Immediately after reading Wild, I posted on facebook, tagging all the women I know who hike, who camp, who have mothers, who are imperfectly trying to make their way through the world, who have made mistakes, who have thrown themselves into life, and who are absolutely fucking magnificent. This was an incredibly and beautifully powerful book, earning every bit of praise it has been given. I say this knowing full well that there are people out there who vehemently disagree with me.I have read a few reviews where Strayed is criticized for not giving back enough, for being selfish, for being unprepared and for being, well, a flawed human being. However, remember that flawed people write much much more interesting memoirs than their saint-like counterparts, and Strayed’s journey would have meant nothing if she didn’t have room for growth. Despite the fact that the only thing Strayed and I have in common is the fact that we’re both white women who like the outdoors, the book spoke to me so much that I’m terrified of seeing the movie in case it doesn’t do it justice.
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