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olekot 's review for:
Julie and Julia: 365 Days, 524 Recipes, 1 Tiny Apartment Kitchen
by Julie Powell
The premise of the book looked very exciting to me, as I, at times, think of myself as of someone who likes cooking, I like cooking TV shows, I am a food photography enthusiast, and I used to like books about everyday life too. But not this time, unfortunately. The book is about whole lot of stuff but about nothing in particular. And it is about everything but cooking. Cooking parts seemed so scarce, but when the author gets down to describing the recipes, she ends up with boring monotonous enumeration of the ingredients and processes.
I know, I cannot lay the blame on the author for the book that did not live up to my expectations. Despite the title, what I imagined was a Provence-style country kitchen filled with sunshine, lots of inspiration, love, sometimes setbacks. Ok, let’s omit the kitchen description, that’s not Powell’s fault. But the other points are so much of a disappointment too. The book is very dull, full of despair and hatred. Other reviewers have already said a lot about author’s personality. But what really caught my eye was the permanent sense of hatred Julie feels for everyone around and for what she’s doing. I would suggest that it’s pretty weird to pursue doing and then write a whole book about something that is of no joy to you at all. I did not feel that the author at least liked cooking. Julie, what’s the point of this torture?
Why mention Republicans and all that political stuff all the time? What does that add up to the narration, except for negative feelings and proving that you are prone to stereotypes and humiliating people? (I’m not even from US, so I don’t understand what it’s all about, just seeing dirt).
I see no connection between the main story line and the parts about Julia Child. The latter are just there for no reason; had they been skipped, it would not make any difference. What is more, I don’t really get this whole Julia Child thing, to be frank. She’s an idol for Julie Powell, but the affection and worshiping expressed in the book seem to verge on an unhealthy obsession. At times, I’ve got a feeling that the author cares more about her imaginary Julia than about her friends and her own husband. I could probably never understand this.
But here is the most outrageous thing about this book. Some reviewers complain about how much sex is put into it. Well, I could possibly live with that if it were not about cheating. Call me old-fashioned but I don’t find it acceptable to tell all the world (in a book about a culinary) about your friends cheating on their husbands, and all those affairs, and matter-of-factly regretting that it’s not happening to you (a married woman). After having read it all I just feel filthy and I don’t want these people to be a part of my world.
All in all, the memoir left me so dissatisfied that I feel an urge to re-do and re-write it my way (which I am not doing, of course) so that there is the book I was expecting.
I know, I cannot lay the blame on the author for the book that did not live up to my expectations. Despite the title, what I imagined was a Provence-style country kitchen filled with sunshine, lots of inspiration, love, sometimes setbacks. Ok, let’s omit the kitchen description, that’s not Powell’s fault. But the other points are so much of a disappointment too. The book is very dull, full of despair and hatred. Other reviewers have already said a lot about author’s personality. But what really caught my eye was the permanent sense of hatred Julie feels for everyone around and for what she’s doing. I would suggest that it’s pretty weird to pursue doing and then write a whole book about something that is of no joy to you at all. I did not feel that the author at least liked cooking. Julie, what’s the point of this torture?
Why mention Republicans and all that political stuff all the time? What does that add up to the narration, except for negative feelings and proving that you are prone to stereotypes and humiliating people? (I’m not even from US, so I don’t understand what it’s all about, just seeing dirt).
I see no connection between the main story line and the parts about Julia Child. The latter are just there for no reason; had they been skipped, it would not make any difference. What is more, I don’t really get this whole Julia Child thing, to be frank. She’s an idol for Julie Powell, but the affection and worshiping expressed in the book seem to verge on an unhealthy obsession. At times, I’ve got a feeling that the author cares more about her imaginary Julia than about her friends and her own husband. I could probably never understand this.
But here is the most outrageous thing about this book. Some reviewers complain about how much sex is put into it. Well, I could possibly live with that if it were not about cheating. Call me old-fashioned but I don’t find it acceptable to tell all the world (in a book about a culinary) about your friends cheating on their husbands, and all those affairs, and matter-of-factly regretting that it’s not happening to you (a married woman). After having read it all I just feel filthy and I don’t want these people to be a part of my world.
All in all, the memoir left me so dissatisfied that I feel an urge to re-do and re-write it my way (which I am not doing, of course) so that there is the book I was expecting.