Honestly sad about the fact that this book was just not for me. I thought it would be (books about books? Books about being depressed and trying to read through/about the feeling? My jam!). And the writing was absolutely striking! I particularly enjoyed the chapter about The Bluest Eye (totally agree about it being a life-ruiner in the best way). But as it kept going, I felt less “convinced” (idk if that is the right word) of what she was saying and felt like I was reading around in circles. The combo of literary critique and memoir was pretty effective, but it just got to be repetitive and I found myself losing interest. So much of what she wrote resonated deeply with me, so I’m unsure why I leave this feeling so unsure about it.