Why am I writing a post about this book? It’s not usually my type of blog post, I know, I know, but I predict that upon entering any charity shop across the country, in 18 months time the bookshelves will be groaning under the weight of the sheer amount of these books (there were already five copies in the tiny charity shop I popped into yesterday.) This book is all you’ll see when you nip out for a spot thifting. You’ll want to poke your own eyes out. So in a way this post is a public service announcement. I hate Eat, Pray, Love.There I said it. I don’t even care. I bought it when I was faced with a train delay and the WHSmith in the train station was lacking anything of interest to me. I should have bought the Beano.
Friends, relatives (thankfully not anyone that I’m too closely related to by blood), interweb strangers and every woman that I’ve ever worked with seem to have read this book and instantly proclaimed it an instant must read. Apparently, according to these women, this book is the answer to all of our womanly ills and life isn’t complete if one doesn’t instantly devour the book whole. It contains the secret to life. Erm, yeah, really? Just the very sound of it made me want to bludgeon myself to death with my upright hoover but y’know I was bored, so I bought it. I do a lot of that which is why I own the first Twilight film on DVD. Based on those two purchases alone I shouldn’t be allowed money.
I had a little bit of sympathy for the main player in the book (writer, Elizabeth Gilbert) in the first chapter as she struggled through the break up of her marriage and subsequent relationship but after that I wanted to shout at her, I wanted to scream at anyone who would listen ‘this is awful, AWFUL.’ I wanted to throw the book out of the window. Yeah, I hit it with a (floral) hammer. I kept on with it because perhaps this womanly secret to life was a few chapters in. Was it ‘eck as like. A few chapters in she was still whinging on but now she was whinging on about bloody pasta. Look love, I get it, you want to leave your husband. Great, good for you but for fuck’s sake do you need to behave like such a selfish ‘I want it all, I MUST, MUST, MUST have it all’ little bitch? You are all that is wrong with the world. I expect to see her rolling around on the floor of Sainsbury’s because her Mammy wouldn’t let her have pink, sprinkle doughnut.
Shut up, shut up, shut up! So no, sadly I didn’t find the key to womanhood, the key to spiritual wellbeing or the key to life in this book. But I did find that I am very good at throwing and I did resolve to never buy a book at a train station again. This is the most patronising, the most disgustingly arrogant, crass, western, monied look at ‘spiritualism’ that I have ever read. This is the book for women who believe that they should be ‘tweated like a pwincess’ whilst holding on to the notion that they’re one of the deepest souls on the planet. They’re not. A couple of very lovely Twitter people pointed me in the direction of this review (of the film). I laughed (a lot) whilst watching this clip. Or you can view it by clicking here. I’d rather eat a toddler, or make friends with Carrie Bradshaw (surely she’d be contender for worst friend in the world if she wasn’t a fictional character?) than read this book again.