Millet's writing about encountering the infidelity of her long-term partner, Jacques Henri, reminded me of Simone de Beauvoir's novella The Woman Destroyed. Both are conceptual, speculative accounts of the annihilating self-abnegation that is sometimes the result of jealousy. As in The Sexual Life of Cathering M., Millet's writing is painfully revealing and while I marvel at her ability to make herself so vulnerable, I have to admit it's not easy to like her by the end of the book. Jealousy debases us in humiliating, haunting ways.