - Maria sometimes walked ahead, clutching her hand in her right fist, and sometimes lagged behind so that she could look at him from behind with tenderness - but he didn’t say a word to her anymore, so until the very end academic year she had to love and suffer in silence.

And then the endless holidays dragged on, and then one day she woke up covered in blood, thought she was dying, and decided to leave it to this very boy farewell letter, admit that she had never loved anyone so much in her life, and then run away into the forest, so that she could be torn to pieces by a werewolf or a headless mule - one of those monsters that kept the surrounding peasants in fear. Only if such a death overtakes her, she thought, will her parents not be killed, because the poor are built that way - troubles fall on them like out of a thin bag, but hope still remains. So let her parents think that their girl was taken in by some childless rich people and that, God willing, someday she will return to her father’s house in all its splendor and with a lot of money, but the one she fell in love with (for the first time, but forever), will remember her all his life and reproach himself every morning for not turning to her again.

This is the most frank, the most naturalistic - and the most scandalous of Paulo Coelho's novels. A novel-story about a prostitute named Maria. It is she, a professional priestess of love, who will have to express the author’s doubts and thoughts about a problem that has long been brewing in modern society, but about which no one has yet dared to speak openly. “Our civilization has gone somewhere wrong, and it’s not about the ozone hole, not about the destruction of the Amazon forests, not about the extinction of panda bears, not about smoking, not about carcinogenic products and not about the crisis of the prison system, as the newspapers declare. Namely in the sphere of existence where Maria worked - in sex.”

As in all other books by Coelho, in “Eleven Minutes” each reader will find a response to his own questions that are important to him. But just as in other works, he will not receive ready-made answers to them. After all, the search for your own Truth is a purely personal matter. And, perhaps, it is the novel “Eleven Minutes” that will help someone find mental and physical harmony.

Paulo Coelho

Eleven minutes

Dedication

This was not the first time I heard these words, but each time I rejoiced at them. However, at that moment I was very confused, because I knew that “Eleven Minutes” was a book talking about a subject that could confuse, shock, and hurt. I went to the source, got some water, returned, asked where this man lived (it turned out to be in the north of France, on the border with Belgium), and wrote down his name.

For I am the first and I am the last I am revered and despised I am the harlot and the holy

I am a wife and a maiden

I am mother and daughter

I am my mother's hands

I am barren, but my children are countless. I am happy in marriage and unmarried. I am the one who gives birth, and the one who will never give birth to offspring. I ease the pains of childbirth. I am the husband and wife. And it was I who gave birth to my husband. I am the mother. my father I am the sister of my husband Worship me forever.

For I am malicious and generous.

Hymn to Isis, discovered at Nag Hammadi, 3rd or 4th century (?) BC. e.

And so, a woman of that city, who was a sinner, having learned that He was reclining in the house of a Pharisee, brought an alabaster vessel of ointment;

And standing behind His feet and weeping, she began to wet His feet with tears and wipe them with the hair of her head, and kissed His feet and anointed them with myrrh.

Seeing this, the Pharisee who invited Him said to himself: if He were a prophet, He would know who and what kind of woman was touching Him, for she was a sinner.

Turning to him, Jesus said: Simon! I have something to tell you. He says: tell me, Teacher.

Jesus said: A certain creditor had two debtors: one owed five hundred dinars, and the other fifty;

But since they did not have anything to pay, he forgave them both. Tell me, which of them will love him more?

Simon answered: I think the one to whom he forgave more. He said to him: you judged correctly.

You didn't give me a kiss; and she, since I came, has not stopped kissing My feet.

Therefore I tell you: her many sins are forgiven because she loved much; and he who is forgiven little loves little.

I strive to understand love, and it hurts me to think about the people I gave my heart to. And yet it is now obvious that the people who moved my heart left my body indifferent; those who managed to awaken excitement in the body left the heart indifferent."

In this diary entry, seventeen-year-old Maria, the heroine last novel Paulo Coelho's "Eleven Minutes" reveals the purpose of the search to which this touching and exciting book is dedicated. Maria has become disillusioned with love and sex, and the image of two lovers, merging body and soul in perfect harmony, becomes an unattainable utopia for her.

