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Eat Pray Love: One Woman's Search for Everything Across Italy, India and Indonesia, by Elizabeth Gilbert
Download Ebook Eat Pray Love: One Woman's Search for Everything Across Italy, India and Indonesia, by Elizabeth Gilbert
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About the Author
Elizabeth Gilbert began her writing journey with two acclaimed works of fiction: the short story collection Pilgrims, a finalist for the PEN/Hemingway Award, and the novel Stern Men, a New York Times Notable Book. These were followed by three works of nonfiction: The Last American Man, which was a finalist for the National Book Award and the National Book Critics Circle Award, and two memoirs, Eat, Pray, Love and Committed, both of which were number one New York Times bestsellers. Gilbert’s work has been published in more than thirty languages. In 2008, Time magazine named her one of the 100 most influential people in the world. She lives in Frenchtown, New Jersey. Her Web site is www.elizabethgilbert.com.
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Excerpt. © Reprinted by permission. All rights reserved.
1I 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.2And 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 ...
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Product details
Audio CD
Publisher: Penguin Audio; Unabridged edition (February 16, 2006)
Language: English
ISBN-10: 1611762588
ISBN-13: 978-1611762587
Product Dimensions:
5.1 x 1.1 x 5.9 inches
Shipping Weight: 11.4 ounces (View shipping rates and policies)
Average Customer Review:
4.3 out of 5 stars
4,345 customer reviews
Amazon Best Sellers Rank:
#266,953 in Books (See Top 100 in Books)
Eat Pray Love: After a painful divorce and a love affair that ended, author Elizabeth Gilbert needed help mending her broken heart. She didn’t know where to start, but then one evening, she collapsed on the bathroom floor in prayer. A small inner voice said, “Go back to bed.†That’s exactly what she needed - rest. She needed to be strong. She planned a one-year vacation in which she hoped to mend her broken heart and to find peace. She would spent four months in Italy; four months in India and four months in Indonesia. She points out that each country begins with “I’ and this journey was about self discovery. It’s a must read for people like me who’ve had our hearts broken, and then those hearts never seems to mind. I’m still aching over the loss of my dad and my birth family. I’ve studied meditation with differing results. This book proved a how-to book on how to heal. Chapters were not intended to be how-to chapters, but that’s what many of them were for me. Most of us can’t drop everything and rush to an apartment in Rome and then to a retreat in India and then to Bali. But we can learn yoga and meditation anywhere. We can order pizza and make new friends. If you aren’t hurting and you don’t need the guide to meditation and self discovery, it’s still a great book. The collection of 108 personal essays are fascinating with lots of fresh insights into the human psych and the types of characters that one usually finds only in a novel. There’s Richard the Texan who nicknames Gilbert, “Groceries; there’s the plumber who takes her to the highest spot at the Indian retreat, there’s Ketut the medicine man who is somewhere between 65 and 112 years old and Wayan the medicine woman searching for a home. It’s hard not to fall in love with these characters. Gilbert gains weight in Italy, self awareness in India and self confidence in Bali, Indonesia. And she finds love. Some chapters are too pat. She discovers the four brothers who are sort of guardian angels we all have. On her way home that day, a monkey threatens her, but she is feisty, and she stand up to the creature. After all she’s got four tough brothers protecting her. Too pat. The chapter was contrived. The reader is so busy rooting for her that he forgets his own troubles - except to put the book down for awhile to eat, pray, meditate and fall in love. That’s a lot to get from one book.
I wish I had read a sample before I bought the book. I didn't get past the 3rd chapter. It starts off with how she sobs at night because she wants a divorce. And then on to her husband being mad because she wants a divorce - and then he's still mad when she moves in with a guy. Well duh. Not for me.
i loved her book "The Signature of All Things". This is more of an autobiography about a needy, self centered person
Whiny, preachy, political claptrap written by a neurotic spoiled brat. Save your money. Don't buy this crap. If there were a way to give this a minus hundred, I would.
This is, by far, my all time favorite book. It meant, and still means, so much to me, especially as a woman. I was a single mother for most of my now adult daughter's life, and I was so desperately sad and lonely after my divorce with my husband/her stepdad (Our wedding, which was obviously well pre-planned, ended up being on the day of Princess Diana's funeral (9/6/1997) and our divorce was finalized on 9/11/2001 (yep, THE day)...There's my "sign"... Anyway, several years passed and I still just couldn't see a future....of anything, happiness, travel, love, ???...(other than going through the motions and working on being the best mother I could be)...I too, was 36 years old at this time. When my daughter was old enough to have a stable relationship with her biological father, I would have every other weekend alone. I used to go to the bookstore "Borders" every Friday night and I would walk aimlessly around the entire store, just looking for any sign, the next sign for the next move, for me... I prayed and prayed constantly, just not knowing what or where I needed to be... with my physical life, my spiritual life, my love life, my motherhood... and then I looked up. On the top shelf of the "newest releases" I saw the cover of "Eat, Pray, Love"... I INSTANTLY felt a "pull" if you will... Now normally, I would wander, grab a few books, & find a chair hidden in some lonely, quiet little alcove in the store, and sort through the items I'd selected to see if anything could help or just give me SOMETHING, ANYTHING for HOPE...but I grabbed this book from the shelf, read the back cover, ran to the checkout line and left the store to go home. Within reading the first chapter, I immediately found it gravitational, humorous, very easy to follow and read.... very spiritual, and somehow, someway, emotionally compatible and conducive to exactly what I was needing at the time. You instantly understand where Elizabeth Gilbert is coming from, what she's going through, and even her "fantasies", all with humor, compassion and a desire to continue "the journey with her". I was hooked. Every chapter, I was laughing, crying, dreaming, planning, petitioning, praying, and laughing again. Every chapter held me captive in all of my senses. You can feel everything she feels, you can taste everything she tastes (even her tears), you can see what she sees, you pray what she prays, her friends (and enemies) become yours, and you get to the end, and you're a different person. It's like the book emanates and "energy" right to you and through you, and you are left feeling HOPEFUL, alive, ready, stronger, wiser, more forgiving of others, and most importantly, yourself. You learn that they way you lean into and love God is between the two of you and no one else....that what you can't necessarily see, hear or touch, doesn't mean it isn't FULLY there, fully present with you, in all It's Glory. I've read it 7 times, all on different occasions and throughout different phases in my life...After months of reading it, when the next Christmas Season rolled around, I bought 13 copies and gave them to all of the closest women in my life. I'm now only a few months shy of age 48 (years young) and I'll read this book again and again...every time I read it I learn something new about the world, others, and myself...all through this amazing woman's courage to take a chance on simply sharing all of herself for one, amazing, adventurous, incredible year... what a gift. You'll never look at Italy, India, and Indonesia, with all of it's bounty, glory, and gods, the same again. I'm forever grateful and HIGHLY recommend this book. Oh! And 1 year ago (after 2 years of dating) I got the courage to say "Yes!" to the man of my dreams. :)
I really liked this book. I read it when I was going through a tough time and it just sort of motivated me to enjoy life, to just get out there and do something that lets me breathe and relax. A lot of people complain and criticize that she was rich and could just -do- these trips, but I liked it. For me, I just drove to a new city and watched the sun set on the ocean. It motivated me to make my own trip and enjoy life and I liked that. She just felt so real with life and I related to her and her love of food.
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