A dismal topic, this. Nevertheless it might have provided help for a considerable number of people, and it doesn't. Instead, the book turns out to be a reading of Schultz' emotional pulse, taken too meticulously and too often. She's lonely. When she was very small, she pushed her brother out of a plate-glass window. He bled a lot, but he didn't die. She got lonelier. The rest of her knowledge comes from her experience with one divorce, several therapists, a legion of miserable friends, and the usual brush with TM, est, and drugs. In sum: nothing that is important for the rest of us to hear.