eat, pray, love.

 

Eat, Pray, Love

   by Elizabeth Gilbert

I had heard good things about this book.  These good things, however, were always vague, non-descript somethings, typical of pop culture lit, and should've been giant red flags. giant. My disillusionment with this book began on page one, and unfortunately had not lapsed  by page 330something. 

I understand that every reader is at some fault or another for not liking a book–– in the same way, that is, though maybe in a diminished magnitude––that the author is also at fault. When expectations are not met, it takes two people not to meet them. 

I have to say though, that I am so exhausted from this book, even after devotedly skimming the last 200 pages, that i fell dead asleep the moment I finished it. It's ironic actually, even though all I read for 300 pages were the condensed and self-absorbed thoughts and trite insecurities of Liz Gilbert, I was completely unabsorbed into her perspective. I began her memoir as disconnected with the point of view as I was when I closed its clean, soft, white cover, once and for all. I know divorce. I know India. I know Yoga. I know Italy, with  its Italian men, and its pizza. and i know cultural displacement. But there was nothing, or, Ok very little, about this book that resonated with me. 

I was tired after the first page. My boyfriend kept asking me if it was getting better, my routine grunts and exasperated exhales would catch his attention and he would ask if things had improved. I should have stopped reading, but i kept hoping, reading rave reviews and reading specs on the movie (starring Julia Roberts and pause for dramatic emphasis, Javier Bardem), but my disinterest was never really dissuaded (that is to say, until I was something like 30 pages from finishing, and was so excited about lifting Liz Gilbert off my shoulders that I could'nt put it down). 

All in all, I would never recommend this book. I would, however, recommend yoga, traveling to Italy and India (I've never been to Indonesia), learning a foreign language, referring to a man's equipment as a banana and his semen as banana juice, practicing meditation, and maintaining a strict pizza only diet.