Title: Spiritual pablum
Product review: This book astounded me in its seemingly endless stream of cliches and corny metaphors, from Monk Kidd's anthropomorphization of trees ("I studied their bony arms and felt their emptiness, their desperate reach for light and sky"), to her clumsy characterizations of discovering her True Self ("there's a bulb of truth buried in the human soul," "Had my masks gotten stuck to my face?", "Letting go is like crossing a bridge, I thought"). Monk Kidd's spiritual crisis may have been very real to her, but her description of it here strikes me as self-indulgent, sentimental claptrap. Having also read The Mermaid Chair, I would say this author is highly overrated.
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