It's hard to rate this one since I definitely felt intense frustration toward the author for her wallowing and self-pity. However, I felt like Wurtzel did an adequate job of self-reflection toward her situation and admitting that she was horrible to be around at times.

What this book does best is describe the helplessness of depression and how one can quickly and chronically be overcome by it. I felt sympathy toward her many times in this book, which I was not expecting with the aversion by some readers to this book.

I really enjoyed the afterword where she talked about over-medication of the culture of the 90s (which is still prevalent today). Medication was absolutely essential to Wurtzel and saved her life; however, I definitely agree that it's a band-aid, not a solution for the majority of users.

me after reading this book:

Published 30 years ago, this memoir seems like an unsettling foreshadowing of what we live through now: Not only has the memoir / autofiction trend become so dominant that is starting to become a symptom of overreaching self-absorption in a hermetically introspective literary landscape, no, the reliance on drugs numbing the effects of mental health problems and the repercussion of societal hardships has led to pharmacological enterprises becoming the new ruthless dealers of destruction (see the excellent Empire of Pain: The Secret History of the Sackler Dynasty). Wurtzel, often considered a major voice of Gen X, struggled with severe depression and experienced the advent of Prozac, which now seems like a rather harmless drug, and that's what the book is all about.

In today's climate, the first criticism directed to the text would be that Wurzel was an overly privileged, young, conventionally attractive white woman attending Harvard, but gatekeeping mental illness will not heal anyone plus it's a memoir for God's sake, so let's skip that nonsense. What renders the text intriguing is the relentless self-exposure that shows this woman losing it, again and again, drawing everyone around her down with her symptoms and driving people to the edge or even away, but her being unable to change her ways, because the depression has her in a chokehold. It's decently written, it's intentionally repetitive, it's showing the spiraling nature of the illness as exhausting and enervating, which means it's raw and vivid.

The societal implications of depression and Prozac et al. are only mentioned in passing, it's not a thorough analysis and only scratches the surface, plus from today's perspective, the 90's (especially here in Western Europe) seem like a heavenly decade, so it's hard to argue that the grunge stans out there felt an alienation that was hard to bear - but while this certainly impacts the attitude of readers today, it's of course unfair: How should Wurtzel and her peers have known that the age of terror was upon us, and Covid, and the Russian invasion of Ukraine, and Trump, and Fentanyl etc. pp. "Prozac Nation" is a historic document that does have things to say about how we have gotten here.

So this is an interesting read, especially when pondering our attitudes to mental health, therapy and drugs today.

I'm glad to have read this book because it's one I've always been aware of and knew influenced the culture, especially the women's online media I consumed throughout my teens and 20s. The problem with reading something that made such a splash 30 years after publication is not that much of it seemed new or shocking to me as a reader in 2022. I think that probably has more to do with Elizabeth Wurtzel's influence and how pedestrian some of the revelations and confessions in this book seem through today's eyes.

I am not going to lie, I only bought this book because the cover said "an upcoming movie starring Christina Ricci" and had a picture of her on the cover.

That being said, there were no pictures on the inside, and I still enjoyed the book a lot -- and for the record, I never even saw the Ricci film version.

the following should be considered before reading this book:
1. it is a memoir; by nature, memoirs are self-indulgent.
2. it is a memoir about depression. this book will be far more indulgent than the "regular" memoir.

this book is phenomenal at depicting the thoughts, moods, and turbulence found throughout a lifetime of depression. it's certainly worth noting if the reader suffers from depression because the cyclical patterns she experiences are incredibly relatable. the fact that she doesn't "edit" the experience for the reader who is incapable of understanding the experience means that she is being brutally honest. and the honesty inspires the reader who suffers from depression; the fact that a memoir is being written is, let's face it, to relate an experience to others and how the experience came to be. a living author only writes a memoir about depression for two reasons: to expose information on its prevalence, or to explain how the writer survived. so the depressed reader is really expecting a hell of a gem resolution when the writer relays her experience with suicidal behavior. she had me dangling by a thread, wondering what could possibly have been her savior. I found her resolution of receiving medication to be incredibly lackluster. I'm not saying that medication is not a good option, or that I was anticipating a more "dramatic" conclusion - but depression, as she states, doesn't just "go away" after the medication is given. she doesn't explain the experience of medication, or the physical and psychological consequences , the debates concerning whether or not a medication should be upped, or taken away, or changed. she gives us an epilogue about how, apparently prozac is overmedicated. what! so not only is this different subject matter; but now she's implying that medication is not the automatic response to depression that people should leap to. I'm not disagreeing with her, but the layout or development of these ideas near the end (which are momentous and worth discussing) are not given the length and emphasis that they are truly due. in the process, they seem to negate the previously read sections of the memoir, and make me wonder what the whole point of reading it was.

O texto está bem escrito e contém boas referências, que me fizeram pesquisar em outras fontes, por diversas vezes. Do ponto de vista de estilo, é o que anuncia - autobiográfico. Há quem o possa considerar um pouco “circular”, porque de facto o é: transmite bem as emoções por que a autora passou. Não obstante, em termos científicos, há que ter alguma cautela, uma vez que os termos e conceitos discutidos, nomeadamente no que diz respeito ao diagnóstico e terapêuticas abordados são, por vezes, pouco precisos.