Paulo Coelho's books have been translated into 56 languages and sold a total of 43 million copies in more than one hundred and fifty countries. The theme of his latest novel is the sacred side of sex. The source of inspiration for Paulo was the life story of a Swiss prostitute originally from Brazil. Paulo met this woman, who worked in nightclubs and was known locally as Maria, at a meeting with readers in Geneva in 2000. After listening to her story and the lives of several other young women, Coelho realized that he had finally found the right approach to a topic that had interested him for many years. “To write about the sacred side of sex, it was necessary to understand why it was subjected to such profanation”, he explains.

The main character of the novel, Maria, was born in northeast Brazil. She is young and beautiful and can easily get married. But before getting married, she wants to fulfill her childhood dream - to see Rio de Janeiro. She saves money for a trip for two years and finally finds herself in the city of her dreams. Here, on Copacabana beach, she meets a Swiss businessman. He invites her to go with him to Europe and promises to make her a theater star. Maria is not averse to taking risks and, having secured her parents' blessing, signs a contract and goes to Geneva. If she had read the contract more carefully, she would have realized that she was dooming herself to the miserable life of a dancer in a nightclub. And very soon Maria becomes a prostitute.

On this path of disappointment - a path that befalls many naive girls - Maria quickly grows up and forgets her childhood dreams of happiness. In just a year, “trading her time without the right to buy it back,” Maria becomes pragmatic, sober and realistic. Hopes, ideals and dreams are replaced by a specific and practical goal: to earn money and buy a farm in Brazil. From now on, her body is just a means to achieve this goal. Parallel to the narration on behalf of the author, the story unfolds in the diary, to which Maria confided her thoughts about this bitter time of her life. "I do not pretend to study the phenomenon of prostitution,- says Paulo Coelho. - I tried not to judge in any way the choices my heroine makes. All I'm really interested in here is how people relate to each other sexually."

Indeed, the novel “Eleven Minutes” is not just the story of a prostitute. What is important here is not so much what fate befell Maria, but what she learned from her difficult experience of living in a foreign land. This is what she writes in her diary: “Both the gospels and all the sacred writings of all religions were written in exile, in search of God... it is from such doubts that all books and paintings are born, because we do not want - and we cannot! - forget who we are."

Paulo Coelho claims that he did not intend to provoke discussions on the topic of his book, nor to say in this area some kind of decisive word that excludes any disagreement. He sought to express what really interested him, and not what people wanted to hear. "Some books awaken dreams in us,- he explains, - others return to reality, but for every author the most important thing remains one thing: to be true to yourself.".

The title "Eleven Minutes" is an allusion to Irving Wallis's novel "Seven Minutes", published in the 70s. Wallis's acclaimed novel tells the story of trial on a certain book whose author, according to critics, paid too much attention to sex and, among other things, to the fact that the average duration of sexual intercourse is seven minutes. At one time Paulo Coelho wanted to recreate the content of this fictional book and write it. He later abandoned this idea, but still borrowed the name from Irving Wallis (considering, however, his estimate to be too low and replacing “seven minutes” with “eleven”) and the topic - an attempt to discuss how they are connected to each other and how they are separated from each other carnal pleasures and delights of the heart.

In 1999, in Italy, returning to the hotel from speaking at a conference, Coelho discovered a manuscript in his room: the Brazilian prostitute Sonia talked about her life in Europe. Coelho became interested in the story and three years later finally met Sonia in Zurich. She took him to the local brothel district, where an unusual meeting with female readers took place: Coelho signed several books for Sonya and her friends. This episode received coverage in the press, after which, at the next meeting with readers in Geneva, several more prostitutes from different countries handed Coelho their manuscripts. Here he met Maria, Amy, Vanessa and many other girls. The impressions from these meetings formed the basis of the novel “Eleven Minutes” and the image of its main character.

Paulo Coelho answers questions about the novel "Eleven Minutes"
Rio de Janeiro, March 2003

What is the main idea of the novel "Eleven Minutes"?

PAULO COELLO: We live in a world of standards - standards of behavior, standards of beauty, standards of quality, standards intellectual development, labor productivity standards. We think that everything has its own standards. And it seems to us that if we adhere to these standards, everything will be fine with us. This is where the idea of the so-called “standards of sex” comes from, and this is nothing more than a complete deception, a lie upon a lie: vaginal orgasm, “potency comes first,” “it’s better to pretend than to disappoint your partner,” and so on. As a result, millions of people suffer, experience disappointment and guilt. The same misconceptions underlie all kinds of sexual deviations - pedophilia, incest, violence. Why do we behave this way in this area, although it is so important to us?

