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The Bell Jar
The Bell Jar chronicles the crack-up of Esther Greenwood: brilliant, beautiful, enormously talented, and successful, but slowly going under鈥攎aybe for the last time. Sylvia Plath masterfully draws the reader into Esther's breakdown with such intensity that Esther's insanity becomes completely real and even rational, as probable and accessible an experience as going to the movies. Such deep penetration into the dark and harrowing corners of the psyche is an extraordinary accomplishment and has made The Bell Jar a haunting American classic.
294 pages, Paperback
First published January 1, 1963
59.3k people are currently reading
1m people want to read
About the author
Sylvia Plath
265听books26.9k听followersSylvia Plath was an American poet, novelist, and short story writer, widely regarded as one of the most influential and emotionally powerful authors of the 20th century. Born in Boston, Massachusetts, she demonstrated literary talent from an early age, publishing her first poem at the age of eight. Her early life was shaped by the death of her father, Otto Plath, when she was eight years old, a trauma that would profoundly influence her later work.
Plath attended Smith College, where she excelled academically but also struggled privately with depression. In 1953, she survived a suicide attempt, an experience she later fictionalized in her semi-autobiographical novel The Bell Jar. After recovering, she earned a Fulbright Scholarship to study at Newnham College, Cambridge, in England. While there, she met and married English poet Ted Hughes in 1956. Their relationship was passionate but tumultuous, with tensions exacerbated by personal differences and Hughes's infidelities.
Throughout her life, Plath sought to balance her ambitions as a writer with the demands of marriage and motherhood. She had two children with Hughes, Frieda and Nicholas, and continued to write prolifically. In 1960, her first poetry collection, The Colossus and Other Poems, was published in the United Kingdom. Although it received modest critical attention at the time, it laid the foundation for her distinctive voice鈥攊ntensely personal, often exploring themes of death, rebirth, and female identity.
Plath's marriage unraveled in 1962, leading to a period of intense emotional turmoil but also extraordinary creative output. Living with her two children in London, she wrote many of the poems that would posthumously form Ariel, the collection that would cement her literary legacy. These works, filled with striking imagery and raw emotional force, displayed her ability to turn personal suffering into powerful art. Poems like "Daddy" and "Lady Lazarus" remain among her most famous, celebrated for their fierce honesty and technical brilliance.
In early 1963, following a deepening depression, Plath died by suicide at the age of 30. Her death shocked the literary world and sparked a lasting fascination with her life and work. The posthumous publication of Ariel in 1965, edited by Hughes, introduced Plath's later poetry to a wide audience and established her as a major figure in modern literature. Her novel The Bell Jar was also published under her own name shortly after her death, having initially appeared under the pseudonym "Victoria Lucas."
Plath鈥檚 work is often classified within the genre of confessional poetry, a style that emphasizes personal and psychological experiences. Her fearless exploration of themes like mental illness, female oppression, and death has resonated with generations of readers and scholars. Over time, Plath has become a feminist icon, though her legacy is complex and occasionally controversial, especially in light of debates over Hughes's role in managing her literary estate and personal history.
Today, Sylvia Plath is remembered not only for her tragic personal story but also for her immense contributions to American and English literature. Her work continues to inspire writers, artists, and readers worldwide. Collections such as Ariel, Crossing the Water, and Winter Trees, as well as her journals and letters, offer deep insight into her creative mind. Sylvia Plath鈥檚 voice, marked by its intensity and emotional clarity, remains one of the most haunting and enduring in modern literature.
Plath attended Smith College, where she excelled academically but also struggled privately with depression. In 1953, she survived a suicide attempt, an experience she later fictionalized in her semi-autobiographical novel The Bell Jar. After recovering, she earned a Fulbright Scholarship to study at Newnham College, Cambridge, in England. While there, she met and married English poet Ted Hughes in 1956. Their relationship was passionate but tumultuous, with tensions exacerbated by personal differences and Hughes's infidelities.
Throughout her life, Plath sought to balance her ambitions as a writer with the demands of marriage and motherhood. She had two children with Hughes, Frieda and Nicholas, and continued to write prolifically. In 1960, her first poetry collection, The Colossus and Other Poems, was published in the United Kingdom. Although it received modest critical attention at the time, it laid the foundation for her distinctive voice鈥攊ntensely personal, often exploring themes of death, rebirth, and female identity.
Plath's marriage unraveled in 1962, leading to a period of intense emotional turmoil but also extraordinary creative output. Living with her two children in London, she wrote many of the poems that would posthumously form Ariel, the collection that would cement her literary legacy. These works, filled with striking imagery and raw emotional force, displayed her ability to turn personal suffering into powerful art. Poems like "Daddy" and "Lady Lazarus" remain among her most famous, celebrated for their fierce honesty and technical brilliance.
In early 1963, following a deepening depression, Plath died by suicide at the age of 30. Her death shocked the literary world and sparked a lasting fascination with her life and work. The posthumous publication of Ariel in 1965, edited by Hughes, introduced Plath's later poetry to a wide audience and established her as a major figure in modern literature. Her novel The Bell Jar was also published under her own name shortly after her death, having initially appeared under the pseudonym "Victoria Lucas."
Plath鈥檚 work is often classified within the genre of confessional poetry, a style that emphasizes personal and psychological experiences. Her fearless exploration of themes like mental illness, female oppression, and death has resonated with generations of readers and scholars. Over time, Plath has become a feminist icon, though her legacy is complex and occasionally controversial, especially in light of debates over Hughes's role in managing her literary estate and personal history.
Today, Sylvia Plath is remembered not only for her tragic personal story but also for her immense contributions to American and English literature. Her work continues to inspire writers, artists, and readers worldwide. Collections such as Ariel, Crossing the Water, and Winter Trees, as well as her journals and letters, offer deep insight into her creative mind. Sylvia Plath鈥檚 voice, marked by its intensity and emotional clarity, remains one of the most haunting and enduring in modern literature.
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June 12, 2007
There are many who have read The Bell Jar and absolutely loved it. I am gladly considering myself one of them. I was a little caught of guard when I read a few reviews of The Bell Jar comparing it to The Catcher in the Rye stating how it's the female version of it. I liked Catcher but I know there are many people who didn't and upon hearing that may be similar to Catcher not have the desire to read it. I assure you, The Bell Jar is a book all on it's own and should not be compared to any other book... even as a compliment.
When I first started reading the book I was a little put off, feeling it was an extremely pretensious novel. Her descriptions were crisp and precise, often using words that one rarely hears spoken or even read. I went into the novel knowing that Plath was a poet and felt that at first the book was just another form of her poetry and her showing off her writing abilities. But that only remained within the first two pages, because after that I became absorbed. The writing that I was a little sketchy about at first helped me visualize the setting and get to know the characters. And though Plath never really described many characters as to their personality, I began to feel I knew them all intimately.
Strangely enough, if you remember in my last review, what bothered me most about The Good Earth did not bother me in The Bell Jar. Because the Esther, the character we are following, is slowly descending into madness, time no longer matters. There are a few times I was confused about the timeline, but it did not upset me.
The book really spoke to me because of my own personal experiences with depression and suicide. It spoke to me as a woman and my views on sex and the confusion I'm sure most other girls out there face. It's amazing that this book was written and published over 30 years ago, really, when a new woman was coming out into the world. I have a feeling that this book helped women realize that they're not alone, and brought things to light that most people have commonly shoved aside; women and men. But what else is amazing is how relevant these topics still are today. Specifically with suicide, and specifically about the virtue and pureness of women compared to men.
So I guess that is why The Bell Jar is often compared to The Catcher in the Rye, with it's discussions and writings of often controversial titles. Setting off a new generation of writers, styles, and people. Another book also came to mind as I was reading, and that was The Perks of Being a Wallflower. There are moments when I could make a few direct comparisons between the two. With Esther slowly seperating herself from socialization and sinking deeper into her own thoughts and depression. Analyzing things that go on around her and her surroundings. Very reminscent of Perks.
If you feel you're suffering from depression, madness, confusion about topics pertaining to society and sex, or just looking for a good read, The Bell Jar is definetly the book for you. I also advise, if you're seriously suffering from depression, to get help for yourself. There is no shame in it, and getting help is better than ending your life. Even if you need to go on medication, DO NOT feel ashamed, especially if it's going to help you even more.
When I first started reading the book I was a little put off, feeling it was an extremely pretensious novel. Her descriptions were crisp and precise, often using words that one rarely hears spoken or even read. I went into the novel knowing that Plath was a poet and felt that at first the book was just another form of her poetry and her showing off her writing abilities. But that only remained within the first two pages, because after that I became absorbed. The writing that I was a little sketchy about at first helped me visualize the setting and get to know the characters. And though Plath never really described many characters as to their personality, I began to feel I knew them all intimately.
Strangely enough, if you remember in my last review, what bothered me most about The Good Earth did not bother me in The Bell Jar. Because the Esther, the character we are following, is slowly descending into madness, time no longer matters. There are a few times I was confused about the timeline, but it did not upset me.
The book really spoke to me because of my own personal experiences with depression and suicide. It spoke to me as a woman and my views on sex and the confusion I'm sure most other girls out there face. It's amazing that this book was written and published over 30 years ago, really, when a new woman was coming out into the world. I have a feeling that this book helped women realize that they're not alone, and brought things to light that most people have commonly shoved aside; women and men. But what else is amazing is how relevant these topics still are today. Specifically with suicide, and specifically about the virtue and pureness of women compared to men.
So I guess that is why The Bell Jar is often compared to The Catcher in the Rye, with it's discussions and writings of often controversial titles. Setting off a new generation of writers, styles, and people. Another book also came to mind as I was reading, and that was The Perks of Being a Wallflower. There are moments when I could make a few direct comparisons between the two. With Esther slowly seperating herself from socialization and sinking deeper into her own thoughts and depression. Analyzing things that go on around her and her surroundings. Very reminscent of Perks.
