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I, too, tried several times to get through this book. Even at the height of my fascination with Greece, this book was like a huge, dry steak that I could not digest. I didn't sense that blood-stirring something extra that I expected. But a very thorough book.
People who think this is a book about Greece are missing the point; it isn't. I'm amused at reviews that splutter "This isn't like Greece at all. It's about Patricia Storace, and her reaction to being plunked down in a Balkan nation after growing up somewhere very, very different. She doesn't get it." Because such a viewpoint presupposes there is, in fact, an objective 'Greece' that we can all agree on, and she simply failed to notice it. No, no, everybody's Greece (or Hawaii or Houston or anyplace else) is different, and it's very refreshing to find a book that sees things so differently from the Air Hellene party line. If nothing else, she sees the nation with very fresh eyes.Her writing is lovely, too, rich and slightly bitter-burnt like good chocolate. And to strain this metaphor even further, a little bit every night is better than trying to choke down the whole thing at once.Lay aside your pride, Philhellenes, and see this book for what it is -- a trip into the mind of a smart, observant and fascinating young woman.
To read her ridiculous "observations" regarding Greeks (All Greeks look alike, Greeks don't smile) is to know the real meaning of The Ugly American.Her year in Athens was clearly too brief a period for her to understand Greeks. Storace's book is a vivid illustration of how even a richly educated individual can be vastly ignorant. If you want to know Greeks, spend time with Greeks. She completely misses the mark on the true benevolence behind much of Greek hospitality, and her pitiable retellings of the overtures of Greek men reveal nothing but her own egotism. Despite a solid understanding of Greek language and history, Storace has extremely limited understanding of Greeks themselves, in large part because her own ethnocentrism -- which reveals itself repeatedly in the book -- prevents her from regarding Greeks as equal to Americans. Or visit Greece. Do not read this book.
Storace, a Greek speaking writer goes to Athens to work for a year. Women are objects for men and infrequently taken seriously. She visits various islands and tourst sites describing these in interesting detail. Storace also recounts her personal contacts with oversolicitous men who make it very clear that women are meant to get married and stay home. The writer has ambiguous feelings about the Greeks. She does make lots of friends, but doesn't seem anxious to go back.
In the spirit of fairness I have attempted to read this book twice now and have put it down with a sick feeling in my gut. Instead, this book tells me a lot more about the peculiar psychology of the author more than anything else. It's the same feeling I get whenever I find myself in the company of someone extraordinarily pretentious and self-absorbed. I just wanted to read something intersesting about Greece. I hate knowing I wasted my money of this drivel. I've yet to find a better example of mental mastrubation in my Amazon purchases.
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