3.5. to me what girl interrupted is for the sad girl, manipulator millennia. Following the internal torment of a talented 21 year old student writer as she navigates extreme emotional codependency and drug addiction, Wurtzels autobiography is an honest indictment against the abuse of antidepressants. An account of a destructive descent from promising intellectual to a young girl completely paralysed by self hatred that acts as the guiding lighthouse in which to frame wider cultural and political conversations.
I put off reading the book for a couple months , mostly because I’ve been painfully depressed myself and the idea of having to slog through someone else’s white middle class educated despair seemed really annoying, but the way Wurtzel cuts through all her misery with such a wry comedic tone made this so much fun to read. Like I was reading my most sadgirl self indulgences and somehow not cringing out at the raw authenticity of it all.

4/5

Skaitydama „Prozako kartą“, jau antrą kartą, visai kitomis akimis nei tuomet dvylikos ar trylikos, kai ji papuolė į mano rankas pirmąjį kartą, stengiausi persiplėšti į dvi dalis. Skaičiau kaip žmogus, kuris jau daug metų kovoja su depresija. Ir kaip žmogus, kuris vis dar bando ją suprasti. Pirmuoju atveju jaučiausi tiesiog gilyn brendanti į klampų smėlį – tokį, kuriame užuojautos, paramos ar supratimo neverta tikėtis, nes mes toli gražu nesame toje pačioje valtyje. Kiekvienas bando išsigelbėti pats ir neturi jėgų ištiesti rankos sau pačiam, ką jau bekalbėti apie kitus. Antruoju negalėjau atsikratyti jausmo, kad tai nėra knyga, kuri padės išmokti užjausti, paremti ar suprasti tą, kuris serga. Ir vis dėlto, kad ir kiek tekę skaityti bandymų atverti duris į depresija sergančio pasaulį, kad ir koks individualus jis bebūtų, „Prozako karta“ man atrodo kaip vienas geriausių rašymo apie buvimą šios ligos įkaitu pavyzdžių.

Elizabeth Wurtzel piešia kaip tik tokį savęs portretą, kurį tikiu, kad nupiešti gali būti nepakeliamai sunku. Kuomet rašai apie save, pažvelgti sau pačiam į akis gali būti ne tik nepaprasta, bet ir iš viso neįmanoma. Vis dėlto, autorė padaro būtent tai – ji zyzianti, erzinanti, didžiąją dalį laiko galvojanti tik apie save ir savo skausmą, jame besimurkdanti ir įtraukianti kitus, tačiau todėl nesudvejoji, kad ji – sąžininga su savimi ir skaitančiais. Kartais ji savo liga naudojasi, kartais – ja mazochistiškai mėgaujasi. Kartais dėl jos išsisuka nuo darbų ir įsipareigojimų, kartais ja prisidengia ir ieško pateisinimų. Ir nors visi šie požymiai gali sukelti įspūdį žmogaus, kuris tiesiog nenori pasveikti, nuoširdžiai tikiu, kad tuo pačiu paaiškina, kodėl niekas niekada negalėtų sąmoningai pasirinkti tokio gyvenimo. Autorę mėgti sunku, bet tikiu, kad būtent tai ir geriausiai padeda įsikūnyti į depresiją sergančio egzistenciją. E.Wurtzel padeda į ją pažvelgti akimis žmogaus, kuris ir pats savęs nesupranta, nekenčia ir nemyli. Ir tai priartėja gąsdinančiai arti to, su kuo depresija sergantys susiduria kiekvieną dieną, bandydami sugyventi patys su savimi.

Tačiau tikiu, kad tam, jog šia knyga tinkamai pasimėgautum, turi atsinešti nemenką žinių bagažą. Ar bent jau netingėti gūglinti. Jeigu muzikos pasaulis šiek tiek svetimas, jei nuorodos į kultūrą, literatūrą, filmus ne visada atrodo savaime aiškios, gali tekti nemažai pasidomėti pačiam, nes autorė ne tik parodo pirštu į tam tikrus įvykius filmuose ar knygose, žymių žmonių gyvenimuose, bet ir su jais susieja savo pačios patirtis. Kitaip tariant, minimą vardą žinoti ne visuomet pakanka. Nepadeda ir tai, jog ir pati vertėja vietomis numojo ranka – vyrai tampa moterimis ir atvirkščiai, todėl norėtųsi, kad pavadinimai ir pavardės būtų tiesiog palikti originalūs, kad žmonėms nereikėtų sukti galvų apie ką eina kalba. Na, nes kai Patti Smith tampa Pete Smif, man ima trūkčioti akis. Vis dėlto, apart siūlymo skaityti anglišką variantą, jei tik yra galimybė, nežinau ar šią knygą siūlyčiau skeptikams, cinikams ar nuotykių ieškotojams. Leistis į daugiau nei keturių šimtų puslapių užburto rato kelionę su žmogumi, kurį sunku pamėgti, plaukiant jo dusinančiame minčių sraute toli gražu nėra lengva, tačiau „Prozako karta“ puikiai pasitarnauja puoselėjant tikrąją toleranciją, empatiją ir meilę artimui. Kad ir koks iš tiesų tolimas jis bebūtų.