If you feel you're suffering from depression, madness, confusion about topics pertaining to society and sex, or just looking for a good read, The Bell Jar is definetly the book for you. I also advise, if you're seriously suffering from depression, to get help for yourself. There is no shame in it, and getting help is better than ending your life. Even if you need to go on medication, DO NOT feel ashamed, especially if it's going to help you even more.
December 15, 2022
i did not know that if you're mentally ill you're allowed to be mean and annoying. i wish i had done things differently.
i do get why this is a classic. some reasons it is, in order of niceness to not niceness:
-it is very beautifully written
-that fig paragraph is probably one of the best passages on what it is to be a mentally ill young woman ever brought into this world
-it is, in many ways, ahead of its time
-sylvia plath has the kind of compelling story that would have sealed her canonical fate whether she was talented or not.
-and:
this is often, as it was in my case, assigned reading for teenage girls, the people most likely to be willing to undergo the kind of self-centering it would take to think most of what's depicted in this book is an okay or acceptable way to be.
when i first read this, i liked it. i was 18, it should be noted, and a senior in high school fresh off the then-worst year of my life. (it has since been soundly defeated.) anyway, i didn't know classic fiction could be like this: written by a woman, fresh and relatable, about someone like me.
that wasn't my experience upon reread.
in the intervening years, i've read some of plath's poetry in other classes, and found it a little gaudy and self-indulgent for my taste. (you can yell at me if you want to but i don't think either of those are untrue. or even really insults.) so i always wondered if the bell jar would hold up if i read it again.
the answer: no, but not for any reason i expected!
this is racist and homophobic as f*ck. it's genuinely disturbing. this was written in the second half of the 20th century, in the midst of the civil rights movement. the march on washington took place in the same year as this book's publication. among legitimate intellectual and/or progressive circles of the time, this manner of thinking is grotesquely out of line.
it seems especially absurd in the face of plath's dogged dedication to the Rights Of Women. feminism is important, of course, but reading about how the greatest social issue in plath's eyes (or the eyes of plath's self-insert protagonist) was women being able to be writers and editors with as much ease as they could be secretaries (as opposed to the several editors and writers there were) is kind of insane. obviously employment access is crucial, but the lack of self-awareness is apparent, no?
this also has two of my least favorite clich茅d traits of mental health depiction:
1) a protagonist that blames everyone else for their mental illness, and
2) Grand Gestures Of Depression.
baby, i wish my mental illness included me doing things like whimsically throwing shirts at the city of new york while my hair blew in the wind. it's usually a lot more of me laying in bed and watching tiktoks.
i guess that doesn't fit the seminal work criteria.
in short: i love unlikable protagonists. it's just that i hated this one.
bottom line: we all have an unpopular opinion, right? a beloved book we hate? let me have this one in peace.
--------------------
currently-reading updates
rereading this on the beach so i can be the edgiest girl there
i do get why this is a classic. some reasons it is, in order of niceness to not niceness:
-it is very beautifully written
-that fig paragraph is probably one of the best passages on what it is to be a mentally ill young woman ever brought into this world
-it is, in many ways, ahead of its time
-sylvia plath has the kind of compelling story that would have sealed her canonical fate whether she was talented or not.
-and:
this is often, as it was in my case, assigned reading for teenage girls, the people most likely to be willing to undergo the kind of self-centering it would take to think most of what's depicted in this book is an okay or acceptable way to be.
when i first read this, i liked it. i was 18, it should be noted, and a senior in high school fresh off the then-worst year of my life. (it has since been soundly defeated.) anyway, i didn't know classic fiction could be like this: written by a woman, fresh and relatable, about someone like me.
that wasn't my experience upon reread.
in the intervening years, i've read some of plath's poetry in other classes, and found it a little gaudy and self-indulgent for my taste. (you can yell at me if you want to but i don't think either of those are untrue. or even really insults.) so i always wondered if the bell jar would hold up if i read it again.
the answer: no, but not for any reason i expected!
this is racist and homophobic as f*ck. it's genuinely disturbing. this was written in the second half of the 20th century, in the midst of the civil rights movement. the march on washington took place in the same year as this book's publication. among legitimate intellectual and/or progressive circles of the time, this manner of thinking is grotesquely out of line.
it seems especially absurd in the face of plath's dogged dedication to the Rights Of Women. feminism is important, of course, but reading about how the greatest social issue in plath's eyes (or the eyes of plath's self-insert protagonist) was women being able to be writers and editors with as much ease as they could be secretaries (as opposed to the several editors and writers there were) is kind of insane. obviously employment access is crucial, but the lack of self-awareness is apparent, no?
this also has two of my least favorite clich茅d traits of mental health depiction:
1) a protagonist that blames everyone else for their mental illness, and
2) Grand Gestures Of Depression.
baby, i wish my mental illness included me doing things like whimsically throwing shirts at the city of new york while my hair blew in the wind. it's usually a lot more of me laying in bed and watching tiktoks.
i guess that doesn't fit the seminal work criteria.
in short: i love unlikable protagonists. it's just that i hated this one.
bottom line: we all have an unpopular opinion, right? a beloved book we hate? let me have this one in peace.
--------------------
currently-reading updates
rereading this on the beach so i can be the edgiest girl there
February 27, 2013
I feel like I owe Sylvia Plath an apology. This is a book I actively avoided for years because so many people (namely female classmates who wanted to be perceived as painfully different or terminally misunderstood or on the verge of absolutely losing their teenage shit) lauded the virtues of this book and how it, like, so totally spoke to them in places they didn't even know they had ears. My own overly judgmental high-school self could not accept even the remote possibility of actual merit lurking between the covers of something that such bland, faux-distraught ninnies clung to like a life raft.
I should probably also apologize for referring to every pair of oven mitts I've ever owned as a pair of Sylvias but I think the lady scribe in question was too mired in real problems to care all that much about my sick amusement's crass reduction.
"The Bell Jar," packed as it was with bleak truths, difficult topics and wryly dark humor, was not at all what I was expecting. Old biases die hard: I couldn't help but brace myself for a trivial tribute to mental imbalances, White Girl Problems and petty complaints disguised as life-ruining moments. What I got was an utter lack of histrionics and a sincere, to-the-point road map of one talented young lady's fight against her inner demons. Sylvia's alter ego Esther Greenwood (let's all take a second to appreciate the sly cleverness of trading "Sylvia" for the fictional surname "Greenwood") is so straightforward in addressing her despair that I couldn't help but extend more sympathy than I thought I could muster to her understated suffering. If nothing else, this book taught me that my own bouts of the blues are simply me being human and could be so much more debilitating: For that clarity of self-awareness alone, I am grateful.
Reading this as I neared the "Infinite Jest" finish line offered necessary perspective that helped me get a better idea of what it must have been like inside such a messy head. The relative ease with which IJ's depressed cast could self-medicate in secret or seek refuge where at least someone was trying to understand the extent of such gaping psychological wounds offered a jarring contrast to the way Sylvia/Esther seemed truly isolated from those who couldn't see how awful it was to live inside herself. While she encountered precious little understanding in both her personal life (Mrs. Greenwood's inability to see her daughter's problem as her daughter's problem instead of wondering what she did wrong just rubbed my modern sensibilities the wrong way) and from the medical professionals who were tasked with helping her rise above the sinking despair she couldn't escape, I finished this fictionalized semi-autobiography 50 years after its publication with a keener understanding of what Sylvia Plath endured than I'm comfortable with.
I should probably also apologize for referring to every pair of oven mitts I've ever owned as a pair of Sylvias but I think the lady scribe in question was too mired in real problems to care all that much about my sick amusement's crass reduction.
"The Bell Jar," packed as it was with bleak truths, difficult topics and wryly dark humor, was not at all what I was expecting. Old biases die hard: I couldn't help but brace myself for a trivial tribute to mental imbalances, White Girl Problems and petty complaints disguised as life-ruining moments. What I got was an utter lack of histrionics and a sincere, to-the-point road map of one talented young lady's fight against her inner demons. Sylvia's alter ego Esther Greenwood (let's all take a second to appreciate the sly cleverness of trading "Sylvia" for the fictional surname "Greenwood") is so straightforward in addressing her despair that I couldn't help but extend more sympathy than I thought I could muster to her understated suffering. If nothing else, this book taught me that my own bouts of the blues are simply me being human and could be so much more debilitating: For that clarity of self-awareness alone, I am grateful.
Reading this as I neared the "Infinite Jest" finish line offered necessary perspective that helped me get a better idea of what it must have been like inside such a messy head. The relative ease with which IJ's depressed cast could self-medicate in secret or seek refuge where at least someone was trying to understand the extent of such gaping psychological wounds offered a jarring contrast to the way Sylvia/Esther seemed truly isolated from those who couldn't see how awful it was to live inside herself. While she encountered precious little understanding in both her personal life (Mrs. Greenwood's inability to see her daughter's problem as her daughter's problem instead of wondering what she did wrong just rubbed my modern sensibilities the wrong way) and from the medical professionals who were tasked with helping her rise above the sinking despair she couldn't escape, I finished this fictionalized semi-autobiography 50 years after its publication with a keener understanding of what Sylvia Plath endured than I'm comfortable with.
March 7, 2016
There is this scene in Chapter 10 of The Bell Jar where Esther Greenwood decides to write a novel.
I cannot help wondering, is that what Sylvia Plath thought when she wrote The Bell Jar? Did she, like Esther, sit on a breezeway in an old nightgown waiting for something to happen? Is that why she chose the name Esther? 6 letters - just like in Sylvia. For luck?
It's impossible to read The Bell Jar and not be affected, knowing what happened to Plath. I mean, it's everywhere. She is everywhere. All of Esther's musings are Plath's own. It's eerie. There's hardly any comfort even when Esther is freed from the bell jar; on the contrary, it's a brutal reminder that this book is ultimately, part fiction.
Plath's poetic prowess shows through her writing - especially the descriptions. They are so simple yet so fitting. There is one in particular I loved, where Esther compares her life to a fig tree (See the first status update). Here's another:
The writing is remarkably unemotional and I don't mean that as a bad thing. Esther's (or Plath's?) commentary dwells entirely on thoughts and perceptions, never feelings. Depression is so often mistaken as a form of sadness. This woman, however, is not sad. She is empty. She is a shell. She contemplates killing herself with a kind of ease that's unnerving.
