I read this as part of a mini project for myself to read up on disability literature. I found this collection very affecting and complex, which is what I was looking for. It did not always sit well with me, but this is not a problem of the anthology. The author's views of herself, her illness, illness and disability in general, are biased, flawed, and unsettling—as are my own. She, too, is a whole-ass person. I was surprised, reading some low ratings of this book, that her own flawed process of negotiation was at times interpreted as a bad representation of disability. Yet to me these essays show all the weaving, difficult paths one takes to make meaning when your perceptions are literally removed from reality. How and why should a simple, straightforward ethic emerge? I liked this collection for its complications. It was inflected with class bias, but shit. It is what it is. She can only write from her own perspective, and shouldn't be discouraged from same simply because she has the skills and support to remain middle-class.

One essay in particular, Yale Will Not Save You, seems polarizing. I understand why. In it, the author emphasizes her intellect, alma mater, her linguistic skills and judgments, and investment in fashion. These themes recur through the anthology. She can and does give speeches on her condition, she can and does write, she is self-employed, previously she has been traditionally employed. She went to Yale, to Stanford, we learn several times. Later in the anthology she notes that her support team's goal for her—her own goal of overachieving no longer possible for her—is to achieve 60% functionality (productivity? the essays flirt with the ideas of producing versus being more than once, but it's not delved into, too tangential) once the best treatment for her has been found. Sometimes, she notes, she is at 0% functionality.

I found these two essays in particular in conversation, though overt comparative links between the two were not drawn. Because this is a single-authored anthology, the essays are able to provide a complex, rounded account of a single individual's identity and negotiation of same. She was accepted to Yale; she was kicked out of Yale after being twice institutionalized. How do you, from her perspective, come to understand yourself? I am still struggling to conceive of myself as anything other than an academic five years since leaving academia. This is standard identity negotiation, and an integral element of living with and accepting illness. She loves fashion—except when her illness strips love of anything from her. Another essay details how she threw away all her clothes, preferring a white shirt and black slacks for months in the throes of her illness for its simplicity and neutrality. Her love of fashion and investment in it—her acknowledgment of same—gives new weight to her discussion of feeling nothing at all for it later in the anthology.

Unlike many anthologies, these essays are in conversation with each other and, though each stands alone, come together and interweave into a common narrative. I am learning that "moral" complexity (in the sense of acknowledging flaws, shortcomings, discomforts and contradictions in perspectives) and narrativity are what I most seek from collections such as these. I don't know what the intention of these essays were, whether Wang preferred to raise consciousness for schizoaffective disorder (among other illnesses) or to share her personal experience, or both, other, any. It did broaden my understanding and my empathy for poorly understood illness, and for that I am indebted to the book.

Also, man—I don't struggle with any of what the author does, but reading this collection nevertheless made my own brain do some cool imbalances. The dreams! If that's also you, read this during the day; it helped.