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  • Take me with you...

  • Different people get a piece of different things out of this travelogue of places (Italy, India & Indonesia) and the mind.
    A thoroughly enjoyable read, speaks to the free spirits that yearn to be freed from an over-achieving, rigid and materialistic urban life. Thumbs up.

    

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• ― Ginko said on Oct 29, 2008 about the Hardcover edition| Add your feedback

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  • Eat, Pray, Love

  • While I didn't really feel that I could relate to the depths of despair that afflicted this woman before she set off on her journey of self-discovery, I certainly would love to be able to take a year off of life myself to do something like this. I particularly enjoyed the Italian and Indian legs of ... Continue

    While I didn't really feel that I could relate to the depths of despair that afflicted this woman before she set off on her journey of self-discovery, I certainly would love to be able to take a year off of life myself to do something like this. I particularly enjoyed the Italian and Indian legs of the trip.

    

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• ― Readingrat said on Jun 2, 2008 about the Paperback edition| Add your feedback

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  • After reading reviews of this book, I didn't expect to like it at all. Some of the reviews said that the author was stuck-up and selfish, and those are usually traits I can't stand. Plus, the word pray is in the title, and I'm a non-believer. But I really enjoyed this book and getting to hear abo ... Continue

    After reading reviews of this book, I didn't expect to like it at all. Some of the reviews said that the author was stuck-up and selfish, and those are usually traits I can't stand. Plus, the word pray is in the title, and I'm a non-believer. But I really enjoyed this book and getting to hear about such interesting, unusual experiences and places :)

    

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• ― Deanna Kyre said on Apr 30, 2008 about the Paperback edition| Add your feedback

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  • Eat, Pray, Love

  • "One Woman's Search for Everything Across Italy, India and Indonesia," one can only think well, she certainly knows where to look! Also, upon learning that this is her chosen way of recovering from a particularly acrimonious divorce and a trying-to-make-up-for-that-loss romance that didn't work, we ... Continue

    "One Woman's Search for Everything Across Italy, India and Indonesia," one can only think well, she certainly knows where to look! Also, upon learning that this is her chosen way of recovering from a particularly acrimonious divorce and a trying-to-make-up-for-that-loss romance that didn't work, we might think how fortunate she is to able to seek solace in such intriguing places.
    No Viva Italia for Italy because of Messina, a port town in Sicily that she describes as "scary and suspicious." Perhaps that's one reason why she's lonely and depressed there. But things definitely take a turn for the better in India and Indonesia, although her meditation needs a little more work.

    Did Gilbert find what she was searching for?
    Listeners may not be too sure but they'll certainly enjoy the trip!

    

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• ― Aileen said on Jan 9, 2008 about the Paperback edition| Add your feedback

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  • Like or Hate?

  • I've been reading other reviews of this book and it seems to me that people either like it or hate it.

    A lot of that has to do with the reader I think. I think you have to be spiritually open minded. As a Christian, I did not agree with everything she said about God, but I could relate to her ... Continue

    I've been reading other reviews of this book and it seems to me that people either like it or hate it.

    A lot of that has to do with the reader I think. I think you have to be spiritually open minded. As a Christian, I did not agree with everything she said about God, but I could relate to her humanity. She is very VERY honest in this book. She does speak of her travels, but she focuses on her own journey of personal growth in the setting of these magnificent places.

    If you're after a good story, or a descriptive tale of great locales, then pass on reading this book.

    If you're looking for an honest story, if you are looking to relate to another's experience in living in society with all of it's expectations, then this will be a good book for you.

    Personally, the book opened my mind to a new way of thinking and it gave me an outlook on eastern religions that I am actually looking to explore further. I find other belief systems to be interesting.

    I also thought the book was good in the way that she was so honest. She was honest when she admitted that she wasn't happy in her marriage, and she was honest about how she felt as she went through the aftermath of the divorce. I appreciated that, and it made me look at how honest I am with myself. I appreciated that challenge as a reader.