The Bell Jar did not make me cry but I wish it did. What I'm left with now is a deep sense of unhappiness that I don't think tears can fix.
Why is it that the most talented always fall prey to the bell jar? It's such a waste.
"My heroine would be myself, only in disguise. She would be called Elaine. Elaine. I counted the letters on my fingers. There were six letters in Esther, too. It seemed a lucky thing."
I cannot help wondering, is that what Sylvia Plath thought when she wrote The Bell Jar? Did she, like Esther, sit on a breezeway in an old nightgown waiting for something to happen? Is that why she chose the name Esther? 6 letters - just like in Sylvia. For luck?
It's impossible to read The Bell Jar and not be affected, knowing what happened to Plath. I mean, it's everywhere. She is everywhere. All of Esther's musings are Plath's own. It's eerie. There's hardly any comfort even when Esther is freed from the bell jar; on the contrary, it's a brutal reminder that this book is ultimately, part fiction.
Plath's poetic prowess shows through her writing - especially the descriptions. They are so simple yet so fitting. There is one in particular I loved, where Esther compares her life to a fig tree (See the first status update). Here's another:
"I saw the years of my life spaced along a road in the form of telephone poles, threaded together by wires. I counted one, two, three...nineteen telephone poles, and then the wires dangled into space, and try as I would, I couldn鈥檛 see a single pole beyond the nineteenth."
The writing is remarkably unemotional and I don't mean that as a bad thing. Esther's (or Plath's?) commentary dwells entirely on thoughts and perceptions, never feelings. Depression is so often mistaken as a form of sadness. This woman, however, is not sad. She is empty. She is a shell. She contemplates killing herself with a kind of ease that's unnerving.
The Bell Jar did not make me cry but I wish it did. What I'm left with now is a deep sense of unhappiness that I don't think tears can fix.
Why is it that the most talented always fall prey to the bell jar? It's such a waste.
July 5, 2008
I've never shied away from depressing material, but there's a difference between the tone serving the story, and a relentlessly depressing work that goes entirely nowhere. I know it can be viewed as a glimpse into Plath's mind, but I would rather do a lot of things, some quite painful, than read this again. It hurt to get through it, and I think it's self-indulgent and serves no real artistic purpose. Which is truly a shame, as I love a lot of Plath's poetry.
September 15, 2020
This is, by far, the most disappointed I鈥檝e ever been when it came to a book.
Not just with the book itself, but with how many people decided to ignore the racism taking place in it.
I鈥檝e had this novel praised to me so many times that I idolized it for years before I even bought it. I was so scared that I wouldn鈥檛 like it that I kept waiting to be in 鈥渢he right mind-set鈥� before I decided to finally pick it up.
About a quarter into the book I had already encountered not one, but 3 racist comments made by Esther (the main character). And I was so surprised that no one ever mentioned this to me that I had to stop reading, go on goodreads and look at the reviews to see if anyone was addressing it, and nothing.
So I told myself I was reading too much into it and kept on reading, and by the 4th comment I was starting to lose it.
So I went online and looked it up, and the only thing that turned up was a personal blog and a goodreads thread that mostly blamed the racism on 鈥渢he time the novel was written in鈥�, to which I would just like to say, and pardon my french, that鈥檚 complete and utter bullshit.
This book was written in the 60s! The NINETEEN-60s!! in. the. middle. of. the. civil. rights. movement.
And I鈥檓 not saying racism didn鈥檛 exist back then, hell, that鈥檚 what the whole movement was about. And I get that people weren鈥檛 鈥渨oke鈥�, and that using certain slang was normal back then, BUT I could name at least a dozen writers who didn鈥檛 feel the need to be racist while writing from (what we all know is) their personal pov. Hell, I could name novels published in the 19th fucking century that advocated against racism. Sylvia could鈥檝e at least picked up ONE of those during her lifetime, jfc.
I鈥檓 not just speaking about the 5+ times she used the n word, it鈥檚 not my place to say whether that was wrong or not. I鈥檓 talking about the explicit racist comments (against more races than one, if I may add) that made me want to drench this book in gasoline, light it on fire then flush it down the fucking toilet:
鈥� In one part, Esther Greenwood describes her reflection as "a big, smudgy-eyed Chinese woman staring idiotically into my face,"
鈥� In another she says: 鈥渢he face in the mirror looks like a sick Indian"
鈥� At one point she calls indigenous Mexicans ugly and says things like "dusky as a bleached-blonde negress"
鈥� In a scene where Esther is being served dinner while in the mental health institute. The man serving her is described as a stupid, laughing, indolent Black man with huge, rolling eyes, a racist trope made popular with books like "The Story of Little Black Sambo," which was published in 1898. During this scene, the man commits the 鈥渙ffense鈥� of serving two types of beans for dinner, and Esther punishes him for it by kicking him.
鈥� When Esther鈥檚 friend is telling her about a guy she鈥檚 interested in, who happens to be from Peru, Esther replies with: 鈥渢hey're squat鈥hey're ugly as Aztecs."
All of that being said, I think I should mention that:
a/ the writing was actually pretty decent
b/ I am not going to ignore the awareness it brought around mental health for so many years. But, if that鈥檚 the only reason you鈥檙e reading this, then I suggest you check out instead, it鈥檚 equally as representative (if not more/better) of mental health, based on 鈥檚 real life (it鈥檚 more of a memoir-ish type), it includes plenty of documents and notes from her time in a mental health institute, and, most importantly, it isn鈥檛 problematic.
Not just with the book itself, but with how many people decided to ignore the racism taking place in it.
I鈥檝e had this novel praised to me so many times that I idolized it for years before I even bought it. I was so scared that I wouldn鈥檛 like it that I kept waiting to be in 鈥渢he right mind-set鈥� before I decided to finally pick it up.
About a quarter into the book I had already encountered not one, but 3 racist comments made by Esther (the main character). And I was so surprised that no one ever mentioned this to me that I had to stop reading, go on goodreads and look at the reviews to see if anyone was addressing it, and nothing.
So I told myself I was reading too much into it and kept on reading, and by the 4th comment I was starting to lose it.
So I went online and looked it up, and the only thing that turned up was a personal blog and a goodreads thread that mostly blamed the racism on 鈥渢he time the novel was written in鈥�, to which I would just like to say, and pardon my french, that鈥檚 complete and utter bullshit.
This book was written in the 60s! The NINETEEN-60s!! in. the. middle. of. the. civil. rights. movement.
And I鈥檓 not saying racism didn鈥檛 exist back then, hell, that鈥檚 what the whole movement was about. And I get that people weren鈥檛 鈥渨oke鈥�, and that using certain slang was normal back then, BUT I could name at least a dozen writers who didn鈥檛 feel the need to be racist while writing from (what we all know is) their personal pov. Hell, I could name novels published in the 19th fucking century that advocated against racism. Sylvia could鈥檝e at least picked up ONE of those during her lifetime, jfc.
I鈥檓 not just speaking about the 5+ times she used the n word, it鈥檚 not my place to say whether that was wrong or not. I鈥檓 talking about the explicit racist comments (against more races than one, if I may add) that made me want to drench this book in gasoline, light it on fire then flush it down the fucking toilet:
鈥� In one part, Esther Greenwood describes her reflection as "a big, smudgy-eyed Chinese woman staring idiotically into my face,"
鈥� In another she says: 鈥渢he face in the mirror looks like a sick Indian"
鈥� At one point she calls indigenous Mexicans ugly and says things like "dusky as a bleached-blonde negress"
鈥� In a scene where Esther is being served dinner while in the mental health institute. The man serving her is described as a stupid, laughing, indolent Black man with huge, rolling eyes, a racist trope made popular with books like "The Story of Little Black Sambo," which was published in 1898. During this scene, the man commits the 鈥渙ffense鈥� of serving two types of beans for dinner, and Esther punishes him for it by kicking him.
鈥� When Esther鈥檚 friend is telling her about a guy she鈥檚 interested in, who happens to be from Peru, Esther replies with: 鈥渢hey're squat鈥hey're ugly as Aztecs."
All of that being said, I think I should mention that:
a/ the writing was actually pretty decent
b/ I am not going to ignore the awareness it brought around mental health for so many years. But, if that鈥檚 the only reason you鈥檙e reading this, then I suggest you check out instead, it鈥檚 equally as representative (if not more/better) of mental health, based on 鈥檚 real life (it鈥檚 more of a memoir-ish type), it includes plenty of documents and notes from her time in a mental health institute, and, most importantly, it isn鈥檛 problematic.
June 20, 2018
there once was a girl from the bay state
who tried to read finnegan's wake.
it made her so ill,
she took loads of pills.
james joyce has that knack to frustrate.
who tried to read finnegan's wake.
it made her so ill,
she took loads of pills.
james joyce has that knack to frustrate.
Read
June 13, 2022When I was in high school, I was absolutely convinced that The Bell Jar was meant to be my favorite book of all time. The aesthetic of the "sad girl" "female manipulator" book appealed to me even then, before TikTok made it a trend. I never ended up actually reading it at the time, thanks to my old aversion to the classics, which I'm grateful for. I know that teen me would've taken all the wrong things about this story to heart, romanticized the fuck out of it, and I probably turned out 1000% more insufferable than I am right now (which is still plenty insufferable, don't worry. I mean, shit, I'm writing this and listening to Norman Fucking Rockwell at the same time. I'm a nuisance, as I was always meant to be).
Anyway. Fast forward, I'm graduating from college in two short weeks and I figured that if there ever was a time to read this finally, now would be it. The Bell Jar is supposedly one of THE books for every girlie in her twenties, and time may have passed but I still have a giant soft spot for reading about women vs the void. So here we are.
I don't think anything I have to say here that's going to come across as particularly outlandish. There's not really much I have to say at all, hence the three star. The writing is gorgeous, as I assumed it would be. Plath was obviously skilled with imagery and capable of creating poetry out of anything. I also found it incredibly interesting to read the book that came before so many of the ones I love now, and see what might've been used as inspiration. Lastly, I am glad I got to find all the famous quotes/scenes I've heard over the years within their context. Having the chance to underline "I am I am I am" in my dinky little paperback was satisfying, not gonna lie.
