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I am in the minority when it comes to this book. And I have wracked my brain trying to understand why it is held in such high, high regard. There are a handful of short essays in this collection that I thought were excellent, but I found the majority of them almost interminable. The context here, and so many of the essays, is World War II, Italian fascism, the horrors of what unfolded as communities were ravaged. Her dismissive, shallow essays on England can be seen as cries for home, I understand. That still doesn't make them great art. She's at her best, when she writes about vocation, in this case writing. Her advice in the final essay that we can only be good parents if we have a passion in our own lives is excellent. But there was so much in here that I didn't like, stuff that did not resonate with me at all. When she writes about her longtime partner he comes across as an abusive dick, and yet it seems to me that she is paying homage to this behavior. This book was barely over 100 pages, and it took me 10 days to read. I do not mean this review to persuade anyone not to read the book. Finer minds than mine have found in this book wonderful writing and timeless, original thinking.