Ummm….no. I do not recommend this book. It’s rare for me to not like a book, but the author seemed to be suffering from a mid-life crisis as she was writing the book, and we had to suffer along with her. Here’s the gist of her story: She falls in love with the Greek language and she gets her employer, The New Yorker to pay for her to take Greek lessons. As she learns the language, she visits Greece and the Greek Islands several times over the course of many years.
She’s obsessed with Aphrodite, the Greek Goddess of Love, but yet she ping-pongs back-and-forth between telling the reader that she isn’t interested in men, and then bragging about all of the men that had tried to lure her into bed during her travels. At one point, she tells us that she has penis envy, that she doesn’t have penis envy, and then during a break-through session with her therapist, she discovers that she most definitely does suffer from penis envy. She seems uncomfortable with her own body, but then swims naked in the sea–twice.
The book is a complete hodge-podge. It’s almost as if she opened her travel diary and copied every other sentence. The random ideas are stitched together with tales of Greek Gods, a sprinkling of a few Greek words for good measure, and a of course, her fascination with her sexuality.
There were a few bright moments, but overall—UGH!