Similarly, I don't have any criticisms with any real backing. All I know is I started to rapidly lose interest in the second half and felt nothing but disillusionment by the end. Maybe that's the intended effect. Maybe if I were to analyze this like its homework I'd be able to come up with something other than 'I neither liked nor disliked it' as my final thought. But unfortunately, I read it for funsies, that was the first thing that shot through my head when I shut the book, and so far nothing else has followed.
I can appreciate this novel as a piece of good writing and an important part of sad bitch history, but if not for the fact that it is an established piece of literature I really wouldn't be giving it a second thought--or a review, for that matter.
Anyway. Fast forward, I'm graduating from college in two short weeks and I figured that if there ever was a time to read this finally, now would be it. The Bell Jar is supposedly one of THE books for every girlie in her twenties, and time may have passed but I still have a giant soft spot for reading about women vs the void. So here we are.
I don't think anything I have to say here that's going to come across as particularly outlandish. There's not really much I have to say at all, hence the three star. The writing is gorgeous, as I assumed it would be. Plath was obviously skilled with imagery and capable of creating poetry out of anything. I also found it incredibly interesting to read the book that came before so many of the ones I love now, and see what might've been used as inspiration. Lastly, I am glad I got to find all the famous quotes/scenes I've heard over the years within their context. Having the chance to underline "I am I am I am" in my dinky little paperback was satisfying, not gonna lie.
Similarly, I don't have any criticisms with any real backing. All I know is I started to rapidly lose interest in the second half and felt nothing but disillusionment by the end. Maybe that's the intended effect. Maybe if I were to analyze this like its homework I'd be able to come up with something other than 'I neither liked nor disliked it' as my final thought. But unfortunately, I read it for funsies, that was the first thing that shot through my head when I shut the book, and so far nothing else has followed.
I can appreciate this novel as a piece of good writing and an important part of sad bitch history, but if not for the fact that it is an established piece of literature I really wouldn't be giving it a second thought--or a review, for that matter.
July 15, 2023
Review Are those with depression and cultural icons to be excused moral standards? I had a PM slagging me off completely about this review. Essentially it came down to how dare I criticise a feminist cultural icon who suffered from mental illness and accuse her of racism, anti-Semitism and homophobia. And if she really was why has no one else pointed it out? That I am biased as fuck etc. Actually others have pointed it out. That was the point of my review, separating the artist from their work. But now it is also, why are differing views not allowed?
I realise that we are living in the times where belief and feelings are considered much more important than science and facts, where democratic voting is wrong and illegal if the 'wrong party' (US) or Brexit or Scottish Independence (UK) don't go the way that people want. And that any dissension results in deplatforming, cancelling or immense campaigns of hatred against academic and public figures. Is this the right way to go? No dissension, no debate, facts are wrong if they don't fit feelings, and cultural icons for one movement or another can do no wrong?
__________
How do we separate the artist from their art if we blithely don't notice it and then excuse them with saying it was a product of their times?
With Plath, whose book The Bell Jar I read in my teens, when I read this article today, July 6th, 2022, it absolutely shocked me How could I not have noticed or forgotten? Am I so inured and hardened to White supremacist thinking - everyone else is 'other', and when I read I am reading as if was/am just white not 'other' , that when reading a much-lauded 'great' author my eyes are blinded?
*"[W]e cannot discuss Sylvia Plath without approaching the subject of her blatant racism and disrespect for Black people and Jewish people."
*"Her poems crassly compare her suffering to that of the Holocaust and beyond her fiction, Plath鈥檚 diaries dating back to her high school years show a history of hateful and disrespectful white supremacist thinking."
*"The viciousness of her comments about Jewish and Black people and the insensitive comparisons of her own struggles to those of the victims of the Holocaust show her to be completely out of touch with the era of progressive and civil rights activism" in which she lived and obviously didn't agree with.
As another article says, you cannot understand Plath if you don't understand her very Germanic upbringing by the German father she loved and whose death she was never able to get over. In her diary, in 1958, she wrote of her father, "He 鈥� heiled Hitler in the privacy of his home."
Or maybe I didn't notice because I only read The Bell Jar and not Plath's poetry, I certainly would have picked it up from
I realise that we are living in the times where belief and feelings are considered much more important than science and facts, where democratic voting is wrong and illegal if the 'wrong party' (US) or Brexit or Scottish Independence (UK) don't go the way that people want. And that any dissension results in deplatforming, cancelling or immense campaigns of hatred against academic and public figures. Is this the right way to go? No dissension, no debate, facts are wrong if they don't fit feelings, and cultural icons for one movement or another can do no wrong?
__________
How do we separate the artist from their art if we blithely don't notice it and then excuse them with saying it was a product of their times?
With Plath, whose book The Bell Jar I read in my teens, when I read this article today, July 6th, 2022, it absolutely shocked me How could I not have noticed or forgotten? Am I so inured and hardened to White supremacist thinking - everyone else is 'other', and when I read I am reading as if was/am just white not 'other' , that when reading a much-lauded 'great' author my eyes are blinded?
*"[W]e cannot discuss Sylvia Plath without approaching the subject of her blatant racism and disrespect for Black people and Jewish people."
*"Her poems crassly compare her suffering to that of the Holocaust and beyond her fiction, Plath鈥檚 diaries dating back to her high school years show a history of hateful and disrespectful white supremacist thinking."
*"The viciousness of her comments about Jewish and Black people and the insensitive comparisons of her own struggles to those of the victims of the Holocaust show her to be completely out of touch with the era of progressive and civil rights activism" in which she lived and obviously didn't agree with.
As another article says, you cannot understand Plath if you don't understand her very Germanic upbringing by the German father she loved and whose death she was never able to get over. In her diary, in 1958, she wrote of her father, "He 鈥� heiled Hitler in the privacy of his home."
Or maybe I didn't notice because I only read The Bell Jar and not Plath's poetry, I certainly would have picked it up from
It stuck in a barb wire snare.I don't say I wouldn't read these authors or even enjoy their works - I love Oscar Wilde and certain Roald Dahl books - but I think knowing who an author was, the kind of views they held obviously informs their works, and that is important even if I decide to separate art from the artist.
ich, ich, ich, ich,
I could hardly speak
I thought every German was you. And the language obscene.
An Engine, an engine
Chuffing me off like a jew.
A jew to Dachau, Auschwitz, Belsen
I began to talk like a jew
I think I may well be a jew.
April 8, 2022
鈥淭o the person in the bell jar, blank and stopped as a dead baby, the world itself is a bad dream.鈥�
It had been a number of years since I last read Sylvia Plath鈥檚 The Bell Jar. What I鈥檇 remembered most was how well Plath had established the mood for this story by weaving the electrocutions of Julius and Ethel Rosenberg with the mental breakdown of her heroine, Esther Greenwood. But the story is definitely about Esther, her ambition, and her own feelings of inadequacy, even though (viewed from the outside) Esther would be seen as a success.
What is amazing about this writing is its immersive quality; you feel Esther鈥檚 restrictive choices and alienation from her world because you ultimately realize the world she has been striving for was never in her grasp. The repeated questions (after she is being treated for her depression) about who will marry her now only reinforce the notion that for the intelligent and talented Esther Greenwood, there had never been a good way to extricate herself from a trap that she had always seen coming. Very compelling narrative!
It had been a number of years since I last read Sylvia Plath鈥檚 The Bell Jar. What I鈥檇 remembered most was how well Plath had established the mood for this story by weaving the electrocutions of Julius and Ethel Rosenberg with the mental breakdown of her heroine, Esther Greenwood. But the story is definitely about Esther, her ambition, and her own feelings of inadequacy, even though (viewed from the outside) Esther would be seen as a success.
What is amazing about this writing is its immersive quality; you feel Esther鈥檚 restrictive choices and alienation from her world because you ultimately realize the world she has been striving for was never in her grasp. The repeated questions (after she is being treated for her depression) about who will marry her now only reinforce the notion that for the intelligent and talented Esther Greenwood, there had never been a good way to extricate herself from a trap that she had always seen coming. Very compelling narrative!
December 22, 2024
I hated almost everything about this book.
There are 2 good quotes but so much racism, fatphobia and I apparently DNFed it before the homophobia started. I don't get the hype at all.
It made it to my worst books of 2024:
There are 2 good quotes but so much racism, fatphobia and I apparently DNFed it before the homophobia started. I don't get the hype at all.
It made it to my worst books of 2024:
May 17, 2023
Extremely beautiful and powerfully poignant. The Bell Jar is the autobiographical story of a young girl with Esther's future (but shouldn't we say Sylvia?). The young winner of a literary talent competition discovers New York, its parties, demands, and futility.
But at the same time, Esther becomes aware of her cruel maladjustment. Her personality cracks through twists and turns and lets us glimpse the drama on her return home. She is carried away by a furious melancholy, and her character crumbles. Unable to get up, she catches herself in the frightening whirlwind of the psychiatric world.
A tour de force that this novel and one feels well behind Sylvia Plath's poetic soul renders with great accuracy the runaway of her thoughts, their confusions, and the loss of her momentum. It's very well written but accurate, and it is impressive how the language conveys Esther's mood and progression into madness. There are no big flights, no wrong notes; it's both testimony and almost a farewell letter.
But at the same time, Esther becomes aware of her cruel maladjustment. Her personality cracks through twists and turns and lets us glimpse the drama on her return home. She is carried away by a furious melancholy, and her character crumbles. Unable to get up, she catches herself in the frightening whirlwind of the psychiatric world.
A tour de force that this novel and one feels well behind Sylvia Plath's poetic soul renders with great accuracy the runaway of her thoughts, their confusions, and the loss of her momentum. It's very well written but accurate, and it is impressive how the language conveys Esther's mood and progression into madness. There are no big flights, no wrong notes; it's both testimony and almost a farewell letter.
