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Eat Pray Love : One Woman's Search for Everything - Elizabeth Gilbert

Eat Pray Love

One Woman's Search for Everything

Paperback

Published: 1st April 2007
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Published: 16th November 2009
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The Number One international bestseller, Eat, Pray Love is a journey around the world, a quest for spiritual enlightenment and a story for anyone who has battled with divorce, depression and heartbreak.

It's 3 a.m. and Elizabeth Gilbert is sobbing on the bathroom floor. She's in her thirties, she has a husband, a house, they're trying for a baby - and she doesn't want any of it. A bitter divorce and a turbulent love affair later, she emerges battered and bewildered and realises it is time to pursue her own journey in search of three things she has been missing : pleasure, devotion and balance.

So she travels to Rome, where she learns Italian from handsome, brown-eyed identical twins and gains twenty-five pounds, an ashram in India, where she finds that enlightenment entails getting up in the middle of the night to scrub the temple floor, and Bali where a toothless medicine man of indeterminate age offers her a new path to peace : simply sit still and smile. And slowly happiness begins to creep up on her.

About the Author

Elizabeth Gilbert is the author of a short story collection, Pilgrims (a finalist for the PEN/Hemingway Award), a novel, Stern Men , and a book of non fiction, The Last American Man (nominated for the National Book Award and a New York Times Notable Book for 2002). She is a writer-at-large for American GQ magazine where she has received two National Magazine Award nominations for feature writing. She lives in Philadelphia.

REVIEW SNAPSHOT®

by PowerReviews
Eat Pray Love
 
3.6

(based on 5 reviews)

Ratings Distribution

  • 5 Stars

     

    (2)

  • 4 Stars

     

    (1)

  • 3 Stars

     

    (0)

  • 2 Stars

     

    (2)

  • 1 Stars

     

    (0)

60%

of respondents would recommend this to a friend.

Pros

  • Easy to understand (4)
  • Inspirational (3)
  • Relevant (3)
  • Well written (3)

Cons

    Best Uses

    • Gift (3)
    • Older readers (3)
    • Travel reading (3)
      • Reviewer Profile:
      • Everyday reader (3)

    Reviewed by 5 customers

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    Displaying reviews 1-5

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    4.0

    An interesting read

    By Angelachim

    from sydney, au

    About Me Casual Reader

    Verified Buyer

    Pros

    • Deserves Multiple Readings
    • Easy To Understand
    • Inspirational
    • Relevant
    • Well Written

    Cons

      Best Uses

      • Gift
      • Older Readers
      • Travel Reading
      • Younger Readers

      Comments about Eat Pray Love:

      I am a frustrated bookworm turned casual reader by busy life, but I find this book easy to get back into even if I have to put it down for a few days! It is well written, entertaining, and examines some interesting ideas. My teenage daughter has also started reading it, and she likes it too!

      Comment on this review

       
      5.0

      A compelling read

      By Catherine K.

      from Country NSW

      About Me Everyday Reader

      Verified Buyer

      Pros

      • Easy To Understand
      • Informative
      • Inspirational
      • Relevant
      • Well Written

      Cons

      • No Cons

      Best Uses

      • For Women 20-40 Years
      • Gift
      • Travel Reading

      Comments about Eat Pray Love:

      An honest account of one woman's journey of love given, love lost and love found.

      Comment on this review

      (0 of 1 customers found this review helpful)

       
      5.0

      Enjoy

      By Leigh Artist

      from Adelaide

      About Me Everyday Reader

      Verified Buyer

      Pros

      • Deserves Multiple Readings
      • Easy To Understand
      • Informative
      • Inspirational
      • Relevant
      • Well Written

      Cons

        Best Uses

        • Gift
        • Older Readers
        • Travel Reading
        • Younger Readers

        Comments about Eat Pray Love:

        Written with and from the heart ~ Enjoy every smile, laugh and tear. Love is the answer ~ always.

        Comment on this review

         
        2.0

        Not my cup of tea

        By Wild Red

        from Brisbane AU

        About Me Bookworm

        Pros

        • Easy To Understand

        Cons

        • Disappointing
        • To Much Hype About Book

        Best Uses

          Comments about Eat Pray Love:

          Unfortunately this book failed to live up to its rave reviews and my expectations on what the book was able to deliver. This is not a book I personally would re read, however this book may suit other audiences.