How close is the Mary of the book to the real Mary? Does she recognize herself in this story?

PAULO COELLO: Maria is a real, living woman. She is now married and has two children. But this book is not just her biography. I tried to incorporate elements of other, similar stories into my novel. I think in general she learns the story of her life, but that doesn't mean she ended up in exactly the same situations as my heroine.

Has she read Eleven Minutes?

PAULO COELLO: I read the first, draft version in October 2002. She noticed that the book was made up of stories different women, and I said it was intentional. Then she asked who wrote my Maria’s diary, and added: “What a pity that it wasn’t me who wrote it.” She also asked me to change the age of the main character. That's what I did: in life he is older than in the book.

After meeting foreign prostitutes in Switzerland, did you deviate from your original plan?

PAULO COELLO: I've been meaning to write a book about sex for a long time, but I couldn't find the right approach. In addition, how a book matures is a complete mystery to me: the text is born only after I carry it into my subconscious. Perhaps, in my attempts to write about sex, I became too focused only on the sacred side of it. The truth of life is very far from such ideas, and I am very pleased with how I managed to resolve this problem.

Hundreds of Brazilian women share Maria's fate: they come from some remote place to the capital, go abroad and become prostitutes. Don't you draw an analogy between this sorrowful path and the paths of pilgrims?

PAULO COELLO: I do not pretend to study the phenomenon of prostitution. I tried to avoid any moralizing and in no way judge the choices my heroine makes. All I'm really interested in here is how people relate to each other sexually. As always, I try to be straightforward, but not superficial.

Why then is the road to Santiago mentioned in your book? After all, Maria meets Ralph, the main character of the novel, precisely on this pilgrimage route. She knows nothing about the road to Santiago, but what meaning do you put into this?

PAULO COELLO: There is both the truth of life in this - the road to Santiago actually passes through Geneva - and a symbolic meaning: after all, from this moment on, Mary’s body and soul begin to regain integrity. Thanks to love.

Are you afraid that with a book where the main character is a prostitute, difficulties will arise in Islamic countries? For example, in Iran, where your previous books were so successful?

PAULO COELLO: When I wrote, I didn’t think about such things. I was just trying to be true to myself.

In the dedication, you say that some books awaken dreams in the reader, while others force him to face the harsh truths of life. Can this be considered a warning?

PAULO COELLO: This dedication is not a warning, but a declaration of my personal principle. I should write about what interests me, and not about what certain people would like to read about. My readers - smart people. If they notice that all my books repeat the same pattern, they will stop reading them. Personally, I am always surprised by what comes out of my pen. And, in my opinion, this is what makes the book come alive.

Eleven minutes

As a rule, these meetings occur at the moment when we reach the limit, when we feel the need to die and be reborn. Meetings await us - but how often do we avoid them ourselves! And when we despair, realizing that we have nothing to lose, or, on the contrary, we enjoy life too much, the unknown appears, and our galaxy changes its orbit.

Dedication

For I am the first and I am the last

I am revered and despised

I am a harlot and a saint

I am a wife and a maiden

I am mother and daughter

I am my mother's hands

I am barren, but my children are countless

I am happily married and single

I am the one who gives birth and the one who will never give birth

I ease the pain of labor

I am a husband and wife

And it was I who gave birth to my husband

I am my father's mother

I am my husband's sister

Worship me forever.

For I am malicious and generous.

Hymn to Isis, discovered at Nag Hammadi, 3rd or 4th century (?) BC. e.

And so, a woman of that city, who was a sinner, having learned that He was reclining in the house of a Pharisee, brought an alabaster vessel of ointment;

And standing behind His feet and weeping, she began to wet His feet with tears and wipe them with the hair of her head, and kissed His feet and anointed them with myrrh.

Seeing this, the Pharisee who invited Him said to himself: if He were a prophet, He would know who and what kind of woman was touching Him, for she was a sinner.

Turning to him, Jesus said: Simon! I have something to tell you. He says: tell me, Teacher.

Jesus said: A certain creditor had two debtors: one owed five hundred dinars, and the other fifty;

But since they did not have anything to pay, he forgave them both. Tell me, which of them will love him more?

Simon answered: I think the one to whom he forgave more. He said to him: you judged correctly.

