Many writers open their career with Bildungsromane, but Piercy held off till her seventh novel. She still hasn't perfected an authoritative manner, or learnt to write with anything like polish; but, in a sense, she's doing something better--capturing 'what it felt like' with a sweaty closeness to the moment, being authentically vulnerable and allowing all of herself, her background, her contradictions, her pretensions, her self-love, self-hate and spirit of self-preservation, to be present through every pore of this narrative of her early life. There is, maybe, integrally something artistically 'off', or bad, in this--for instance, a row with her oppressively close mother is like swimming through mud, or the furnishings of her rich second boyfriend's pad are like a 'sybaritic' stomach. Piercy, through her alter ego Jill Stuart ('Stu'), knows, as an English major in Ann Arbor, that she will only be able to write, to forge a manner and path as a professional writer both, through bucking tradition--offending it, but being so personal, intense and acute she can't readily be dismissed by it. This autobiographical history is recounted over twenty years after the event by a successful feminist writer--who would not have been interesting to the women now fete-ing her as a hardscrabble part-time secretary.
The novel is not just a traditional, but strongly female, novel of the main character's development, but also a traditional 'sentimental education'. Jill, Jewish on her mother's side, has parents who archaically don't believe in sex for women before marriage, but nevertheless passes through four serious lovers in the book, including her fiance. She says she learned something from each of them; but the first two are awful, programmatically bent on overturning her sense of herself as a woman, writer and intellectual. Conversations with them are a perpetual fight for dominance--for the guys--and a ceaseless effort, often witty, shrewd, glancing, at self-assertion for her. Mike, also from working-class Detroit, styles himself a Rimbaud-esque poet. He writes histrionic, even violent blank verse; and pronounces Jill's more interesting and invested women's free verse 'merde' (even if he hasn't always said so, it's been implicit in what he's told her of his 'aesthetic theory'). He goes to Yale. He doesn't believe in a woman's choice in abortion and boasts to his guy friends about how many times he's had sex with her in their private wooded arbour (both were virgins starting out). Matters come to an ugly, shaming head with him when Jill's mother infers from her cousin's letter they're having sex and puts the gun to his temples, threatening disclosure if they don't marry. His parents are respectable Jews, looking askance at Jill's Asiatic 'Kazan' eyes.
Her second boyfriend, short, outwardly refined and self-possessed, is cowed by his father, a big-shot city architect who rations the luxuries (Porsches, convertibles, houses) his son can have. Peter, an acolyte of Freud and of clitoral developmental 'stages', feints and probes with his every claim that Jill does not know herself or what she wants. An insecure and mediocre physicist, he is an aficionado of classical music and casual sadist in sex and sexualised personal interaction. Kemp, a gun-toting minor hoodlum and representative of life outside the academe, is better (his Italian mother taught him how to cook). With her fiance, Howie, she is caught in a love triangle with her roommate, an expressive Greek woman also trying on a number of possible, and possibly equally partial and frustrating, roles available to mid-50s women.
It's likely the novel would seem less by-numbers polemical, less a frame for feminist talking-points, if it were less autobiographical (that is, did it not all--more or less--actually happen). Two of Jill's most interesting relationships are with her mother and cousin, Donna. She fends off Peter's theory that her mother is jealous of her--but it does seem that her sexuality, and the greater opportunities open to a self-improving college girl, threaten her mother, an intelligent woman confined to homekeeping and her extended family. Her father is a union man who mends trams, coming home late; her mother without complaint throws away the first batch of deliciously steaming beef stew and gets out hamburger when he turns in at 11pm. When her mother has Jill's upstairs sanctuary painted a brilliant yellow, she accuses her of betrayal; and her mother strikes her on the mouth. Donna, her cousin, a thin, electrically pale weapon, plays the game of family conformity, but is a more avid autodidact, and restless self-examiner, than even Jill herself. They share a room as intimates, clashing, sharing everything and also--in the end with bad consequences--being attracted to the same man.