Beat, Bray, Club

It's been almost a year since I wrote, but sickness thrives on the weak, and everyday I grow stronger (I hope).

Anyway, this has been burning away on my computer for months, and some of you knew it was coming...

Eat, Pray, Love: I must admit--I did jump on the bandwagon, however my fall from it came shortly thereafter. I first heard of this book through its placement on the New York's bestseller list and other outlets, like Oprah, but it was also stated by my Creative Writing professor as "not the best example of literary nonfiction" and "don't waste your time reading". So with the recent buzz of the movie adaptation starring Julia Roberts, I wanted to take a peek since I was decidedly curious about the movie. (I am one to read the book before watching the movie.) With that said, I was wary of spending my hard earned dollars on this story even if it was a used version, and I checked out a free audio version at the library to listen in the car only.

Apparently, I was so wary of this book that the idea of spending time just to read it frightened me. Plus, I had several other books that I was a little more excited about. With Eat, Pray, Love, I felt like I had to get through it, just so I could see the movie. But I digress...

The premise is simple, and I won't spend time giving a summation. The author is hypocritical and trite. The author states that the earlier version of the book was too pedantic so therefore she did a rewrite. In other words, she "dumbed down" the book so that it would appeal to the general audience who doesn't know the difference between a piece of literature or a load of drivel. Pedantic (?), please!

She demolishes herself in a "feel sorry for me" pity party, but then wants to make clear that the divorce is not her fault, in fact it takes two to tango. But does she care to explain? No, she says. It's not fair to her husband to give a one-sided story. Wait a second...

mem·oir
/ˈmɛmwɑr, -wɔr/
[mem-wahr, -wawr]
–noun

1. a record of events written by a person having intimate knowledge of them and based on personal
observation.
2. Usually, memoirs.
a. an account of one's personal life and experiences; autobiography.
b. the published record of the proceedings of a group or organization, as of a learned society.
3. a biography or biographical sketch.

Whatever happened between her husband and her seems to me one of the most interesting parts of the story! Too bad, we, as readers, missed out on that part of the journey. Now there's the real story. When an author hold something like that back, especially in memoir, I find it severely dishonest. Even if she says that is not fair to him--that's bullshit.

As far as her prose goes, her use of simple sentences again further classifying this as an easy read. (Wait a second-her words or mine?) Her words, metaphors (when there were any), and analogies were repetitive, overused, and cliche. Sure she uses a $10 word here and there, for good measure, but I am not impressed. Disclaimer: I want writing to stimulate me creatively and spiritually, and as I read, to let the language fall from my tongue like the sweet sound of poetry. This, however, is like a conversation and anything more sounds forced.

She also tries too hard with her metaphors. At first, I say aloud, "Bravo, one literary device," but it goes on and on repeating her whole pitiful situation again. For example, one of her first nights in Italy, she meets her long-acquainted friends Depression and Loneliness. We get it, we get it. Say it, move on, get on with it. (At this point, I remember I screamed "Good, God, enough already!" and slammed my fist on the steering wheel.)

Here's the thing: I'm not judging her on her life. You make your decisions, you live your life, you pray to your God how you want, and everyone is different. But...their comes a time that when rationalize your decisions in which you speak the truth.

Her truthfulness emerges as nothing but a story of hypocrisy. She is so right when she says she lives her life from one man to the next since she was a teenager. But my question is: Does she really find her spirituality like she promises us? No, in fact, I feel like she is just on another husband hunt but getting paid to do it. I don't feel any spirituality. And with everything that she has divulged to us about what a mess she is, I kinda feel sorry for him. If she would have ended up alone, but strong, perhaps my views would be different. Liberated, maybe.

I just find it hard to believe that this person who "loves" her husband divorces him (for purposes unknown to us) then falls in love with "the love of her life" (yes, she used this phrase) but yet she doesn't want to call it love at first, but then picks up and leaves when the going gets tough, and breaks up with the "love of her life" via email, only to fall in love once again in Bali? Seriously, what's the point? If she is trying to prove herself as a wishy-washy, unconfident person, she succeeds. Just come out and say you cheated on your husband, or didn't, I don't care. But be honest about it. If you can't even be honest in your own life, then there is no way your autobiography could convey this.

People have compared Gilbert to authors like Anne Lamont. I disagree. Maybe in earlier versions of Gilbert's work, but that is neither here nor there. Lamont has not only inspired, but improved my technique. Take someone who has had real depression dealing with alcoholic or narcotic episodes. Someone who has lost all control of her life. I don't feel that with Gilbert.

Depression, maybe. But aren't most writers afflicted with something?

I do give her credit. She wrote a finished piece. She put her life on paper. Her version of honesty. An authentic feeling of accomplishment.

I asked my friend "A", my token Italian friend who also, might I mention, is a published author in English and in Italian. She grew up there actually. And her response while rolling her eyes, paraphrased, "her take on Italy was absurd". Really, and this enlightens people.

To be honest, I hated it. (Oh, if you didn't know.) And its not because of the person she is, but the person she claims to be. I'm going to stop here since I can at this point probably write a book about the skewed sense of self in this pitiful memoir. Oh, and anyone who finished the book and liked it, please comment! I'd really like to know who you are! (But no judging, as everyone has their own positions on things, and I respect this.)

But wait, did I just make her successful as I sit and ponder about this predicament?


Nah.....