Sunday, May 31, 2015

Elizabeth Gilbert's Eat, Pray, Love Much of A Novel Read

I mentioned in a recent blog that I don't like novels, which explains why I glossed over a lot of the pages in this well-ordered read. I was captivated by Gilbert's spiritual quest and growth; but just as soon as I thought she'd made two steps forward, she jumped right back into the tainted pool that started her on this journey in the first place: the absence of an authentic love relationship. I have to realize she was a young thirty-something when this book was written, so I'll give her a little room for naivete in some of her choices. Clearly the lass she was in Italy had matured significantly by the time she reached Bali; however, it's clear that her demons were still in the shadows at the book's ending. That said, the book was good. It held my attention for the most part. What made it novelesque is that most people who read this, namely women, simply don't have the leisure or finances to dedicate a year of their life to free-willy without regard. For this reason, I found myself reading with a mindfulness that this isn't an ordinary housewife's reality. Financial sustenance has to accompany the desire; and, clearly Gilbert's financial base surpassed most. Also, most love found on leisurely travels end up in the column of flings which in this era of AIDS et al, makes her 'to the wind' decision in Bali questionable. In fairness, a bit of research revealed that Gilbert actually married the love-interest she met in Bali, still rare the case for most vacation-meets. But, enough said. This book was made into a movie for a reason. It almost reads as a script. Again, this is being said by someone who loses interest in most books that read as novels. So. That's it. Nothing more. Though it seems there's more I'd like to say about many aspects of her journey, I'll refrain. As an author, she's clearly talented and her continued writing successes prove this out. Summer's arrived. If you're making your reading list, this is one you might consider.
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