          Comment on this review

          (1 of 1 customers found this review helpful)

           
          2.0

          Didn't do it for me

          By Nittynattynora

          from Sydney

          About Me Everyday Reader

          Verified Buyer

          Pros

            Cons

            • Disappointing
            • Not What I Expected

            Best Uses

            • Older Readers

            Comments about Eat Pray Love:

            I just couldn't get into it.
            The movie was great, but I couldn't image it past the first 6 chapters of this book.

            Comment on this review

            Displaying reviews 1-5

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            'It's what I'm giving all my girl friends' Julia Roberts 'Every woman should read it' Elle Macpherson 'I adore it' Sophie Dahl 'I loved it ... I could understand her wanting to write the book and her desire to heal' Meg Ryan

            1

            I wish Giovanni would kiss me.

            Oh, but there are so many reasons why this would be a terrible idea. To begin with, Giovanni is ten years younger than I am, and, like most Italian guys in their twenties, he still lives with his mother. These facts alone make him an unlikely romantic partner for me, given that I am a professional American woman in my mid-thirties, who has just come through a failed marriage and a devastating, interminable divorce, followed immediately by a passionate love affair that ended in sickening heartbreak. This loss upon loss has left me feeling sad and brittle and about seven thousand years old. Purely as a matter of principle I wouldn't inflict my sorry, busted-up old self on the lovely, unsullied Giovanni. Not to mention that I have finally arrived at that age where a woman starts to question whether the wisest way to get over the loss of one beautiful brown-eyed young man is indeed to promptly invite another one into her bed. This is why I have been alone for many months now. This is why, in fact, I have decided to spend this entire year in celibacy.

            To which the savvy observer might inquire: 'Then why did you come to Italy?'

            To which I can only reply—especially when looking across the table at handsome Giovanni— 'Excellent question.'

            Giovanni is my Tandem Exchange Partner. That sounds like an innuendo, but unfortunately it's not. All it really means is that we meet a few evenings a week here in Rome to practice each other's languages. We speak first in Italian, and he is patient with me; then we speak in English, and I am patient with him. I discovered Giovanni a few weeks after I'd arrived in Rome, thanks to that big Internet cafÈ at the Piazza Barbarini, across the street from that fountain with the sculpture of that sexy merman blowing into his conch shell. He (Giovanni, that is—not the merman) had posted a flier on the bulletin board explaining that a native Italian speaker was seeking a native English speaker for conversational language practice. Right beside his appeal was another flier with the same request, word-for-word identical in every way, right down to the typeface. The only difference was the contact information. One flier listed an e-mail address for somebody named Giovanni; the other introduced somebody named Dario. But even the home phone number was the same.

            Using my keen intuitive powers, I e-mailed both men at the same time, asking in Italian, "Are you perhaps brothers?"

            It was Giovanni who wrote back this very provocativo message: "Even better. Twins!"

            Yes—much better. Tall, dark and handsome identical twenty-five-year-old twins, as it turned out, with those giant brown liquid-center Italian eyes that just unstitch me. After meeting the boys in person, I began to wonder if perhaps I should adjust my rule somewhat about remaining celibate this year. For instance, perhaps I could remain totally celibate except for keeping a pair of handsome twenty-five-year-old Italian twin brothers as lovers. Which was slightly reminiscent of a friend of mine who is vegetarian except for bacon, but nonetheless ... I was already composing my letter to Penthouse:

            In the flickering, candlelit shadows of the Roman café, it was impossible to tell whose hands were caress—

            But, no.

            No and no.

            I chopped tvhe fantasy off in mid-word. This was not my moment to be seeking romance and (as day follows night) to further complicate my already knotty life. This was my moment to look for the kind of healing and peace that can only come from solitude.

            Anyway, by now, by the middle of November, the shy, studious Giovanni and I have become dear buddies. As for Dario—the more razzle-dazzle swinger brother of the two—I have introduced him to my adorable little Swedish friend Sofie, and how they've been sharing their evenings in Rome is another kind of Tandem Exchange altogether. But Giovanni and I, we only talk. Well, we eat and we talk. We have been eating and talking for many pleasant weeks now, sharing pizzas and gentle grammatical corrections, and tonight has been no exception. A lovely evening of new idioms and fresh mozzarella.

