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3.73 AVERAGE
3.73 AVERAGE
I felt like this book was a bit snarky and unnecessarily defensive about her relationship status as compared to others. But when I read it, many moons ago, it was pretty inspirational to see a woman go out there and do all the traveling adventure I wanted to do, and do it by herself.
Sadly it did not age all that well, since what I remember about it seems a bit sad and trying to justify her life choices.
This book did inspire me to go to the Blue Lagoon in Iceland, which was wonderful.
So it is a mixture of "you go get it, girl" and a bit sad she had to feel so defensive about it.
Sadly it did not age all that well, since what I remember about it seems a bit sad and trying to justify her life choices.
This book did inspire me to go to the Blue Lagoon in Iceland, which was wonderful.
So it is a mixture of "you go get it, girl" and a bit sad she had to feel so defensive about it.
This was an interesting book. I love that it's a fast and easy read. My only issue is that for a book about her travels, there were more details on the men she slept with than on the countries she saw. I do give her a lot of credit for sharing so much...quite brave! I think I would recommend this.
This book is a delicious bowl of popcorn that I gobbled up in fistfuls. Easy-reading, funny, and a little bit sexy, it's a delightful memoir of travel (and vacation boyfriends).
I received What I Was Doing While You Were Breeding for free at my desk one day. (The beauty of working in publishing, right?) And I immediately got a good chuckle at the title. Oh, Ms. Newman--you clearly get me. I am a twentysomething woman with no foreseeable plans for reproduction. A quick flip between the front and back cover's reviews also sold me: "David Sedaris, but with more joy." "If Eat, Pray, Love were written by your funniest friend." And Kristin Newman, sitcom-writer, would seem to be the perfect storyteller for the comedic hijinks of her own scandalous life.
The prologue, too, delivered on its promises:
Delightful! Fun! Clever! I was on board--and quickly--to a number of exotic places where Newman would recall her splendid affairs with some of the most beautiful men around the world, even though sometimes the connection just wasn't there ["Aleg leaned over and screamed at me (it was very loud), 'I speak small of English!'" (38)].
Because for Kristin Newman, the key to love and travel is this: Doing the thing you're supposed to do in the place you're supposed to do it. She mentions this a few times, like a mantra, while also detailing other rules of traveling: the qualities you should seek in a traveling companion, how long to carry on an affair after the trip is over, how many men to juggle is too many.
But somewhere in the midst of it all, I got tired. I put the bookmark in between pages 132 and 133 and stuck the book in various places--my gym bag, my work shelf, my desk drawer--all the while planning to definitely pick it up and finish it. It was a quick read, right?
So, last night, in an attempt to start cleaning up my half-finished books of 2014, I decided to dive back in. In doing so, I quickly remembered why I struggled the first time around.
The entire memoir feels like one giant digression. Which, I guess, is sometimes a product of conversational tone. But within four pages, the following paragraph transitions occur:
"Anyway, our trip to Brazil happened before Marco came along..." (132)
"But back to Salvador." (133)
"So back to Cristiano." (135)
And then, blatantly, on the next page:
"A brief digression into the notion of 'bases.'" (136).
Oh my god. No more digressions, please! Are we in Argentina? Brazil? Who is Cristiano? Is Salvador a city or a man? When I was reading this book straight through, I couldn't figure out exactly what was causing the story to drag, but when I tried to pick back up in the middle, it became painfully obvious.
This book was full of too many escapades, too many characters I didn't care about. And, no offense to Ms. Newman intended, but I don't even watch any of the sitcoms she's written for, so I found it difficult to muster up any sort of curiosity about her life.
OVERALL RATING (within genre): 2/5 Stars
TL;DR: Although a memoir about independence, promiscuity, and travel has a certain allure (especially to someone of the female, childfree, twentysomething crowd), Newman's style and aimless narrative causes the book to feel like one giant digression, and before long, it becomes impossible to keep track of which man she bedded in which place--and it leaves you wondering why you should care.
This and more reviews at http://anagiovinazzo.com.
The prologue, too, delivered on its promises:
"I am not a slut in the United States of America. ... I don't kiss married men or guys I work with, I don't text people pictures of my genitalia, I don't go home with boys I meet in bars before they have at least purchased me a couple of meals ... I do not sleep with more than one person at a time, and sometimes, no more than one per year. In America.
