Eat. Pray. Love. Gag.

So, after years of being told "You HAVE to read this book," I finally gave in and read Eat Pray Love by Elizabeth Gilbert. I was hesitant, as when I worked at Barnes & Noble in DC, most women would inevitably buy this in tandem with "The Secret." While immensely popular, they both just sort of screamed chick flick in-a-book, and those who know me know how I feel about chick flicks...other than Pride & Prejudice...that's a different case entirely. I'm more of a "If it bleeds, we can kill it," kind of girl as opposed to "You had me at hello."

So, with caution, I started to read Eat Pray Love. Now, a caveat to this post is that I have never been in love with someone so much that I would do anything for them. I've had strong feelings for others, but never "in love." I've also never been through a divorce, painful or not. So, unlike most women my age, who have had at least one serious, committed relationship by the age of 26, I was coming at this from a very different perspective. I was reading this as a spectator to those sort of emotions, but very much interested in the travel that she accomplished during her year in Italy, India, and Indonesia.

And to that end, I was not disappointed. Her sassy descriptions of the people and places she visit are unendingly entertaining and her prose style is very visual and precise. One can feel like you're sitting at the table with her as she struggles to learn Italian, or grasp the meaning of some of the mantras at the Ashram, and etc., etc. You find yourself in the bathroom with her in the middle of the night as she sobs over what she may have lost by divorcing her husband and during the ensuing depression.

However, I found myself, overall, never really emotionally connected to the book itself. There was no suspense, no wondering how the story would end - it was obvious from the start that her fairy tale ending would come true. I would find myself on the brink of feeling her pain until it turned into the equivalent of a sitcom ending - the bad stuff is shoved aside my some heartfelt moment. She consistently got her way and had everything she touched turn to success. The sacchariness of it all made it hard for me to follow her on a journey when it was laughs from the outset.

Yes, there was mention of doubt, depression, suicidal tendencies, guilt, and all of those other negative emotions that were quickly eclipsed by the next method of reaching God, or finding the best pizza in Italy. The quicksilver change of emotions did not lend itself rather to a journey, but more a spastic attempt at finding meaning through whatever path she possibly could.

I don't mean to sound over-harsh, but I had to read the book in segments, as I would become frustrated and overwhelmed by the sheer preachiness of the book at times. While I applaud the author for her frank, brutal assessment of her life, I never felt for her. Her pain was a vehicle for her writing, but even when she achieved her goals, it didn't feel like an accomplishment, because all along, I felt like she was already there.