Eat, Pray, Love, and Dishes
“Needy.”
“Flippant.”
“Whiny.”
“She is so privileged and wouldn't it be nice to get paid to travel the world.”
There were also a lot of "I would never" sentiments.
I read the book anyway, and the reviewers I find myself side-eyeing the most are the ones who threw around the phrase “self-indulgent.” Self-indulgent? Of course it’s self indulgent. That’s what makes it intriguing. That’s why she wrote a book about it. Yes, yes, yes, it is indulgent. And I indulged. I relished the beautiful words and highlighted them as I imagined myself in these exotic destinations. Ah, I adored it. Her way with words is astounding and moving, and perhaps even empowering for her fellow writers.
“But she had depression,” another reviewer scathed. “In Italy! She was in a beautiful country, eating delicious food and being paid to be there. She can’t have depression. She has too much. I give her no sympathy.”
Oh how far we’ve come in understanding mental illness.
When I was growing up, there was something wonderful and inexplicably ingrained in culture that I must talk about for a moment—the prime time soap opera. They were like daytime soaps, only more dramatic, steamier. Certainly inappropriate for children, although I watched. Oh, I watched. These shows were about communities, where people lived on huge ranches and in mansions and only seemed to have to work when they had a business lunch to attend at a fancy restaurant or when they were in their offices right before someone rushed in with life-altering news. I'm sure there was more to them, but that's all I remember. You know what else I don't remember? I don't remember anyone dogging the shows or hating them because the characters lived a lifestyle unavailable to the everyday woman. In fact, that’s why they watched. It’s why they indulged. Yes, we tuned in each week with our tongues hanging out, waiting to see what kind of dirty deal was going to be struck next. These characters were truly disgusting people, but we watched for the entertainment value.
It makes me wonder what the difference is. While soaps aren’t labeled as much anymore, there are soap-esque dramas all over network and cable television and streaming services alike, and we still tune in. Why are they okay, and Eat, Pray, Love is not? Is it because they are fictionalized, and Elizabeth Gilbert is real? And this leads me to another question—if she had published this as a novel instead of a memoir, would the critics feel differently?
I do the dishes in our house. That's what led me here. I actually like doing them, believe it or not. No one bothers me. I can do it the way I want and get those things as clean as I want. Also, I like to let a movie or show play on my phone while I do them. That may have something to do with it.
So doing the dishes led me here because I was searching for something to watch, and I noticed Eat, Pray, Love, the movie from 2009, was available for free on one of our streaming services. So I let it play. Julia Roberts? How can you go wrong?
I learned in the first few minutes how I could go wrong with it. This woman—this despicable woman—decides she doesn't want to be married to her husband, so she just leaves him! She walks out and even seems to think she's justified in her actions.
I wanted no part of it, so I didn't finish the movie. I clicked over to Comcast On Demand and turned on an episode of Family Feud, glad that was over. I never intended to read the book. In fact, I was certain after that day that I would never engage in or endorse such a thing.
Fast forward a month. I've really gotten into the Ted Talks lately. I love them. Especially the ones on writing. So, this time lying in bed, cozy and warm, I was searching for a mind-blowing Ted Talk. Whew, did I find one. It was a woman, I had never seen her before or heard of her name. She was talking about "Your elusive, creative genius." I remember I kept scrubbing backward to hear what she said again and again at certain points. Her words were incredible. Brilliant. So well put together. And they just made sense.
Then she said something that I couldn't comprehend. She had written a book. An international bestseller. It enjoyed freakish success. It was called Eat, Pray, Love.
I wanted no part of it, so I didn't finish the movie. I clicked over to Comcast On Demand and turned on an episode of Family Feud, glad that was over. I never intended to read the book. In fact, I was certain after that day that I would never engage in or endorse such a thing.
Fast forward a month. I've really gotten into the Ted Talks lately. I love them. Especially the ones on writing. So, this time lying in bed, cozy and warm, I was searching for a mind-blowing Ted Talk. Whew, did I find one. It was a woman, I had never seen her before or heard of her name. She was talking about "Your elusive, creative genius." I remember I kept scrubbing backward to hear what she said again and again at certain points. Her words were incredible. Brilliant. So well put together. And they just made sense.
Then she said something that I couldn't comprehend. She had written a book. An international bestseller. It enjoyed freakish success. It was called Eat, Pray, Love.
Huh? I thought. This insightful, gifted woman wrote that trash? There's no way.
But there was a way, and she did write it, and after that Ted Talk, I was determined to read this woman's book, cover to stinking cover. I had to experience it. I had to experience the way she used words, because I was sure that in writing they would be even more magical than they were spoken.
I was able to check it out from the library the next day. But before I read it, just like every time I get ready to read a book, I went to Amazon and Goodreads and scrolled through the one-star reviews. Don't ask me about this habit. I do it—that’s all you need to worry about.
In these reviews, some of them scathing, I read what I had thought after the first few minutes of the movie.
“Self-indulgent,” they called it.
“Self-centered,” they called her.
“Self-indulgent,” they called it.
“Self-centered,” they called her.
“Needy.” “Flippant.”
“Whiny.”
“She is so privileged and wouldn't it be nice to get paid to travel the world.”
There were also a lot of "I would never" sentiments.