    

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• ― Vivvington said on Dec 23, 2007 about the Paperback edition| Add your feedback

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  • I discovered that not only was I glad I read this book, I needed to read it. I have read a lot of "spiritual" books but rarely have any had the impact that Gilbert delivers in this book. She does it with laugh out loud humor and an absolutely brilliant writing style that makes reading it seem almo ... Continue

    I discovered that not only was I glad I read this book, I needed to read it. I have read a lot of "spiritual" books but rarely have any had the impact that Gilbert delivers in this book. She does it with laugh out loud humor and an absolutely brilliant writing style that makes reading it seem almost as enjoyable as if you were living it. I especially appreciate her ability to discuss spirituality without feeling as though she were preaching anything or promoting a particular religion. Perfect!

    

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• ― Icedream said on Dec 17, 2007 about the Paperback edition| Add your feedback

description: ìutterly consumed with dread.î) I was trying to convince myself that my feelings were customary, despite all evidence to the contraryósuch as the acquaintance Iíd run into last week whoíd just discovered that she was pregnant for the first time, after spending two years and a kingís ransom in fertility treatments. She was ecstatic. She had wanted to be a mother forever, she told me. She admitted sheíd been secretly buying baby clothes for years and hiding them under the bed, where her husband wouldnít find them. I saw the joy in her face and I recognized it. This was the exact joy my own face had radiated last spring, the day I discovered that the magazine I worked for was going to send me on assignment to New Zealand, to write an article about the search for giant squid. And I thought, ìUntil I can feel as ecstatic about having a baby as I felt about going to New Zealand to search for a giant squid, I cannot have a baby.î

I donít want to be married anymore.

In daylight hours, I refused that thought, but at night it would consume me. What a catastrophe. How could I be such a criminal jerk as to proceed this deep into a marriage, only to leave it? Weíd only just bought this house a year ago. Hadnít I wanted this nice house? Hadnít I loved it? So why was I haunting its halls every night now, howling like Medea? Wasnít I proud of all weíd accumulatedóthe prestigious home in the Hudson Valley, the apartment in Manhattan, the eight phone lines, the friends and the picnics and the parties, the weekends spent roaming the aisles of some box-shaped superstore of our choice, buying ever more appliances on credit? I had actively participated in every moment of the creation of this lifeóso why did I feel like none of it resembled me? Why did I feel so overwhelmed with duty, tired of being the primary breadwinner and the housekeeper and the social coordinator and the dog-walker and the wife and the soon-to- be mother, andósomewhere in my stolen momentsóa writer ...?

I donít want to be married anymore.

My husband was sleeping in the other room, in our bed. I equal parts loved him and could not stand him. I couldnít wake him to share in my distressówhat would be the point? Heíd already been watching me fall apart for months now, watching me behave like a madwoman (we both agreed on that word), and I only exhausted him. We both knew there was something wrong with me, and heíd been losing patience with it. Weíd been fighting and crying, and we were weary in that way that only a couple whose marriage is collapsing can be weary. We had the eyes of refugees.

The many reasons I didnít want to be this manís wife anymore are too personal and too sad to share here. Much of it had to do with my problems, but a good portion of our troubles were related to his issues, as well. Thatís only natural; there are always two figures in a marriage, after allótwo votes, two opinions, two conflicting sets of decisions, desires and limitations. But I donít think itís appropriate for me to discuss his issues in my book. Nor would I ask anyone to believe that I am capable of reporting an unbiased version of our story, and therefore the chronicle of our marriageís failure will remain untold here. I also will not discuss here all the reasons why I did still want to be his wife, or all his wonderfulness, or why I loved him and why I had married him and why I was unable to imagine life without him. I wonít open any of that. Let it be sufficient to say that, on this night, he was still my lighthouse and my albatross in equal measure. The only thing more unthinkable than leaving was staying; the only thing more impossible than staying was leaving. I didnít want to destroy anything or anybody. I just wanted to slip quietly out the back door, without causing any fuss or consequences, and then not stop running until I reached Greenland.

This part of my story is not a happy one, I know. But I share it here because something was about to occur on that bathroom floor that would change forever the progression of my lifeóalmost like one of those crazy astronomical super-events when a planet flips over in outer space for no reason whatsoever, and its molten core shifts, relocating its poles and altering its shape radically, such that the whole mass of the planet suddenly becomes oblong instead of spherical. Something like that.

What happened was that I started to pray.

You knowólike, to God.

3 Now, this was a first for me. And since this is the first time I have introduced that loaded wordóGODóinto my book, and since this is a word which will appear many times again throughout these pages, it seems only fair that I pause here for a moment to explain exactly what I mean when I say that word, just so people can decide right away how offended they need to get.

