The impression of this book fluctuates between enjoyment and apprehension. My capacity to view self-destruction could only go so far, and Anna crossed it ten times over. For someone so passive, or someone who considers herself as a passive character, the events that happened with her as the centre of said events speak otherwise.

The framing device of Anna's therapy sessions are brilliant. I enjoyed those bits. But when Anna is on her own, taking action of her own fate (despite her belief that she's not in charge of anything), I worry about her. It's intense, her desire for self-harm. So much so that I couldn't keep reading past a certain point. Also hence the low-ish rating. It's not particularly a flaw of the novel itself, but rather my lack of patience in dealing with people who just don't seem to care.