Eat Pray Love

I don’t know. I just can’t jump on board the popularity train for this book. In fact, about midway through the book, I almost put it down and actually started to draft a review that I titled, “Eat Pray Barf” which pretty accurately reflected my initial feelings on the book. That said, after reading the last 100-150 pages or so, I decided to take the ‘barf’ part back. But only just.

I really like the book’s concept – recently divorced woman in her 30’s takes a year off to travel through Italy, India and Indonesia to figure some shit out. But the execution was filled with so many clichés it was a little painful for me.

At one point she remembers going to a party hosted by her friend who recently had a baby. The sight of the tired mother taking care of a baby and doing the dishes leaves her literally shaking and so terrified that she locks herself in the bathroom. All she can say when a friend finds her cowering in the bathroom is, “I don’t know what to do.” Then her friend who has no background information on what's bothering Liz says, “Tell the truth, tell the truth, tell the truth.” Really? I hope this is an exaggeration to illustrate a point and not true because if so, then Elizabeth Gilbert is a grade A drama queen (and so is her friend). Same with the story used to illustrate her new found mental health in Italy when she wakes herself up by laughing out loud in the middle of the night. Annoying.

Also, the whole concept of taking off, leaving everything behind and travelling to “find yourself” isn’t really a novel concept. And having a spiritual “guru”? It just smacks of bougie celebs wearing red bracelets because it’s cool to be spiritual and “self aware”. Ditto on yoga retreats.

But my biggest bone to pick is that I didn’t really like Elizabeth Gilbert. Her writing is … fine. But her? Pretty annoying and kind of boring. I know, I know. I’m a heartless bitch. She was just a nice girl going through a rough time. I’m not saying that I actively disliked her, I just didn’t find her particularly unique, or engaging, or interesting. Don’t get me wrong, there were definitely moments when reading the Italy chapters that I was swept away with an aching desire to take a year off and pig out on pizza and pasta. But then she’d go back to brooding over her tempestuous relationship with David (the man she shacked up with immediately after leaving her husband) and I’d feel the annoyance creep back. It bothered me how much more hung up on David she was than her ex husband. This is mostly because from what she told us of David, he bugged the shit out of me. I could totally picture her relationship with David before they broke up and I wanted to barf all over it. I liked that she was at least willing to own up to her desperate, neediness in relationships, but I’m not sure that being honest about something annoying makes it less annoying.

Anyways, I’m feeling like a total Negative Nancy so I’ll tell you what I did like. Everyone told me the best parts were in Italy (and I did enjoy the makeshift Thanksgiving chapter), but my favorite parts were actually in Indonesia. I loved Ketut the ancient medicine man and found the Wayan character entertaining (particularly when Wayan was “fucking with her” about buying a house). I think I also liked it because in general, Liz became less annoying towards the end. She wasn’t crying about not liking to chant, or moaning about David, or having dramatic convos with herself in her creepy journal. Basically, I think maybe the problem is that I’m sort of a hater of books about “finding yourself”. At which point you are perfectly entitled to ask me why the hell I decided to read this book. The truth is I didn’t really want to read it. But I needed to read two more books for the New Classics Challenge and when I sent a plea out to my coworkers, this was the first book that someone brought in for me to borrow.

The Inheritance of Loss

Before I go into more detail, I will first summarize this book in two words: Eloquent and Depressing. With an emphasis on depressing.

Okay, now for my more detailed thoughts on this book, of which I have many. So get ready.

It wasn't exactly a page turner, in fact there were definitely times when I felt like I was slogging through it. I talked to someone at work today who said they tried and just couldn't quite finish it and she knew of someone else who had the same problem. I think part of this is because there are so many references to the seemingly trillions of regions and countries, former countries, and former regions in the surrounding areas. And it seemed like each region had like 3 different names for its people and then like 3 new names based on their religion and it all just got very confusing and served to highlight my complete ignorance of that area of the world.

Also, without spoiling it, I'll just say that I did not like the ending. I hate it when the ending of a book sucks! It's such a disappointment.

All of that said, the virtues of the book aren't really in the characters or even the plot specifics. The beauty of the book is in its prose and the way it tells the story of India (and Indians). It almost seemed like the author viewed the characters not as individuals with their own stories to tell, but rather as tools to tell the bigger story of India, colonialism, and really, the rest of the world. The characters felt more representative than specific.

I thought the language was really beautiful. So much so that I actually had to borrow Jeff's nerdy highlighter and use it a few times. There were a few passages that were so eloquent that I wanted to go back and reread them. Here is just part of a paragraph where a main character witnesses a riot in the 1980's:
"How can the ordinary be changed? Were these men entirely committed to the importance of the procession or was there a disconnected quality to what they did? Were they taking their cues from old protest stories or from the hope of telling a new story? Did their hearts rise and fall to something true? Once they shouted, marched, was the feeling authentic? Did they see themselves from a perspective beyond this moment, these unleashed Bruce Lee fans in their American T-shirts made-in-China-coming-in-via-Kathmandu?"

And another about a young Indian guy named Biju trying to make it in New York (and failing):
"Biju walked back to the Ghandi Cafe, thinking he was emptying out. Year by year, his life wasn't amounting to anything at all: in a space that should have included family, friends, he was the only one displacing the air. And yet, another part of him had expanded: his self-consciousness, his self-pity -- oh the tediousness of it. Clumsy in America, a giant-sized midget, a bigfat-sized helping of small... Shouldn't he return to a life where he might slice his own importance, to where he might relinquish this overrated control over his own destiny and perhaps be subtracted from its determination altogether? He might even experience that greatest luxury of not noticing himself at all."

So there you have it. I hated it and I loved it.

I started The Pillars of the Earth tonight right after finishing The Inheritance of Loss. I leave for Alaska tomorrow night so I probably won't be posting until Wednesday of next week, at which time I will hopefully have a "review" ready for The Pillars of the Earth.