April 19, 2008
I only had to read it once. I never read it for or with pleasure. I prefer childbirth.
August 16, 2024
Addictive Yet Haunting
This book actually leaves me speechless. The prose. The storytelling. The metaphors.
And I found myself holding my breath.
The Bell Jar reads like a very interesting diary. It feels real 鈥� as though you are experiencing the story.
One of the reasons that it feels real is that the story is real. Sylvia Plath is the main character, Esther.
Which makes this work all the more chilling.
The Bell Jar centers on Esther Greenwood, a bright college student in 1953. She wins a trip to New York where she encounters an entirely new set of experiences and describes the other women as almost an entirely new species.
Esther is an imperfect character but entirely relatable. She talks about being unsure how and when to tip, describing how the bellhop carried her bag to her room and proceeded to explain about hot and cold water, waiting for a tip.
When Esther returns home, she is limited by her economics and the expectations that society has of her gender. She doesn鈥檛 want to just become some man鈥檚 wife. She becomes lost, adrift, and begins her mental health journey.
The metaphor of the Bell Jar, life being shocking. That is a metaphor that I would like to sit with for a while.
2025 Reading Schedule
Jan A Town Like Alice
Feb Birdsong
Mar Captain Corelli's Mandolin - Louis De Berniere
Apr War and Peace
May The Woman in White
Jun Atonement
Jul The Shadow of the Wind
Aug Jude the Obscure
Sep Ulysses
Oct Vanity Fair
Nov A Fine Balance
Dec Germinal
Connect With Me!
This book actually leaves me speechless. The prose. The storytelling. The metaphors.
And I found myself holding my breath.
The Bell Jar reads like a very interesting diary. It feels real 鈥� as though you are experiencing the story.
One of the reasons that it feels real is that the story is real. Sylvia Plath is the main character, Esther.
Which makes this work all the more chilling.
The Bell Jar centers on Esther Greenwood, a bright college student in 1953. She wins a trip to New York where she encounters an entirely new set of experiences and describes the other women as almost an entirely new species.
Esther is an imperfect character but entirely relatable. She talks about being unsure how and when to tip, describing how the bellhop carried her bag to her room and proceeded to explain about hot and cold water, waiting for a tip.
When Esther returns home, she is limited by her economics and the expectations that society has of her gender. She doesn鈥檛 want to just become some man鈥檚 wife. She becomes lost, adrift, and begins her mental health journey.
The metaphor of the Bell Jar, life being shocking. That is a metaphor that I would like to sit with for a while.
2025 Reading Schedule
Jan A Town Like Alice
Feb Birdsong
Mar Captain Corelli's Mandolin - Louis De Berniere
Apr War and Peace
May The Woman in White
Jun Atonement
Jul The Shadow of the Wind
Aug Jude the Obscure
Sep Ulysses
Oct Vanity Fair
Nov A Fine Balance
Dec Germinal
Connect With Me!
March 11, 2018
My dad went mad in the early seventies when my mom filed for divorce and took up with another man after 12 yrs of marriage. He ended up in a place called Glenn Eden here in Michigan and went through a dozen or more electric shock treatments, I remember visiting him through a window from outside the place. He eventually recovered and remarried, led a normal life, but this book was kind of frightening to me, remembering that time, the atmosphere of such a place, and the stigma of mental illness.
I myself suffer and am on meds, but never have I felt suicidal, I just don鈥檛 understand that frame of mind.
Esther (Sylvia), I identified with her on some of her feelings, she was quite humorous, and I am sure that in the 50鈥檚, it was very hard to live with such terrible depression. The writing was so good, I was feeling her. Hard to read knowing what eventually happened to her, but I鈥檓 glad I finally did read it. I鈥檓 sure many of us at times feel we are stuck under the bell jar.
I myself suffer and am on meds, but never have I felt suicidal, I just don鈥檛 understand that frame of mind.
Esther (Sylvia), I identified with her on some of her feelings, she was quite humorous, and I am sure that in the 50鈥檚, it was very hard to live with such terrible depression. The writing was so good, I was feeling her. Hard to read knowing what eventually happened to her, but I鈥檓 glad I finally did read it. I鈥檓 sure many of us at times feel we are stuck under the bell jar.
November 29, 2022
L鈥橧NVERNO DI SYLVIA
Foto MD鈥橭.
Uno di quei libri che mi 猫 rimasto appiccicato 鈥� storia, temi, stile, mi sono entrati dentro 鈥� un鈥檈sperienza di lettura in qualche modo anche dolorosa - un maledetto colloso processo di fusione - difficile recuperare la giusta distanza, mettere insieme una riflessione...
Dying
Is an art, like everything else,
I do it exceptionally well.
Un鈥檕pera che deve avere coinvolto anche Plath ben oltre il consigliabile, se 猫 vero che la prima bozza risale alla met脿 degli anni Cinquanta, ma fu solo grazie a una borsa di studio vinta nel 1961 che riusc矛 a dedicarsi a questa scrittura per completarla e darla alle stampe all鈥檌nizio del 1963.
Coinvolgerla tanto da affermare che 鈥楲a campana di vetro鈥� era an autobiographical apprentice work which I had to write in order to free myself from the past
Coinvolgerla tanto da ricorrere a uno pseudonimo, il nom de plume di Victoria Lucas, tanto era forte l鈥檃utobiografismo di queste pagine: al punto che la madre ne ostacol貌 la pubblicazione negli States riuscendo a postporla fino al 1971.
Si liber貌 cos矛 bene del passato che tre settimane dopo l鈥檜scita del romanzo nelle librerie, Sylvia prepar貌 pane e burro e due tazze di latte che lasci貌 al sicuro sul comodino per i figli, sigill貌 porte e finestre, infil貌 la testa nel forno a gas e riusc矛 laddove Esther, l鈥檌o narrante di queste pagine, aveva fallito.
Continuando a sentirsi sul lato sbagliato della vita, come Holden al quale questo romanzo 猫 cos矛 spesso accostato, Lady Lazarus port貌 a termine il suo suicidio, gesto gi脿 tentato in pratica, e dettagliatamente esaminato in tutte le sue svariate possibilit脿 in queste stesse illuminanti pagine.
Silvia Plath 猫 stata prima di tutto e soprattutto dedita alla poesia: 猫 con quest鈥檃rte che 猫 rimasta nella storia. Questo 猫 il suo unico romanzo, l鈥檜nica opera in prosa (diari a parte).
Foto MD鈥橭.
Eppure, La campana di vetro 猫 scritto dimenticando la poesia, senza cercare lirismo, con uno stile diretto irriverente spiazzante, e agghiacciante, intriso d鈥檌ronia fino al black humour, che mi ha particolarmente colpito per come sembra volare basso e per come non cambia registro nonostante la storia si trasformi e passi dalle esperienze e avventure di una giovane studentessa a una caduta nel baratro della depressione (o quello che era 鈥� a me sembra che la depressione 猫 un鈥檈tichetta che si appiccica un po鈥� ovunque - da un po鈥� di tempo lo si fa anche col bipolarismo).
Continuando a scrivere nello stesso modo, dissacrante e non convenzionale, Plath divide la sua storia in tre fasi piuttosto ben distinte, che racconta in perfetta unit脿 di stile pur passando dalla pazzia del mondo al mondo della pazzia.
Il risultato 猫 ben pi霉 che notevole, 猫 il primo regalo di questo romanzo molto molto bello.
Tre fasi: la prima 猫 ambientata a New York nell鈥檈state del 1953.
La "campana di vetro" 猫 resa ancora pi霉 manifesta, percepibile, quasi visibile, dall鈥檃fa estiva che avvolge la citt脿.
Esther, non ancora ventenne, sta facendo uno stage presso una rivista femminile. Alloggia in un albergo insieme ad altre ragazze, cerca insistentemente di liberarsi della sua verginit脿, vissuta come parte dell鈥檕ppressione, fa vita modaiola, aspetta di essere ammessa a un corso di scrittura creativa, sta vivendo il suo rito iniziatico, accumula incontri ed esperienze, ma pi霉 di tutto accumula scollamento.
Infatti, ci貌 che dovrebbe essere non corrisponde a ci貌 che sente: e quando scopre di non essere stata ammessa, si libera di tutti i suoi vestiti in una magnifica scena dal forte sapore simbolico, e inizia la sua caduta, comincia a disgregarsi (la 鈥渟marginatura鈥� di Elena Ferrante).
Qui inizia la seconda fase, col ritorno a casa, a Boston, percepita come luogo molto provinciale, nella casa di famiglia, a stretto contatto con la mamma, e si sa che l鈥檃more 猫 responsabile di molti misfatti 鈥� in questo caso, 猫 certo che la presenza materna, il suo modo di voler bene alla figlia, la completa integrazione dell鈥檃dulta alle regole imposte dalla societ脿, offrono a Esther una buona spinta verso un tentativo di suicidio e quello che poi succede nella terza fase.
Il momento saliente, prima ancora del tentato suicidio, si manifesta quando Esther si accorge che la sua grafia 猫 diventata illeggibile, storta e distorta come la sua mente e il suo modo di guardare la realt脿 delle cose.
La terza fase 猫 dedicata alla cura e alla faticosa risalita verso la "normalit脿".
Da una clinica all鈥檃ltra, da un intervento medico all鈥檃ltro, Esther sembra farcela, mentre invece Sylvia, che conosce il male di scrivere e quello di vivere, non ce la far脿.
Esther non vuole sottostare alle regole, si sente un pesce fuor d鈥檃cqua (in questo, certo, ricorda Holden), continua a ribellarsi alle scelte rigide e definitive (vedi il matrimonio, il promesso sposo) che le vengono imposte dall鈥檃mbiente.
Esther vorrebbe poter provare tutto, non essere ingabbiata, e Plath sceglie un鈥檌mmagine molto bella per esemplificare: l鈥檃lbero di fichi, dove ogni frutto rappresenta una vita diversa, e il desiderio di avere tutti i frutti paralizza Esther fino a che i fichi marciscono e cadono per terra.
