Author and journalist Elizabeth Gilbert said Monday she is pulling her next book from the release calendar after facing backlash over its setting in Russia.She was not canceled for being a narcissistic psychopath, as she revealed in the 2015 NY Times essay:
Gilbert — the author of the 2006 best-selling memoir Eat, Pray, Love (which was adapted into a popular 2010 film of the same name) — says that the novel The Snow Forest, which was set to be released in February 2024, will not be published as planned after she received criticism from Ukrainians angry about the setting.
It started with a boy I met at summer camp and ended with the man for whom I left my first husband. In between, I careened from one intimate entanglement to the next — dozens of them — without so much as a day off between romances. You might have called me a serial monogamist, except that I was never exactly monogamous. Relationships overlapped, and those overlaps were always marked by exhausting theatricality: sobbing arguments, shaming confrontations, broken hearts. Still, I kept doing it. I couldn’t not do it.Her book and movie were wildly popular. They were educational for people who didn't know that women think that way.
I can’t say that I was always looking for a better man. I often traded good men for bad ones; character didn’t much matter to me. I wasn’t exactly seeking love, either, regardless of what I might have claimed. I can’t even say it was the sex. Sex was just the gateway drug for me, a portal to the much higher high I was really after, which was seduction.
Seduction is the art of coercing somebody to desire you, of orchestrating somebody else’s longings to suit your own hungry agenda. Seduction was never a casual sport for me; it was more like a heist, adrenalizing and urgent. I would plan the heist for months, scouting out the target, looking for unguarded entries. Then I would break into his deepest vault, steal all his emotional currency and spend it on myself.
If the man was already involved in a committed relationship, I knew that I didn’t need to be prettier or better than his existing girlfriend; I just needed to be different.
Also garbage was the work of this novelist who just died:
Cormac McCarthy has departed into the Big Retirement, leaving behind a body of words that rate him admittance into the pantheon of prose alongside such literary titans as Homer, Cervantes, Melville and Joyce.No, nothing he wrote was worth reading.