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Book Thirty Two.
Really. What a load of self-involved pretentious wank. Did not enjoy this one. First of all, how did they even turn it into a film? (I haven't seen the film.) There was... no plot. It jumped back and forth between her time at the hospital and her life afterwards, with no apparent point other than her own wayward train of thought. She seemed to veer between 'I was/am crazy!' to 'I wasn't/am not crazy, they just said i was crazy!' and back again. She wants the allure of being crazy, but also the righteousness of saying 'they fucked my whole life up'.
Do not recommend. If you want to read about a young girl in the nut house, try The Bell Jar. I didn't even like Esther, but that book was good.