From the book
On 29th May 2002, just hours before I put the finishing touches to this book, I visited
the Grotto in Lourdes, in
France, to fill a few bottles with miraculous waterfrom the spring. Inside the Basilica, a
gentleman in his seventies
said to me: 'You know, you look just like Paulo Coelho.' I
said that I was Paulo Coelho. The man embraced me and intro- duced me to his wife and
grand-daughter. He spoke of the importance of my books in his life, concluding: 'They make
me dream.' I have often heard these words before, and they
always please me greatly. At that moment, however, I felt really frightened, because I knew
that my new novel, Eleven Minutes, dealt with a subject that was harsh, difficult, shocking. I
went over to the spring, filled my bottles, then came back and asked him where he lived (in
northern France, near Belgium) and noted down his name.
This book is dedicated to you, Maurice Gravelines. I have
a duty to you, your wife and grand-daughter and to myself to talk about the things that concern
me and not only about what everyone would like to hear. Some books make us dream, others
bring us face to face with reality, but what matters most to
the author is the honesty with which a book is written. And, behold, a woman which was
in the city, a sinner; and when she knew that Jesuswas sitting at meat in the
Pharisee's house, she brought an alabaster cruse ofointment. And standing behind at his feet,
weeping, she began to wet
his feet with her tears, and wiped them with the hair of her head, and kissed his feet, and
anointed them with the ointment.
Now when the Pharisee which had bidden him saw it, he
spake within himself, saying, This man, if he were a prophet, would have perceived who and
what manner of woman this is
which toucheth him, that she is a sinner.
And Jesus answering said unto him, Simon, I have somewhat to say unto thee. And he
saith, Master, say on.
A certain lender had two debtors: the one owed fivehundred pence, and the
other fifty.
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