ctocornal

This is not a book I ever thought I'd read, but then I did. So I found myself pleasantly surprised by some sections. I think she writes quite well about depression, loneliness, solitude, and the pressures most women face in contemporary U.S. society to become wives, mothers, etc. But then she completely lost me when she was writing about her search for god, but then again, I don't feel such an urge, so that makes sense. She lost me further me when she portrays what I will label the "magic natives" (and I know that term seems offensive, but the portrayal is offensive, so the term is apt) of Bali. She claims these people are her friends, but she seems completely naive about the imbalances she creates in these friendships. You can't sweep in like some Great WASP Angel and proclaim Oprah-style "EVERYBODY GETS A HOUSE!" and insist that you are friends with that person. And you can't use their stories and suffering to fuel your memoir and appeal to many rich Americans' creepy obsession about Poverty That Is Far Away (while they ignore the poverty next-door). It's patronizing. It's colonialist. It's gross. It warrants the book being retitled Eat, Prey, Love. I believe in supporting friends of course, but not by writing some pledge e-mail to people who don't even know this person asking for donations. That just reminds me too much of Sponsor a Child. And don't get me started on how she ends her tale. So if you're interested in sampling this book, I can recommend the first section on Italy. I was rooting for her to overcome her depression and also trying to suppress my jealously that she was being paid to travel the world and write about it.

2022-11-14 18:06