Pi霉 che brividi, d脿 la scossa leggere degli elettroshock ai quali viene sottoposta la protagonista, sia nella forma massiccia che in quella pi霉 blanda (omeopatica?).
E non si pu貌 non cogliere l鈥檃gghiacciante parallelo con la vicenda dei Rosenberg giustiziati sulla sedia elettrica (riguarder貌 il film di Lumet).
Sembra riduttiva una lettura femminista di quest鈥檕pera, che trascende l鈥檌dentificazione con la sola sfera femminile, come non 猫 solo l'America spietata, borghese e maccartista degli anni Cinquanta ad apparire spaventosa, ma gli schemi sociali in genere: la campana di vetro che schiaccia la protagonista sotto il peso della sua protezione, togliendole l'aria, stritolandola nell鈥檌ngranaggio di una normalit脿 che ignora la poesia, non riguarda solo Esther.
Cos矛 come, nonostante qualche analogia, a me sembra forzato il paragone con Holden, capolavoro a se stante che troppo spesso viene tirato (ma soprattutto stiracchiato) in ballo: in questo caso non c鈥櫭� neppure l鈥檃dolescenza in comune, Esther per quanto frettolosa di liberarsi della sua (tardiva?) verginit脿, 猫 pi霉 grande di Holden, e si sa a quell鈥檈t脿 della vita tre anni sono una differenza di secoli.
Non basta l鈥檌mpossibilit脿 di ricomporre un 鈥榠o diviso鈥� per giocare nella stessa squadra.
Anche se non 猫 difficile capire che per le lettrici Esther possa aver significato quello che Holden ha significato per i lettori.
I am only thirty
And like the cat I have nine times to die.
This is Number Three.
Foto MD鈥橭.
Uno di quei libri che mi 猫 rimasto appiccicato 鈥� storia, temi, stile, mi sono entrati dentro 鈥� un鈥檈sperienza di lettura in qualche modo anche dolorosa - un maledetto colloso processo di fusione - difficile recuperare la giusta distanza, mettere insieme una riflessione...
Dying
Is an art, like everything else,
I do it exceptionally well.
Un鈥檕pera che deve avere coinvolto anche Plath ben oltre il consigliabile, se 猫 vero che la prima bozza risale alla met脿 degli anni Cinquanta, ma fu solo grazie a una borsa di studio vinta nel 1961 che riusc矛 a dedicarsi a questa scrittura per completarla e darla alle stampe all鈥檌nizio del 1963.
Coinvolgerla tanto da affermare che 鈥楲a campana di vetro鈥� era an autobiographical apprentice work which I had to write in order to free myself from the past
Coinvolgerla tanto da ricorrere a uno pseudonimo, il nom de plume di Victoria Lucas, tanto era forte l鈥檃utobiografismo di queste pagine: al punto che la madre ne ostacol貌 la pubblicazione negli States riuscendo a postporla fino al 1971.
Si liber貌 cos矛 bene del passato che tre settimane dopo l鈥檜scita del romanzo nelle librerie, Sylvia prepar貌 pane e burro e due tazze di latte che lasci貌 al sicuro sul comodino per i figli, sigill貌 porte e finestre, infil貌 la testa nel forno a gas e riusc矛 laddove Esther, l鈥檌o narrante di queste pagine, aveva fallito.
Continuando a sentirsi sul lato sbagliato della vita, come Holden al quale questo romanzo 猫 cos矛 spesso accostato, Lady Lazarus port貌 a termine il suo suicidio, gesto gi脿 tentato in pratica, e dettagliatamente esaminato in tutte le sue svariate possibilit脿 in queste stesse illuminanti pagine.
Silvia Plath 猫 stata prima di tutto e soprattutto dedita alla poesia: 猫 con quest鈥檃rte che 猫 rimasta nella storia. Questo 猫 il suo unico romanzo, l鈥檜nica opera in prosa (diari a parte).
Foto MD鈥橭.
Eppure, La campana di vetro 猫 scritto dimenticando la poesia, senza cercare lirismo, con uno stile diretto irriverente spiazzante, e agghiacciante, intriso d鈥檌ronia fino al black humour, che mi ha particolarmente colpito per come sembra volare basso e per come non cambia registro nonostante la storia si trasformi e passi dalle esperienze e avventure di una giovane studentessa a una caduta nel baratro della depressione (o quello che era 鈥� a me sembra che la depressione 猫 un鈥檈tichetta che si appiccica un po鈥� ovunque - da un po鈥� di tempo lo si fa anche col bipolarismo).
Continuando a scrivere nello stesso modo, dissacrante e non convenzionale, Plath divide la sua storia in tre fasi piuttosto ben distinte, che racconta in perfetta unit脿 di stile pur passando dalla pazzia del mondo al mondo della pazzia.
Il risultato 猫 ben pi霉 che notevole, 猫 il primo regalo di questo romanzo molto molto bello.
Tre fasi: la prima 猫 ambientata a New York nell鈥檈state del 1953.
La "campana di vetro" 猫 resa ancora pi霉 manifesta, percepibile, quasi visibile, dall鈥檃fa estiva che avvolge la citt脿.
Esther, non ancora ventenne, sta facendo uno stage presso una rivista femminile. Alloggia in un albergo insieme ad altre ragazze, cerca insistentemente di liberarsi della sua verginit脿, vissuta come parte dell鈥檕ppressione, fa vita modaiola, aspetta di essere ammessa a un corso di scrittura creativa, sta vivendo il suo rito iniziatico, accumula incontri ed esperienze, ma pi霉 di tutto accumula scollamento.
Infatti, ci貌 che dovrebbe essere non corrisponde a ci貌 che sente: e quando scopre di non essere stata ammessa, si libera di tutti i suoi vestiti in una magnifica scena dal forte sapore simbolico, e inizia la sua caduta, comincia a disgregarsi (la 鈥渟marginatura鈥� di Elena Ferrante).
Qui inizia la seconda fase, col ritorno a casa, a Boston, percepita come luogo molto provinciale, nella casa di famiglia, a stretto contatto con la mamma, e si sa che l鈥檃more 猫 responsabile di molti misfatti 鈥� in questo caso, 猫 certo che la presenza materna, il suo modo di voler bene alla figlia, la completa integrazione dell鈥檃dulta alle regole imposte dalla societ脿, offrono a Esther una buona spinta verso un tentativo di suicidio e quello che poi succede nella terza fase.
Il momento saliente, prima ancora del tentato suicidio, si manifesta quando Esther si accorge che la sua grafia 猫 diventata illeggibile, storta e distorta come la sua mente e il suo modo di guardare la realt脿 delle cose.
La terza fase 猫 dedicata alla cura e alla faticosa risalita verso la "normalit脿".
Da una clinica all鈥檃ltra, da un intervento medico all鈥檃ltro, Esther sembra farcela, mentre invece Sylvia, che conosce il male di scrivere e quello di vivere, non ce la far脿.
Esther non vuole sottostare alle regole, si sente un pesce fuor d鈥檃cqua (in questo, certo, ricorda Holden), continua a ribellarsi alle scelte rigide e definitive (vedi il matrimonio, il promesso sposo) che le vengono imposte dall鈥檃mbiente.
Esther vorrebbe poter provare tutto, non essere ingabbiata, e Plath sceglie un鈥檌mmagine molto bella per esemplificare: l鈥檃lbero di fichi, dove ogni frutto rappresenta una vita diversa, e il desiderio di avere tutti i frutti paralizza Esther fino a che i fichi marciscono e cadono per terra.
Pi霉 che brividi, d脿 la scossa leggere degli elettroshock ai quali viene sottoposta la protagonista, sia nella forma massiccia che in quella pi霉 blanda (omeopatica?).
E non si pu貌 non cogliere l鈥檃gghiacciante parallelo con la vicenda dei Rosenberg giustiziati sulla sedia elettrica (riguarder貌 il film di Lumet).
Sembra riduttiva una lettura femminista di quest鈥檕pera, che trascende l鈥檌dentificazione con la sola sfera femminile, come non 猫 solo l'America spietata, borghese e maccartista degli anni Cinquanta ad apparire spaventosa, ma gli schemi sociali in genere: la campana di vetro che schiaccia la protagonista sotto il peso della sua protezione, togliendole l'aria, stritolandola nell鈥檌ngranaggio di una normalit脿 che ignora la poesia, non riguarda solo Esther.
Cos矛 come, nonostante qualche analogia, a me sembra forzato il paragone con Holden, capolavoro a se stante che troppo spesso viene tirato (ma soprattutto stiracchiato) in ballo: in questo caso non c鈥櫭� neppure l鈥檃dolescenza in comune, Esther per quanto frettolosa di liberarsi della sua (tardiva?) verginit脿, 猫 pi霉 grande di Holden, e si sa a quell鈥檈t脿 della vita tre anni sono una differenza di secoli.
Non basta l鈥檌mpossibilit脿 di ricomporre un 鈥榠o diviso鈥� per giocare nella stessa squadra.
Anche se non 猫 difficile capire che per le lettrici Esther possa aver significato quello che Holden ha significato per i lettori.
I am only thirty
And like the cat I have nine times to die.
This is Number Three.
September 9, 2020
鈥渂ecause wherever I sat鈥攐n the deck of a ship or at a street caf茅 in Paris or Bangkok鈥擨 would be sitting under the same glass bell jar, stewing in my own sour air.鈥�
鈥� Sylvia Plath, The Bell Jar
4.5 to 5 stars
This was a very powerful and only partially fictional tale from Sylvia Plath. Perhaps the genre should be called autobiographical fiction (is that already a thing?). Because of this, I was very glad that the book included a short biography of Plath at the end to compare her life experiences and her experiences with writing it to the final product. While now it might only seem somewhat shocking and controversial, at the time I am sure it was a book that people may have had to sneak so that others did not realize they were reading it.
