This last month has been crazy. I’ve been traveling, taking care of a sick hedgie, interning at MormonHub, and working. I decided to take a month off of my regular reading, get in those few books that I don’t have time for, and just try to relax. Fast forward a month and I’m still busy,…
The point of this book is the journey that you take with both Colonel Fawcett and David Grann, the journey through both the jungle and the avenues of the mind.
This book leaves much in a haze of mystery, the same qualities that have always made the Amazon Rain Forest a magical place for me.
Any book that combines following dreams, love, suffering, and God without being sappy is worth reading.
In short, the French are dynamic and complicated and amazing. Pretty much a recurring theme as I’ve been exploring the world through literature (and food).
People are awful, which is what Madame Bovary by Gustave Flaubert leads you to believe. Which is why I’m planning to lambaste this book on my blog today. Which is why, if you are a fan of French literature or—more specifically—Madame Bovary, you should avoid this post like the plague. I’m too riled up to be nice. Overview: Emma Bovary…
This book shows a cross-section of life within a modern city with an ancient class structure, proving that no matter how enlightened we are, we still tend to view others—and ourselves—along lines drawn in the sand centuries ago.
I wish to walk the streets that the ancient Romans once hewed out of rock and stone. I wish to see the same buildings that inspired a generation of artists and, eventually, the world. I wish to float through the city that enjoyed a millennium of democratic rule. I even wish to trod the treacherous, bloody path that the Allies took to liberate Italy.
It’s very possible that if I was to choose my favorite cuisine, it would be Italian. What’s not to love? There’s pasta, pastries, gelato, cotoletta, croquette, and mozzarella.
The modern world owes a great debt to Italy: It gave us Latin (a common language) and Roman law; it gave us a Renaissance of classical thought; it gave us some of the most beloved works of art. It gives us pasta and mozzarella (which alone should earn our eternal gratitude).
Perversely, it’s my tirade in the form of a review, that makes me think this book is worth reading. Anything that brings out so much emotion and provokes so much thought is worth the effort.
You can’t chase after happiness; it’s inside, a choice we make. Elizabeth Gilbert realizes this in time. She finds happiness not by exploring a new place, but by exploring an old one—namely, the walls and corridors and culture of her own soul.