Written by an ivy league school attending New York Jewess the author shows all the most annoying traits of that demographic. A good example of which is she likes to claim she lived in poverty but yet she somehow managed to pay tuition at Harvard!!! Not to mention afford all of those shrinks that she dealt with throughout her life.

In this book she gives a personal recollection of being "depressed" during her childhood and college years. The only thing about her being "depressed" is she really doesn't seem like a textbook case of depression to me. She much more resembles a narcist with a personality disorder and a bit of a substance abuse problem than a depressive if I am to go by the behavior recounted in the book. But I guess feeling too bad to get out of bed, being miserable 24-7 and having no energy to do anything but stare at the walls wouldn't make for a very interesting read now would it? Another thing I have to point out is if your as crippled by depression as the author of Prozac Nation liked to claim to be how in the world did she manage to make it through those classes at Harvard and graduate? Come on man give me a break.

This all begs the question to me what is the real purpose of this book? On one level I have to be suspicious of whether or not this book was written as propaganda in order to normalize taking drugs, or at least approved drugs, to solve all your problems. She does more or less get magicly cured when her shrink puts her on Prozac close to the end of the book. The powers that be are totally pushing mind control drugs like Prozac onto the masses in order to make them happy compliant slaves like in Huxleys Brave New World. Huxley, who hobnobbed with the highest rungs of power, even came out and said that the world elites had plans to use drugs to do just that. Also Wurtzel did attend Harvard which is a hotbed for CIA activity and Tavistock Institute type of social engineering, propaganda and mind washing. But if this book isn't an effort at psychologicly conditioning and propagandizing people to drug their problems away and Wurtzel is not an agent of some sort then she is a con artist because she just does not fit the prototype of a depressive.

As far as general entertainment value I don't know who this book would appeal to except attention seeking self absorbed narcistic upper middle class young women who can afford things like shrinks, Prozac prescriptions and Harvard tuition bills.

While reading this book I had a breakdown. Because of this I ended up finishing this book within the confines of a hospital.
I can relate to Elizabeth. I see so much of the pain, sorrow, and emptiness I've gone through in this book.
However, my five star rating is not just because I can identify strongly with her. Her writing mirrors so much of what depression is. Her words are poetic and reminiscent of Sylvia Plath.
Mostly this book makes me feel understood. It gives me hope that my meds will help me. Because of the impact it left on me I gave it to another girl I met in the hospital. I hope it speaks to her as much as it spoke to me.

I have wanted to read "Prozac Nation" for years. Like many books I have always wanted to read, it takes me years to pursue them.

When I finally picked up and began this book, my first reaction was disgust. My reading range varies widely from cheap literature to difficult political tracts, and it is rare that something turns me off. This memoir did, at first. Wurtzel drags on about her parents bad relationship with each other, that left her torn between the two. She does not summarize this, but goes on for at least fifty pages-- a seventh of the book-- describing, in great detail, why her parents ruined her life. Before this, she describes why the setting of her parents generation, the culture, in turn, ruined her life.

I was disgusted. Considering your family's parenting style is, of course, important in reflecting on yourself, in all aspects. ...but for an eighth of your memoir?

Yet, I couldn't stop. I was so interested in this book, over the years; and something about it drew me to the book.

I realized, as I read, what it was: this book describes depression to a T; I saw many aspects of myself in it. The fact that depressed people are very self-centered. This may seem a contradiction at first-- depressed people tend to hate themselves, how can they be self-centered? The number one thing on many depressed people's minds are themselves, their traits, their lives, and why they suck. And they think about this. All the time. In great detail. Over, and over.

So, that's what this book is-- a portrait of such a character. Do her plights and philosophical beliefs about depression get annoying, and at times just plain idiotic? Absolutely. But this is a great description of a depressed person. It even opened my eyes, to a few things.

Who should read this book? I'm not sure. Those who do not suffer from/know no one who suffer from depression may write Wurtzel off as some one who is just self-centered and whiny; I'm not sure it would be affective for them. But for those of us who have been depressed, it is a worthwhile read, although it can sometimes be a drag. In the end, you will at least walk away with a reflection of your depressed self in literature and a chuckle. And a desire never to be that annoying again.

I read this when I was 16, around the time I first sought treatment for depression, but I honestly didn't remember a ton about the book. Rereading it now, at 30, I recognize its significance as one of the first memoirs of its kind (one written, not by a celebrity or an established writer, but as a debut) and a pain-staking account of what it looks like to live with depression.

The problem is that depression is exhausting. It's a slog to live with it. It wears on your loved ones, too. Unfortunately, my experience of reading this book is that--as much as I saw many of my own feelings and emotions mirrored in everything she described--it was tiresome. It was repetitive. Of course it was self-pitying. These qualities reflect how accurately she wrote about her illness. But it did not make for an enjoyable read, and this ultimately took me over a month to read because it wasn't enjoyable.

I'll be honest, too: I don't think this was crafted as well as it could have been. The long italicized sections added to my exhaustion. Telling this chronologically also felt like a misstep.

The ending also really rubbed me the wrong way. I actually don't believe that people are more depressed than they used to be. I think the "rising numbers" of depression reflect that treatments (drugs and talk therapy) have advanced to a degree where people are aware they actually can work to improve their life circumstances. People are also much more comfortable with sharing about their experiences and feelings.

That being said, this is an important book, especially for its time. While mental illness is still stigmatized, this book was revolutionary in pulling back the layers and revealing how debilitating and serious depression is. Those who have never experienced a depressive episode might want to tell depressed people to just snap out of it. Wurtzel illustrates why that's just not feasible.