Saving for later the argument about whether God exists at all (noóhereís a better idea: letís skip that argument completely), let me first explain why I use the word God, when I could just as easily use the words Jehovah, Allah, Shiva, Brahma, Vishnu or Zeus. Alternatively, I could call God ìThat,î which is how the ancient Sanskrit scriptures say it, and which I think comes close to the all-inclusive and unspeakable entity I have sometimes experienced. But that ìThatî feels impersonal to meóa thing, not a beingóand I myself cannot pray to a That. I need a proper name, in order to fully sense a personal attendance. For this same reason, when I pray, I do not address my prayers to The Universe, The Great Void, The Force, The Supreme Self, The Whole, The Creator, The Light, The Higher Power, or even the most poetic manifestation of Godís name, taken, I believe, from the Gnostic gospels: ìThe Shadow of the Turning.î

I have nothing against any of these terms. I feel they are all equal because they are all equally adequate and inadequate descriptions of the indescribable. But we each do need a functional name for this indescribability, and ìGodî is the name that feels the most warm to me, so thatís what I use. I should also confess that I generally refer to God as ìHim,î which doesnít bother me because, to my mind, itís just a convenient personalizing pronoun, not a precise anatomical description or a cause for revolution. Of course, I donít mind if people call God ìHer,î and I understand the urge to do so. Againóto me, these are both equal terms, equally adequate and inadequate. Though I do think the capitalization of either pronoun is a nice touch, a small politeness in the presence of the divine.

Culturally, though not theologically, Iím a Christian. I was born a Protestant of the white Anglo- Saxon persuasion. And while I do love that great teacher of peace who was called Jesus, and while I do reserve the right to ask myself in certain trying situations what indeed He would do, I canít swallow that one fixed rule of Christianity insisting that Christ is the only path to God. Strictly speaking, then, I cannot call myself a Christian. Most of the Christians I know accept my feelings on this with grace and open-mindedness. Then again, most of the Christians I know donít speak very strictly. To those who do speak (and think) strictly, all I can do here is offer my regrets for any hurt feelings and now excuse myself from their business.

Traditionally, I have responded to the transcendent mystics of all religions. I have always responded with breathless excitement to anyone who has ever said that God does not live in a dogmatic scripture or in a distant throne in the sky, but instead abides very close to us indeedó much closer than we can imagine, breathing right through our own hearts. I respond with gratitude to anyone who has ever voyaged to the center of that heart, and who has then returned to the world with a report for the rest of us that God is an experience of supreme love. In every religious tradition on earth, there have always been mystical saints and transcendents who report exactly this experience. Unfortunately many of them have ended up arrested and killed. Still, I think very highly of them.

In the end, what I have come to believe about God is simple. Itís like thisóI used to have this really great dog. She came from the pound. She was a mixture of about ten different breeds, but seemed to have inherited the finest features of them all. She was brown. When people asked me, ìWhat kind of dog is that?î I would always give the same answer: ìSheís a brown dog.î Similarly, when the question is raised, ìWhat kind of God do you believe in?î my answer is easy: ìI believe in a magnificent God.î

4 Of course, Iíve had a lot of time to formulate my opinions about divinity since that night on the bathroom floor when I spoke to God directly for the first time. In the middle of that dark November crisis, though, I was not interested in formulating my views on theology. I was interested only in saving my life. I had finally noticed that I seemed to have reached a state of hopeless and life-threatening despair, and it occurred to me that sometimes people in this state will approach God for help. I think Iíd read that in a book somewhere.

What I said to God through my gasping sobs was something like this: ìHello, God. How are you? Iím Liz. Itís nice to meet you.î

Thatís rightóI was speaking to the creator of the universe as though weíd just been introduced at a cocktail party. But we work with what we know in this life, and these are the words I always use at the beginning of a relationship. In fact, it was all I could do to stop myself from saying, ìIíve always been a big fan of your work ...î

ìIím sorry to bother you so late at night,î I continued. ìBut Iím in serious trouble. And Iím sorry I havenít ever spoken directly to you before, but I do hope I have always expressed ample gratitude for all the blessings that youíve given me in my life.î

This thought caused me to sob even harder. God waited me out. I pulled myself together enough to go on: ìI am not an expert at praying, as you know. But can you please help me? I am in desperate need of h...

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