Elizabeth Gilbert’s memoir about her “death affair”¹ is awful. She is awful, the premise is awful (her dead partner tells her in a vision to write every detail about their abusive affair as they both struggled with addiction and her partner died of cancer), the writing is awful, the italics are gratuitous, the poems are horrible, the takeaways are all wrong, but I couldn’t put it down, and finished it in a couple days. Absolute garbage.