            Now it is midnight and foggy, and Giovanni is walking me home to my apartment through these back streets of Rome, which meander organically around the ancient buildings like bayou streams snaking around shadowy clumps of cypress groves. Now we are at my door. We face each other. He gives me a warm hug. This is an improvement; for the first few weeks, he would only shake my hand. I think if I were to stay in Italy for another three years, he might actually get up the juice to kiss me. On the other hand, he might just kiss me right now, tonight, right here by my door ... there's still a chance ... I mean we're pressed up against each other's bodies beneath this moonlight ... and of course it would be a terrible mistake ... but it's still such a wonderful possibility that he might actually do it right now ... that he might just bend down ... and ... and ... Nope.

            He separates himself from the embrace.

            "Good night, my dear Liz," he says.

            "Buona notte, caro mio," I reply.

            I walk up the stairs to my fourth-floor apartment, all alone. I let myself into my tiny little studio, all alone. I shut the door behind me. Another solitary bedtime in Rome. Another long night's sleep ahead of me, with nobody and nothing in my bed except a pile of Italian phrasebooks and dictionaries.

            I am alone, I am all alone, I am completely alone.

            Grasping this reality, I let go of my bag, drop to my knees and press my forehead against the floor. There, I offer up to the universe a fervent prayer of thanks.

            First in English.

            Then in Italian.

            And then—just to get the point across—in Sanskrit.

            2

            And since I am already down there in supplication on the floor, let me hold that position as I reach back in time three years earlier to the moment when this entire story began—a moment which also found me in this exact same posture: on my knees, on a floor, praying.

            Everything else about the three-years-ago scene was different, though. That time, I was not in Rome but in the upstairs bathroom of the big house in the suburbs of New York which I'd recently purchased with my husband. It was a cold November, around three o'clock in the morning. My husband was sleeping in our bed. I was hiding in the bathroom for something like the forty-seventh consecutive night, and—just as during all those nights before—I was sobbing. Sobbing so hard, in fact, that a great lake of tears and snot was spreading before me on the bathroom tiles, a veritable Lake Inferior (if you will) of all my shame and fear and confusion and grief.

            I don't want to be married anymore.

            I was trying so hard not to know this, but the truth kept insisting itself to me.

            I don't want to be married anymore. I don't want to live in this big house. I don't want to have a baby.

            But I was supposed to want to have a baby. I was thirty-one years old. My husband and I—who had been together for eight years, married for six—had built our entire life around the common expectation that, after passing the doddering old age of thirty, I would want to settle down and have children. By then, we mutually anticipated, I would have grown weary of traveling and would be happy to live in a big, busy household full of children and homemade quilts, with a garden in the backyard and a cozy stew bubbling on the stovetop. (The fact that this was a fairly accurate portrait of my own mother is a quick indicator of how difficult it once was for me to tell the difference between myself and the powerful woman who had raised me.) But I didn't—as I was appalled to be finding out—want any of these things. Instead, as my twenties had come to a close, that deadline of THIRTY had loomed over me like a death sentence, and I discovered that I did not want to be pregnant. I kept waiting to want to have a baby, but it didnt happen. And I know what it feels like to want something, believe me. I well know what desire feels like. But it wasn't there. Moreover, I couldn't stop thinking about what my sister had said to me once, as she was breast-feeding her firstborn: 'Having a baby is like getting a tattoo on your face. You really need to be certain it's what you want before you commit.'

            How could I turn back now, though? Everything was in place. This was supposed to be the year. In fact, we'd been trying to get pregnant for a few months already. But nothing had happened (aside from the fact that—in an almost sarcastic mockery of pregnancy—I was experiencing psychosomatic morning sickness, nervously throwing up my breakfast every day). And every month when I got my period I would find myself whispering furtively in the bathroom: Thank you, thank you, thank you, thank you for giving me one more month to live ...
            Elizabeth Gilbert

            Elizabeth Gilbert is the acclaimed author of five books of fiction and non-fiction. She is most well known for her 2006 bestseller Eat, Pray, Love, which has sold over ten million copies worldwide and was made into a film starring Julia Roberts. Her short story collection Pilgrims was nominated for the PEN/Hemingway Award, her novel Stern Men was a New York Times Notable Book and The Last American Man was a finalist for the National Book Award. Her most recent work, Committed, was a Number One New York Times bestseller. Elizabeth Gilbert lives in New Jersey.

            Visit Elizabeth Gilbert's Booktopia Author Page


            ISBN: 9780747585664
            ISBN-10: 0747585660
            Audience: General
            Format: Paperback
            Language: English
            Published: 1st April 2007
            Dimensions (cm): 19.8 x 12.9  x 2.2
            Weight (kg): 0.289
            Edition Number: 1