Why I'm OK Without "The Yellow Wallpaper"

I've read this Charlotte Perkins Gilman story several times throughout my education. The first time, in high school, I must have read and forgot it immediately because I didn't know a thing about it going into a study of it during a college writing class on American Women maybe 4 years later. Even after that, I'm not sure that I retained much as upon my most recent reading, I had little more insight to it. I think maybe this is a testament to the fact that - I hate it when people say this in response to assigned reading- I don't really like this story.

But maybe I haven't betrayed my dedication to openness toward all assigned readings. Maybe I don't like this story as a result of the intent of the author. Maybe I don't like this story because it's darn spooky and makes me feel claustrophobic. Poor Charlotte had a rough go at life and suffered from some serious emotional issues after the birth of her child. It seems that after a prescribed vacation from her writing life during this time of distress she siphoned all of terrible fears and overwhelming sadness into this story. Perhaps the creation of this spooky story acted like an amputation of a gangrenous limb, efficiently separating the sane, healthy woman from her insane, unhealthy past. Anyways, though I can understand the importance of the story in the context of history and literature, I enjoy reading this story about as much as I would surveying an amputated leg. Forgive me, I'm a wuss.