Right from the start, I did not find this book engaging. Unlike The Quiet Room: A Journey Out of the Torment of Madness, which I have recently read and in which your heart absolutely breaks for the author, Kay Redfield Jamison tends to recount her experiences with the cold, clinical eye of science, rather than expressing in what way her illness affects her feelings.

This book reads like a thesis paper. Jamison "reports" on her illness, with no emotion behind the words. Even as she talks about the death of one of her patients as well as her own suicide attempt and resultant coma, she goes into no detail and the words are cold and critical, making it hard to empathize with her.

As you read, she suddenly throws in statements such as "I was married by then," and "I was seeing patients by then." There was no mention up to that point that she was even dating someone, or that she was building a client base. I would think there would be some emotional account leading up to these milestones, describing what part her illness played in these important events, but they seem to be an afterthought.

She constantly provides lists of activities and accomplishments. A great deal of the book centers around her research and treatment of patients, and her fears seem to revolve only around whether or not she may be forced to give up her clinical practice and teaching if "found out," rather than providing any details as to how her illness directly affected her otherwise.

I feel she oversimplifies a complex illness that manifests in many different forms. She repeatedly overuses the word "madness," and at one point even uses the phrase "being crazy," which I find totally unsympathetic, especially for someone suffering from the illness. I believe this has unpleasant connotations, and contributes to societal stigma and misunderstanding.

A typical sentence: "In the cold light of day, however, the reality and destructiveness of rekindled illness tend to dampen the evocativeness of such selectively remembered, wistful, intense, and gentle moments." A bit too cerebral for me, bordering on what I might call "difficult to follow." She quotes Eliot, Byron, Melville and Lowell, among others, with whom the casual reader may not be entirely familiar (I am referring to myself).

This account does to some degree open a window into the world of bipolar disorder, but it left me cold without much new understanding into the emotions of the sufferer. It's definitely not the most moving or poignant account I've read about living with this type of illness. It's worth a look, but it's not the first book someone trying to understand this illness needs on his or her shelf.