The first half focused a lot on the main character鈥檚 (Esther, and therefore Plath鈥檚) experience with the questionable behavior of men in her life. I believe what she deals with is what would now be called 鈥渢oxic masculinity鈥�. The men she meets just treat her so very wrong and they don鈥檛 even realize it. It鈥檚 as if she is not even a person, just a personality-less flesh puppet to ply with drinks and 鈥渕ansplain鈥� things to. For those who watch the show Mad Men, I was reminded of the characters Peggy and Joan in the first few seasons who are trying to breakthrough to do the work the men do but are often talked down to as they are expected to be secretaries and housewives. I imagine if a traditional 鈥渕anly man鈥� in the 60s found his wife reading this he would have likely done something drastically inappropriate to her and thought nothing of it.
The second half of the book deals with depression, mental decay, and suicide. I felt so bad for Esther. She had issues, she needed help, and the help she received was so wildly inappropriate, it was infuriating. I was reminded of stories and movies from and set in that time period (Rosemary Kennedy and Angelina Jolie鈥檚 character in the Movie Changeling to name a couple) where the answer to a woman experiencing mental struggles in the 50s and 60s might be to nonchalantly toss them into a sanatorium or have them lobotomized. Men who had the same issues were not treated the same, even some that were truly mentally disturbed, while a woman battling with what might have only been mild depression or manic behavior might find themselves locked away and receiving shock treatment. If this part of the book doesn鈥檛 get you riled up, I would be surprised!
It should be very telling that Plath originally released this under a pseudonym because she was afraid of the response she would receive. If you have to hide reality behind a fake name and fictionalization, then I think that proves there is something very wrong with reality.
The Bell Jar is a must read. Some of the content may be hard to swallow, but it is a very powerful statement that will help humanity learn from its mistakes and avoid repeating them.
鈥� Sylvia Plath, The Bell Jar
4.5 to 5 stars
This was a very powerful and only partially fictional tale from Sylvia Plath. Perhaps the genre should be called autobiographical fiction (is that already a thing?). Because of this, I was very glad that the book included a short biography of Plath at the end to compare her life experiences and her experiences with writing it to the final product. While now it might only seem somewhat shocking and controversial, at the time I am sure it was a book that people may have had to sneak so that others did not realize they were reading it.
The first half focused a lot on the main character鈥檚 (Esther, and therefore Plath鈥檚) experience with the questionable behavior of men in her life. I believe what she deals with is what would now be called 鈥渢oxic masculinity鈥�. The men she meets just treat her so very wrong and they don鈥檛 even realize it. It鈥檚 as if she is not even a person, just a personality-less flesh puppet to ply with drinks and 鈥渕ansplain鈥� things to. For those who watch the show Mad Men, I was reminded of the characters Peggy and Joan in the first few seasons who are trying to breakthrough to do the work the men do but are often talked down to as they are expected to be secretaries and housewives. I imagine if a traditional 鈥渕anly man鈥� in the 60s found his wife reading this he would have likely done something drastically inappropriate to her and thought nothing of it.
The second half of the book deals with depression, mental decay, and suicide. I felt so bad for Esther. She had issues, she needed help, and the help she received was so wildly inappropriate, it was infuriating. I was reminded of stories and movies from and set in that time period (Rosemary Kennedy and Angelina Jolie鈥檚 character in the Movie Changeling to name a couple) where the answer to a woman experiencing mental struggles in the 50s and 60s might be to nonchalantly toss them into a sanatorium or have them lobotomized. Men who had the same issues were not treated the same, even some that were truly mentally disturbed, while a woman battling with what might have only been mild depression or manic behavior might find themselves locked away and receiving shock treatment. If this part of the book doesn鈥檛 get you riled up, I would be surprised!
It should be very telling that Plath originally released this under a pseudonym because she was afraid of the response she would receive. If you have to hide reality behind a fake name and fictionalization, then I think that proves there is something very wrong with reality.
The Bell Jar is a must read. Some of the content may be hard to swallow, but it is a very powerful statement that will help humanity learn from its mistakes and avoid repeating them.
January 30, 2023
The Bell Jar tells us the story of Esther Greenwood, a woman from Boston who comes to live in New York City. Sylvia Plath wrote this novel under the pseudonym Victor Lucas. The author passed away one month after this book was published. The public was eager to find the similarities between Esther Greenwood and Ms. Plath at that time.
Esther's depression and mental breakdown, electroconvulsive therapy, and suicide attempt are all shrewdly depicted by the author. There are multiple instances where the author sharply criticizes the patriarchal society in America at that time. The search for feminine independence is portrayed brilliantly with the help of the extraordinary narrative style. This is one of the best semi-autobiographical novels that I have read.
鈥淭he silence depressed me. It wasn't the silence of silence. It was my own silence."
Read
April 14, 2025... not even really sure that i can rate this one?! so complex and moving, while also extremely unsettling? but in a way that makes you want to keep coming back for more. the audiobook was fantastic! narrator was a 10/10
January 8, 2024
Okay, I know this is a classic, well-written, etc. My rating is not based on the writing, but solely on how much I enjoyed reading the book鈥nd I didn鈥檛 enjoy it at all. From the very beginning, even before her breakdown, I found very little to care for or associate with about Esther. She seemed cynical, disdainful, self-important, and manipulative. I just flat out didn鈥檛 like her. So when she really began to have some trouble mentally (actually, even before that) I, as a reader, wanted to close the book and get away from her rather than keep reading and see her through it. When I did finish the book, it felt more like a relief than an accomplishment. This is not a story I ever want to revisit. There is much talk of suicide in The Bell Jar and it vividly describes what it can be like to experience a descent into depression. I admire it for what it is but it's just not my cup of tea. It left me feeling gloomy and unsettled.
In the same vein, I would recommend Girl, Interrupted by Susanna Kaysen. I felt more involved with that one and felt like I learned a good bit about the subject matter.
In the same vein, I would recommend Girl, Interrupted by Susanna Kaysen. I felt more involved with that one and felt like I learned a good bit about the subject matter.
June 19, 2020
鈥淒octor Gordon was unlocking the closet. He dragged out a table on wheels with a machine on it and rolled it behind the head of the bed. The nurse started swabbing my temples with a smelly grease.
As she leaned over to reach the side of my head nearest the wall, her fat breast muffled my face like a cloud or a pillow. A vague, medicinal stench emanated from her flesh.
鈥楧on鈥檛 worry,鈥� the nurse grinned down at me. 鈥楾heir first time everybody鈥檚 scared to death.鈥�
I tried to smile but my skin had gone stiff, like parchment鈥r. Gordon was fitting two metal plates on either side of my head. He buckled them into place with a strap that dented my forehead, and gave me a wire to bite.
I shut my eyes.
There was a brief silence, like an indrawn breath.
Then something bent down and took hold of me and shook me like the end of the world. Whee-ee-ee-ee, it shrilled, through an air crackling with blue light, and with each flash a great jolt drubbed me till I thought my bones would break and the sap fly out of me like a split plant.
I wondered what terrible thing it was that I had done鈥︹€�
- Sylvia Plath, The Bell Jar
In the early morning hours of February 11, 1963, Sylvia Plath sealed her children鈥檚 room with masking tape, turned on the gas, and stuck her head in an oven. She was thirty years old.
This is a rather grim way to start a discussion of The Bell Jar, but utterly necessary, because Plath鈥檚 death haunts every page of this wonderfully-realized story of a woman descending into insanity. This is one of those instances where fiction and fact are so tightly interwoven that they cannot really be separated. That is, part of the power of The Bell Jar comes from the palpable presence of Plath鈥檚 ghost.
Reality casts a funereal pall over the proceedings, yet The Bell Jar opens jauntily enough. 鈥淚t was a queer, sultry summer,鈥� first-person narrator Esther Greenwood announces in the novel鈥檚 arresting first line, 鈥渢he summer they electrocuted the Rosenbergs.鈥� Esther, we soon learn, is in New York City, with a prestigious internship at a fashion magazine. There is a certain breeziness in the early going, so that it is not hard to conjure up an image from, say, The Devil Wears Prada: a tale of a young woman on the make, in the city that never sleeps.
As we move forward, however, Esther 鈥� who proves an endearing, self-deprecating narrator 鈥� struggles with the glitz and glam that others so eagerly seek. Her time in New York is not seamless, and several incidents, ranging from the amusing (there are some surprisingly funny moments) to the terrifying, starts to degrade Esther鈥檚 mental condition.
It does not give too much away to say that The Bell Jar is about Esther鈥檚 declining mental health. The strength of The Bell Jar, though, is partially derived from the fact that Esther, narrating in the first-person, never comes out and says, 鈥渢hen I went crazy.鈥� Instead, Plath 鈥� through Esther 鈥� provides a precise, detailed, chilling presentation of Esther鈥檚 loss of sanity by describing everything with matter-of-factness. Her psychotic 鈥渂reaks鈥� are not identified as such. Rather, Esther depicts both the real and the unreal in the exact same manner, so that there is a blurring between the two.
Years ago, as a young defense attorney, I worked the mental health beat, representing indigent clients contesting their civil commitments. Quite unexpectedly, I found it one of the more fascinating and rewarding things I鈥檝e ever done. It was a job you could never plan for, and which could be funny, heartbreaking, and terrifying, all in the space of a few rapidly oscillating minutes in a confined space.
That period gave me a profound awe for the human brain. You are always told how remarkable is the mind, but sometimes you need to see something in relief to see it at all. Thus, in observing the functioning of 鈥渘on-normal鈥� brain chemistry, I saw the power firsthand. I met with people whose view of the universe was completely at odds with the reality I perceived, and yet they could hold onto this alternate-reality for years, spinning these amazing webs from which they could not break (and of which I sometimes became a part). For these people, it was impossible to detach delusion from non-delusion. The former became as strong as the latter, until the two became the identical sides of the same coin.
That鈥檚 what makes the mid-section of The Bell Jar so compelling. It contains Esther's scrupulously-detailed breakdown: a succession of doctors; a mother who doesn't understand and wants her to snap out of it; life in an asylum; electro-shock therapy; insulin therapy; and a black nurse鈥檚 aide who feeds her two types of beans, which is the kind of detail that had me nodding my head in recognition. (So much of great fiction is in small, perfect details).
Beyond that, Plath鈥檚 Esther is blisteringly honest, and not just about matters of mental health. For instance, there is a scene where Esther loses her virginity that is told with a candor that is surprising today, not to mention the date when it was first published.
