Points granted for Millet's candor: jealousy, being on the nastier side of the emotional spectrum, is not something most people want to admit to or analyze in regards to their own situation.Points deducted for attitude: holy hell, this woman is pretentious! Look, lady, you're giving in depth descriptions of how you crawled around on the floor, sniveling and searching your significant other's private stuff in order to find more proof with which to enlarge your wounds. You freely admit that this practice continued for years. Considering these pathetic facts, try not to be so freakin' smug about it.
Further points deducted for display of selected self-awareness: Millet admits to crisis-inducing jealousy, she admits to impossible expectations of her lover being so intuitive as to read her mind and behave in certain ways, and she admits to behavior like searching his things for more evidence after he's already admitted to his actions, but when it comes to acknowledging her own hypocrisy, there's a distinct lack. (If you've read The Sexual Life of Catherine M. you already know what I'm talking about. Even in Jealousy she makes mention of her own transgressions, although she does so as if hers are acceptable while his are not.) Lip service is paid late in the book, but it's only that, you can tell she's not really acknowledging any double standard.
Overall it was nice to read about someone delving into the muck of jealousy. Unfortunately, Millet thinks she's much more clever than she actually is, the writing is pretentious to the point of being ridiculous, and it's probably safe to skip this one unless you really enjoyed her previous work.