But I really love to travel."
Delightful! Fun! Clever! I was on board--and quickly--to a number of exotic places where Newman would recall her splendid affairs with some of the most beautiful men around the world, even though sometimes the connection just wasn't there ["Aleg leaned over and screamed at me (it was very loud), 'I speak small of English!'" (38)].
Because for Kristin Newman, the key to love and travel is this: Doing the thing you're supposed to do in the place you're supposed to do it. She mentions this a few times, like a mantra, while also detailing other rules of traveling: the qualities you should seek in a traveling companion, how long to carry on an affair after the trip is over, how many men to juggle is too many.
But somewhere in the midst of it all, I got tired. I put the bookmark in between pages 132 and 133 and stuck the book in various places--my gym bag, my work shelf, my desk drawer--all the while planning to definitely pick it up and finish it. It was a quick read, right?
So, last night, in an attempt to start cleaning up my half-finished books of 2014, I decided to dive back in. In doing so, I quickly remembered why I struggled the first time around.
The entire memoir feels like one giant digression. Which, I guess, is sometimes a product of conversational tone. But within four pages, the following paragraph transitions occur:
"Anyway, our trip to Brazil happened before Marco came along..." (132)
"But back to Salvador." (133)
"So back to Cristiano." (135)
And then, blatantly, on the next page:
"A brief digression into the notion of 'bases.'" (136).
Oh my god. No more digressions, please! Are we in Argentina? Brazil? Who is Cristiano? Is Salvador a city or a man? When I was reading this book straight through, I couldn't figure out exactly what was causing the story to drag, but when I tried to pick back up in the middle, it became painfully obvious.
This book was full of too many escapades, too many characters I didn't care about. And, no offense to Ms. Newman intended, but I don't even watch any of the sitcoms she's written for, so I found it difficult to muster up any sort of curiosity about her life.
OVERALL RATING (within genre): 2/5 Stars
TL;DR: Although a memoir about independence, promiscuity, and travel has a certain allure (especially to someone of the female, childfree, twentysomething crowd), Newman's style and aimless narrative causes the book to feel like one giant digression, and before long, it becomes impossible to keep track of which man she bedded in which place--and it leaves you wondering why you should care.
This and more reviews at http://anagiovinazzo.com.
I was tricked into reading this book because the title made the potential adventures written between the pages seem more scandalous than what I actually read. I liked it, but I didn't.
I probably wouldn't have read it if I had known that a comedy writer wrote it about her life. Truthfully, I hate comedians because, in my opinion, they try too hard to be funny. And maybe that's why I didn't like it as much as I thought I would. Or maybe, it just made me realize that I'm a different kind of 30s something single.
I probably wouldn't have read it if I had known that a comedy writer wrote it about her life. Truthfully, I hate comedians because, in my opinion, they try too hard to be funny. And maybe that's why I didn't like it as much as I thought I would. Or maybe, it just made me realize that I'm a different kind of 30s something single.
A very highly recommended 4.5 stars worth of hilariousness - it's been ages since a book had me rolling around on the floor in stitches. It's also been a while since a book gave me such a bone-hungry feeling of wanderlust. Iceland, Jerusalem, Argentina .... I can't get to your shores fast enough. What I Was Doing While You Were Breeding is partly a search for true love and partly a single girl travelogue, with a sprig of a soliloquy on marriage vs bachelorettehood. It was uplifting and inspiring, and just sexy enough to keep the little catholic prude living inside my chest screaming 'she did what?!' Loved it.
fast-paced
Should have put it DNF halfway through just gets worse and worse.
adventurous
funny
inspiring
lighthearted
fast-paced
Vacation read. Wasn't too excited about this one, but I have a habit of needing to finish every book I begin.
Such a fantastic title, but alas, not written as one might hope. Nearly all of the travel tales revolve primarily around pursuing attractive men and sex ("vacationships"), many with strikingly problematic descriptions of skin color and culture (intended to be in jest, I presume, given the author is a comedy writer). Very little, actually, about the actual travel and sight-seeing. Another travelogue from one of very privileged in the vein of "Eat, Pray, Love." I found "Wild" to be a much more authentic ode to travel as a single woman.