Someone also told me that art is something that you respond to deeply. By that definition, for me, this book is art. See below:
I wish goodreads had half star options. Only read this book if you are under 27 and never been in therapy. This book makes me feel like a psychopath and like the world doesn't make sense. No one hassled her for talking like a person in a long dress standing in a subtle breeze and responding cordially to servants. There are very few jokes, no "and then we fell over and one guy farted also I think something puked in here" and I know the location of her apartment so I cannot empathize (it's a great location) (1.5 bedrooms and no roommates). There are very good moments where I was like "YES YES! GO FOR IT! GO THERE!" and instead she quoted someone academic that I don't care about. Also this is basically a story of "I met a guy, got married and had a baby." I have absolutely zero empathy about that and she said during her therapy sessions she never really got angry, which she said in a convoluted and overly blah-blah-my-muslin-dress kinda way. Eat, Pray, Love talks about fury so much better than this book.. I'm only upset with her because I had huge, high hopes and really wanted her to go for it, and to take us on the ride of anger. But whatever, I might be naturally angrier than her, but I cannot empathize with a woman finding "the one true miracle of my life" which is a dude and dealing with career frustration after publishing a book at 23. Yeah, yeah, we all have the right to our own feelings zz, but TAKE ME THERE. I'm sure there's room to empathize/understand anger felt by someone in love with a sensitive British songwriter, who blah blah is amazing, but instead it felt like a way to brag. "Sometimes, when I am in my Rolls Royce with my masseuse, children and husband--who all really, really, really love me in a profound and honest way, ps--it's just, what's the word--difficult for several seconds." Which I'm sure it actually is sometimes, but she never describes the actual emotion. NOTHING is raw.
I haven't read her first book, I hope it is better. I am shocked that someone with an alcohol problem (I guess?) doesn't feel splitting and insane rages that she could talk about with xxxtreme detail. This book was confusing and disappointing. I had to put it down 80% of the way through because of my fury about hearing how her wedding planning (in Paris) was difficult sometimes. "Withholding and denial got in the way of my relationships" (that is a misquote). Bullshit. Or maybe, but what, you have one therapist and now we're all good? I have extremely strong feelings about this book and would love to hear intimate detail, not some research-quoting. Anyway, I loved the prologue and most of the beginning, but this brand of repression and grief is very foreign to me for the most part. The food she mentions is salmon with a miso glaze. When does she eat a pound of reese's pieces in a parking lot? She is all airy intellect and not one iota shitting meat, which is being a person, I think. The vermin in her world are mice, not hair clogs pulled from a pipe or a dead rat in a gutter. Also, seriously, the very end is her married with a baby. I read the last sentence that was like "I looked at my baby girl and my husband" and I can't read anything else since I took a flame thrower to my bedroom.
I do not wish her ill, but if you know from anger that stems from something deep, old and biblicalish, that features like fire and black holes and flaying, this is NOT the book for you. If you have modern-day woman anger that comes from your age or status or money or creative fulfillment or disappointment this is NOT the book for you. You will not commiserate, you will not feel met where you are, you will not see actual empathy, you will not see your own wounds healed. You will hear about tonglen and holistic medicine, which feels like a stand in for something Catholic--like the same formula, only approved by Anthropology, the clothing store, or someone who is snobbish about what will make her feel better. I am just saying, if this book appeals to you--and I read it hoping for the scalp-opening vent in two days--CAVEAT EMPTOR. If you are me, you will feel white hot rage at a book about anger, which I'm sure is a Buddhist kohn or something. I guess just manage your expectations. And look for my new book called "I AM CATHOLIC AND IT IS FUCKING GREAT" (I am not Catholic) or "I AM 55, SINGLE, WITH CAT AND I AM SERIOUSLY VERY HAPPY" or "I DO A LOT OF ANIMAL TYPE SHITTING-AND-FUCKING-ISH-STUFF AND I LOVE DIET COKE BUT I ALSO HAVE A HEART AND I'M NOT ENDLESSLY PISSED ANYMORE." Or maybe just a smiling picture of me with "I'D RATHER NOT BE SO FUCKING ANGRY." I think it will be a best seller.
the end.
ETA: I had to change the stars to one. I am still obsessively thinking about this book, which maybe means I should change the stars to 5. Maybe once a week I'll sign in and change it from 5 to 1 and then back to 5. Is anger from the gulf between expectation and result? Disappointment? Ugh. I told someone twice within two weeks to never read this book, completely forgetting I'd already sermonized about it. I'm glad she wrote it. Maybe everyone should read it. Maybe we can all take a chain saw to it. Someone call me.
ETA in 2013: I am still angry about this book. When people like this review I think about it again and get reangry. Well, I had the unfortunate experience of someone saying the sentence "I'm jealous of her. No I'm envious. Wait--what is the one that is the nice one, jealousy or envy? I can't remember." AND I was also reading a book that tells you how to not be a boring droning fuckface in conversation, which is highlighted by "do not talk about anything you believe in passionately" because an accident will happen in your brain and you will talk and talk and talk until love is a lie and everyone is alienated and it is an accident. OKAY. The point is, while I still hate this book, I hate it because I am deeply envious. Envious is the bad one. I looked it up. I went to a gong bath, which was very transformative, seriously, yes I know how that sounds, and I realized something ABOUT THIS FUCKING BOOK THAT PLAGUES ME, which is that it should be retitled: "Psychic Acupuncture." I envy the ways that she experiences the spectrum of human emotion.
ETA in 2015: Maybe the lesson of this book for me is: If I personally have failed at [x], I don't want you to have [x], I want [x] to be objectively impossible. I want it not to be a personal disaster, or indication of a weird weakness, or proof that maybe my body will dictate the stuff I get, or the love I receive, or how happy I will get to be. I still deeply dislike this book and it makes me angry. I listened to a long back woods sermon on the radio on a road trip--it kept going out and cutting in with like pop music and Mexican accordions--all about anger. The point was: behind all of it is a fundamental desire for respect, that anger masks deep insecurity. I can get into that.
ETA in later 2015: The answer is Claire Messud's "The Woman Upstairs"
ETA in 2018: Check out "Out of Sheer Rage" for another book about Anger. I think about Koren's book a great deal and maybe want to have coffee with her and find out how it's all going. "Out of Sheer Rage" is also interesting because it quotes people blah blah and he mentions his fiance. I guess he feels more....[I abandoned this sentence.] The sick reality of my life is that whenever I get really really angry, like so angry I shake, is when people laugh the hardest. I am basically the Winnebago Man, but maybe we all are.