Oh, my. Oh, my. oh my oh my oh my oh my.
I've never been so happy to get out of someone's head. This was almost brutal in it's relentless descent. Quite a feat for a mere 45 pages.
“There are things in that paper that nobody knows but me, or ever will.”
There is a lot to be said with the treatment of the narrator by her husband, though I didn't find his behavior malicious as much as I felt he was the perfect example of the attitude of the time. Still, damage unwittingly done can be just as horrifying as damage purposefully inflicted.
What gutted me was the knowledge, the sure knowledge, of how many women suffered postpartum depression before it had name, well before someone even cared enough to figure it out, and how many today suffer in silence. Having experienced just the trials of a newborn without the added hardship and overwhelming guilt, I was left horribly sad.
“It is the same woman, I know, for she is always creeping, and most women do not creep by daylight."
Couple that with the slithering invasiveness of insanity and it was all a little too much. I really had to concentrate on reading the words because my mind kept trying to skip, skip, skip.
"The color is repellent, almost revolting; a smouldering unclean yellow, strangely faded by the slow-turning sunlight."
I had planned this read for my "Locked Room Mystery" square. I'm not sure it will remain there, I might find a 'truer' locked room mystery to replace it...