"After reading this book, I felt like an emotional tampon." - a discerning amazon reviewer
On the one hand, her writing seems sincere and cathartic, but on the other, she comes off as so obliviously narcissistic that I feel embarrassed for her. She and her inner experience dominate the book; other characters are rough sketches. There are so many mentions of compliments she received about her dancing ("just so you know, this guy ran out after me at a milonga and once this guy stopped to admire my yoga pose, etc.) that it begins to read like a braggy dance resume than a story.
The writing does flow. It reads easy, like a magazine article. But I wish I'd understood from the beginning that the book was not so much a story as a lot of travel vignettes organized by theme and topic. If I'd known, I wouldn't have read it as long as I did, waiting curiously to see how a plot was going to emerge, how all the little stories tied together. They don't. It's like her travel diary cleaned up a bit and published.
If you're like me and were just wanting some good travel writing on Argentina by someone who is also a tango dancer, I'm afraid I'd say skip it and read two other books instead: Bad Times in Buenos Aires by Miranda France and The Meaning of Tango by Christine Denniston.