There was a lot I really enjoyed about this book. I think if I hadn’t known multiple people with depression, I’d be more annoyed by this book. I used to be far more impatient with depression, like most uninformed people are. I think Esther could easily be frustrating to read and unlikeable without some context.

One of the main problems with this book is some racism. I didn’t expect it, though I should have. It’s random, not constant, but it’s there. She’ll use other races or ethnicities as ways to describe ugliness or sickliness, unfortunately.

Esther has an interesting journey. It’s a slow descent, brought on I think by some quarter life crisis thoughts. She notes that she expected to not get into this writing course, which her future goals depended on. You get the sense that she told herself she was going to get in, was planning for it, but perhaps deep down felt it was unlikely and didn’t want to face that. But as her time in NYC passes, she has to start thinking about it.

I related to her feelings about doing well in school. I was a straight A student in undergrad. Once I got to grad school I had a realization that straight As don’t matter. No one’s going to care. My effort dropped. But in my case it was more a relief, less pressure on myself as I moved toward the finish line. In Esther’s case, it leads to her questioning whether anything matters. She’s sort of awakening to the emptiness of her goals, or the difficulty in achieving them, and it takes her on a downward spiral.

I was glad to read her come back out of it. She’s not suddenly a wonderful person