Granted I am a guy, a white guy at that, but a relatively evolved and enlightened one (or so my wife says when not pummeling me with a rolling pin). However, when assigned to read this for a woman's literature class in art school, I began visualizing forms of torture I would rather endure than finish this book. Call me a simpleton, but bare minimum, a book has to have a PLOT! If there is a guy out there who can choke down this book without bleeding from the eyes, the first round of medicinal post-read bourbon is on me. Sorry...for what it's worth, though, I loved Fried Green Tomatoes and Joy Luck Club