You didn't give me a kiss; and she, since I came, has not stopped kissing My feet.

Therefore I tell you: her many sins are forgiven because she loved much; and he who is forgiven little loves little.

Luke 7:37-47

Once upon a time there lived a prostitute named Maria.

Wait a minute! “Once upon a time” is good for the beginning of a fairy tale, but a story about a prostitute is clearly for adults. How can a book open with such a blatant contradiction? But since each of us has one foot in a fairy tale and the other above the abyss, let’s continue as we started. So:

Once upon a time there lived a prostitute named Maria.

Like all prostitutes, she was born pure and immaculate and, while growing up, she kept dreaming that she would meet the man of her dreams (he would be handsome, rich and smart), marry him (white dress, veil with fleur-de-orange) , will give birth to two children (they will grow up and become famous), will live in a good house (overlooking the sea). Her father sold from a stall, her mother sewed, and in her hometown, lost in the Brazilian outback, there was only a cinema, a restaurant and a bank - all in the singular - and therefore Maria waited tirelessly: the day would come and come without warnings, a handsome prince will fall in love without memory and take away the world to conquer.

Well, while the handsome prince was away, all that was left was to dream. She fell in love for the first time when she was eleven years old - on the way from home to school. On the very first day of classes, Maria realized that she had a travel companion: a neighbor boy went to school with her on the same schedule. They never said a word to each other, but she began to notice that what she liked most were those moments when, on a long road—the dust was thick, the sun was merciless, the thirst was tormenting—and, exhausted, she kept up with the boy. who walks at a brisk pace.

And this went on for several months. And Maria, who could not stand studying and, apart from television, did not recognize any other entertainment - and there was none - mentally adjusted the time so that the day would quickly pass, morning would come and she could go to school, and Saturdays and Sundays would not be an example to my classmates - I completely fell out of love. And since, as you know, time passes more slowly for children than for adults, she suffered greatly and was angry that these endless days gave her only ten minutes of love and thousands of hours to think about her lover and imagine how wonderful it would be if only they had talked.

And then it happened.

One fine morning the boy came up to her and asked if she had an extra hand. Maria did not answer, pretended to be offended by such a daring outburst, and quickened her pace. But when she saw that he was heading towards her, everything inside her sank: suddenly she realized how much she loved him, how impatiently she was waiting, how she dreamed of taking his hand and, passing the doors of the school, walking further and further along the road until it ends, until it leads to where - people say - there is a big city, and there everything will be exactly as they show on TV - artists, cars, cinema on every corner, and all kinds of pleasures and entertainment there .

She couldn’t concentrate on the lesson all day, tormented that she had behaved so stupidly, but at the same time rejoicing because the boy had finally noticed her, and that he asked for a pen was just an excuse, a reason to start a conversation: after all, when he approached, She noticed that she had her own sticking out of his pocket. And that night - and all the subsequent ones - Maria kept thinking about how she would answer him next time, so as not to make a mistake and begin a story that would have no ending.

But there was no next time. Although they continued, as before, to walk to school the same way - Maria sometimes walked ahead, clutching her hand in her right fist, and sometimes lagged behind so that she could look at him from behind with tenderness - but he didn’t say a word to her anymore, so Until the very end of the school year she had to love and suffer in silence.

And then the endless holidays dragged on, and then one day she woke up covered in blood, thought that she was dying, and decided to leave this very boy a farewell letter, admit that she had never loved anyone so much in her life, and then run away into the forest so that she could there he was torn to pieces by a werewolf or a headless mule - one of those monsters that kept the surrounding peasants in fear. Only if such a death overtakes her, she thought, will her parents not be killed, because the poor are built that way - troubles fall on them like out of a thin bag, but hope still remains. So let her parents think that their girl was taken in by some childless rich people and that, God willing, someday she will return to her father’s house in all its splendor and with a lot of money, but the one she fell in love with (for the first time, but forever), will remember her all his life and reproach himself every morning for not turning to her again.

But before she had time to write the letter, her mother entered the room, saw blood stains on the sheet, smiled and said:

– You have become an adult, daughter.

Maria tried to understand how her growing up was connected with the blood flowing down her legs, but her mother did not really explain - she only said that there was nothing wrong with it, she would just now have to prop herself up with something like a doll’s pillow for four or five days every month.