I read the book anyway, and the reviewers I find myself side-eyeing the most are the ones who threw around the phrase “self-indulgent.” Self-indulgent? Of course it’s self indulgent. That’s what makes it intriguing. That’s why she wrote a book about it. Yes, yes, yes, it is indulgent. And I indulged. I relished the beautiful words and highlighted them as I imagined myself in these exotic destinations. Ah, I adored it. Her way with words is astounding and moving, and perhaps even empowering for her fellow writers.
“But she had depression,” another reviewer scathed. “In Italy! She was in a beautiful country, eating delicious food and being paid to be there. She can’t have depression. She has too much. I give her no sympathy.”
Oh how far we’ve come in understanding mental illness.
When I was growing up, there was something wonderful and inexplicably ingrained in culture that I must talk about for a moment—the prime time soap opera. They were like daytime soaps, only more dramatic, steamier. Certainly inappropriate for children, although I watched. Oh, I watched. These shows were about communities, where people lived on huge ranches and in mansions and only seemed to have to work when they had a business lunch to attend at a fancy restaurant or when they were in their offices right before someone rushed in with life-altering news. I'm sure there was more to them, but that's all I remember. You know what else I don't remember? I don't remember anyone dogging the shows or hating them because the characters lived a lifestyle unavailable to the everyday woman. In fact, that’s why they watched. It’s why they indulged. Yes, we tuned in each week with our tongues hanging out, waiting to see what kind of dirty deal was going to be struck next. These characters were truly disgusting people, but we watched for the entertainment value.
It makes me wonder what the difference is. While soaps aren’t labeled as much anymore, there are soap-esque dramas all over network and cable television and streaming services alike, and we still tune in. Why are they okay, and Eat, Pray, Love is not? Is it because they are fictionalized, and Elizabeth Gilbert is real? And this leads me to another question—if she had published this as a novel instead of a memoir, would the critics feel differently?
It also makes me wonder, if groups of people can sit in rooms all day and write scripts full of deviance and debauchery for people to act out in front of cameras for our everyday entertainment, why can’t Elizabeth Gilbert share her story of radically and unapologetically caring for herself, focusing on her own real-life hunger, curiosities, and desires while engaging in gluttony and Buddhism for one year—also for our entertainment?
There was another statement in a review that I haven’t addressed yet, because it struck me as so ridiculous it deserves its own paragraph. Here it is— “You don’t leave your husband and then get money to travel the world. That’s not how life works.” I wonder if the irony of that statement is really lost on the one who wrote it. “Not how life works.” Let’s go back to the categorization of this book for a moment. It is nonfiction. The events in this book detail exactly how the author’s life works. Really. In reality. It actually is how life works for her. Does this reviewer really want to discount Elizabeth Gilbert’s life because it’s not like her own? Then, that begs the question—does she secretly want it to be?
Gasp! I would never! I would absolutely never ever!
Oh, you wouldn't do the same things she did? You wouldn’t live the same life? Of course you wouldn't. You don't have to convince me. I wouldn't either. I married at nineteen, and we had our first child a year and a half later. For a while, we lived below the poverty line, and things were hard. I'm still married to that man, we survived the poverty-stricken years, and we have two kids total. I love my family, we can pay our bills now, and I like to do the dishes. That's my truth. That's my experience. That's my story. And I wouldn't change it. Eat, Pray, Love is Elizabeth Gilbert’s truth. It’s her experience. It’s her story. And I wouldn’t change that, either. In fact, I’m grateful for this fantastical story of a woman who did things I don't have to do. I don’t have to live her life to learn from her.
My primary question for you, fellow book lover, is this—why punish yourself? You're allowed to have any opinion about Elizabeth Gilbert that you want, but whether or not you think she's entitled, spoiled, and selfish, why would you punish yourself for that? Why keep this memoir which actually has some pretty significant and profound nuggets of wisdom and insight away from you. Why not indulge? Isn't that the definition of reading for pleasure?
There was another statement in a review that I haven’t addressed yet, because it struck me as so ridiculous it deserves its own paragraph. Here it is— “You don’t leave your husband and then get money to travel the world. That’s not how life works.” I wonder if the irony of that statement is really lost on the one who wrote it. “Not how life works.” Let’s go back to the categorization of this book for a moment. It is nonfiction. The events in this book detail exactly how the author’s life works. Really. In reality. It actually is how life works for her. Does this reviewer really want to discount Elizabeth Gilbert’s life because it’s not like her own? Then, that begs the question—does she secretly want it to be?
Gasp! I would never! I would absolutely never ever!
Oh, you wouldn't do the same things she did? You wouldn’t live the same life? Of course you wouldn't. You don't have to convince me. I wouldn't either. I married at nineteen, and we had our first child a year and a half later. For a while, we lived below the poverty line, and things were hard. I'm still married to that man, we survived the poverty-stricken years, and we have two kids total. I love my family, we can pay our bills now, and I like to do the dishes. That's my truth. That's my experience. That's my story. And I wouldn't change it. Eat, Pray, Love is Elizabeth Gilbert’s truth. It’s her experience. It’s her story. And I wouldn’t change that, either. In fact, I’m grateful for this fantastical story of a woman who did things I don't have to do. I don’t have to live her life to learn from her.
My primary question for you, fellow book lover, is this—why punish yourself? You're allowed to have any opinion about Elizabeth Gilbert that you want, but whether or not you think she's entitled, spoiled, and selfish, why would you punish yourself for that? Why keep this memoir which actually has some pretty significant and profound nuggets of wisdom and insight away from you. Why not indulge? Isn't that the definition of reading for pleasure?
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