I had resisted reading this for a long time, a little turned off by the idea of being inside a suicidal person's head. But someone gave me a copy and well, I felt I needed to read it because hey, great American literature!
Well. All the feels. Really, all of them. I think at this point in my life I somehow identify with Esther even more than I would have at 20 years of age. The fear of the descending jar is palpable, her despair so real...and then the timid sweetness of relief. Not without scars, but strong.