As to publication, The Bell Jar became available in Britain 鈥� under a pseudonym 鈥� in 1963. Just a few months later, Plath took her own life, simultaneously cutting short a promising career, while launching a certain mythos. The novel did not arrive in America for several more years. When it did, it became an instant bestseller, and eventually, a classic. However, like John Kennedy Toole鈥檚 A Confederacy of Dunces, it is a strange classic, inextricably bound up in the death of its creator.
Regardless of its baggage, The Bell Jar could stand on its own. It is poignant, honest, unflinching. The prose is beautiful, touched with poetry. The ending is unforgettable.
But it would be wrong to separate The Bell Jar from its baggage, because the novel and its context inform each other. There is a certain level of sadness here that simply cannot be escaped.
Yet Plath imbues The Bell Jar with glints and glimmers of hope. There is a brief reference to Esther鈥檚 future, a future free of hospitals and distortions and demons. It is clear that Esther 鈥� and by extension Plath 鈥� had some optimism for what lay ahead.
We know, of course, that Plath never reached that better day, but we can wish, even believe, that somehow Esther did.
As she leaned over to reach the side of my head nearest the wall, her fat breast muffled my face like a cloud or a pillow. A vague, medicinal stench emanated from her flesh.
鈥楧on鈥檛 worry,鈥� the nurse grinned down at me. 鈥楾heir first time everybody鈥檚 scared to death.鈥�
I tried to smile but my skin had gone stiff, like parchment鈥r. Gordon was fitting two metal plates on either side of my head. He buckled them into place with a strap that dented my forehead, and gave me a wire to bite.
I shut my eyes.
There was a brief silence, like an indrawn breath.
Then something bent down and took hold of me and shook me like the end of the world. Whee-ee-ee-ee, it shrilled, through an air crackling with blue light, and with each flash a great jolt drubbed me till I thought my bones would break and the sap fly out of me like a split plant.
I wondered what terrible thing it was that I had done鈥︹€�
- Sylvia Plath, The Bell Jar
In the early morning hours of February 11, 1963, Sylvia Plath sealed her children鈥檚 room with masking tape, turned on the gas, and stuck her head in an oven. She was thirty years old.
This is a rather grim way to start a discussion of The Bell Jar, but utterly necessary, because Plath鈥檚 death haunts every page of this wonderfully-realized story of a woman descending into insanity. This is one of those instances where fiction and fact are so tightly interwoven that they cannot really be separated. That is, part of the power of The Bell Jar comes from the palpable presence of Plath鈥檚 ghost.
Reality casts a funereal pall over the proceedings, yet The Bell Jar opens jauntily enough. 鈥淚t was a queer, sultry summer,鈥� first-person narrator Esther Greenwood announces in the novel鈥檚 arresting first line, 鈥渢he summer they electrocuted the Rosenbergs.鈥� Esther, we soon learn, is in New York City, with a prestigious internship at a fashion magazine. There is a certain breeziness in the early going, so that it is not hard to conjure up an image from, say, The Devil Wears Prada: a tale of a young woman on the make, in the city that never sleeps.
As we move forward, however, Esther 鈥� who proves an endearing, self-deprecating narrator 鈥� struggles with the glitz and glam that others so eagerly seek. Her time in New York is not seamless, and several incidents, ranging from the amusing (there are some surprisingly funny moments) to the terrifying, starts to degrade Esther鈥檚 mental condition.
It does not give too much away to say that The Bell Jar is about Esther鈥檚 declining mental health. The strength of The Bell Jar, though, is partially derived from the fact that Esther, narrating in the first-person, never comes out and says, 鈥渢hen I went crazy.鈥� Instead, Plath 鈥� through Esther 鈥� provides a precise, detailed, chilling presentation of Esther鈥檚 loss of sanity by describing everything with matter-of-factness. Her psychotic 鈥渂reaks鈥� are not identified as such. Rather, Esther depicts both the real and the unreal in the exact same manner, so that there is a blurring between the two.
Years ago, as a young defense attorney, I worked the mental health beat, representing indigent clients contesting their civil commitments. Quite unexpectedly, I found it one of the more fascinating and rewarding things I鈥檝e ever done. It was a job you could never plan for, and which could be funny, heartbreaking, and terrifying, all in the space of a few rapidly oscillating minutes in a confined space.
That period gave me a profound awe for the human brain. You are always told how remarkable is the mind, but sometimes you need to see something in relief to see it at all. Thus, in observing the functioning of 鈥渘on-normal鈥� brain chemistry, I saw the power firsthand. I met with people whose view of the universe was completely at odds with the reality I perceived, and yet they could hold onto this alternate-reality for years, spinning these amazing webs from which they could not break (and of which I sometimes became a part). For these people, it was impossible to detach delusion from non-delusion. The former became as strong as the latter, until the two became the identical sides of the same coin.
That鈥檚 what makes the mid-section of The Bell Jar so compelling. It contains Esther's scrupulously-detailed breakdown: a succession of doctors; a mother who doesn't understand and wants her to snap out of it; life in an asylum; electro-shock therapy; insulin therapy; and a black nurse鈥檚 aide who feeds her two types of beans, which is the kind of detail that had me nodding my head in recognition. (So much of great fiction is in small, perfect details).
Beyond that, Plath鈥檚 Esther is blisteringly honest, and not just about matters of mental health. For instance, there is a scene where Esther loses her virginity that is told with a candor that is surprising today, not to mention the date when it was first published.
As to publication, The Bell Jar became available in Britain 鈥� under a pseudonym 鈥� in 1963. Just a few months later, Plath took her own life, simultaneously cutting short a promising career, while launching a certain mythos. The novel did not arrive in America for several more years. When it did, it became an instant bestseller, and eventually, a classic. However, like John Kennedy Toole鈥檚 A Confederacy of Dunces, it is a strange classic, inextricably bound up in the death of its creator.
Regardless of its baggage, The Bell Jar could stand on its own. It is poignant, honest, unflinching. The prose is beautiful, touched with poetry. The ending is unforgettable.
But it would be wrong to separate The Bell Jar from its baggage, because the novel and its context inform each other. There is a certain level of sadness here that simply cannot be escaped.
Yet Plath imbues The Bell Jar with glints and glimmers of hope. There is a brief reference to Esther鈥檚 future, a future free of hospitals and distortions and demons. It is clear that Esther 鈥� and by extension Plath 鈥� had some optimism for what lay ahead.
We know, of course, that Plath never reached that better day, but we can wish, even believe, that somehow Esther did.
December 10, 2023
3.5 "descriptive rather than insightful" stars !!
I told my GR friend Ann that I meant to read this since age 16. All the girls I had crushes on at the time were reading this book with their pencil skirts and Smiths Tshirts. I read some Plath poetry that I enjoyed but never got to this novel.
I spent a good deal of time reflecting on Esther...the heroine in this modern classic. She is a fascinating study in female narcissism that mistakes herself for being misunderstood, special and superior to men, lesbians and those of other social classes and ethnicities. She is raised by a working class widowed mother whom Esther feels a great deal of disdain and hostility towards. Esther, however, continually struggles for her independence, dealing with her suppressed libido and I suspect significant lesbian tendencies of her own. None of this is unusual in late adolescent females who consider themselves both world weary and special.
Unfortunately Esther suffers also from unprocessed grief, school disappointments and a traumatic event that bring out her biological vulnerability,in her case, either very severe depressive psychosis or more likely a schizoaffective disorder that render her non-functional, at times delusional and severely suicidal.
This book is her journey from confused spoiled brat to a young woman with a horrendous mental illness and her journey back to the living world. The book is very adept at describing the moral and the social roles of white middle class Northeastern men and women as well as the hypocrisies of that time period. At times the book is hilariously funny despite being about a young woman's immense psychic suffering.
This book did not reach four star status however. I found much of it fragmented, unfinished and the prose (unlike her poetry) rather pedestrian more than inspired. I also found that although I found the character most fascinating I was not able to empathize or understand to the degree that I had hoped for.
I told my GR friend Ann that I meant to read this since age 16. All the girls I had crushes on at the time were reading this book with their pencil skirts and Smiths Tshirts. I read some Plath poetry that I enjoyed but never got to this novel.
I spent a good deal of time reflecting on Esther...the heroine in this modern classic. She is a fascinating study in female narcissism that mistakes herself for being misunderstood, special and superior to men, lesbians and those of other social classes and ethnicities. She is raised by a working class widowed mother whom Esther feels a great deal of disdain and hostility towards. Esther, however, continually struggles for her independence, dealing with her suppressed libido and I suspect significant lesbian tendencies of her own. None of this is unusual in late adolescent females who consider themselves both world weary and special.
Unfortunately Esther suffers also from unprocessed grief, school disappointments and a traumatic event that bring out her biological vulnerability,in her case, either very severe depressive psychosis or more likely a schizoaffective disorder that render her non-functional, at times delusional and severely suicidal.
This book is her journey from confused spoiled brat to a young woman with a horrendous mental illness and her journey back to the living world. The book is very adept at describing the moral and the social roles of white middle class Northeastern men and women as well as the hypocrisies of that time period. At times the book is hilariously funny despite being about a young woman's immense psychic suffering.
This book did not reach four star status however. I found much of it fragmented, unfinished and the prose (unlike her poetry) rather pedestrian more than inspired. I also found that although I found the character most fascinating I was not able to empathize or understand to the degree that I had hoped for.
June 15, 2019
I think we ought to read only the kind of books that wound and stab us. If the book we are reading doesn't wake us up with a blow on the head, what are we reading it for? ...we need the books that affect us like a disaster, that grieve us deeply, like the death of someone we loved more than ourselves, like being banished into forests far from everyone, like a suicide. A book must be the axe for the frozen sea inside us.
鈥� Franz Kafka; January 27, 1904
I saw my life branching out before me like the green fig tree in the story. From the tip of every branch, like a fat purple fig, a wonderful future beckoned and winked. One fig was a husband and a happy home and children, and another fig was a famous poet and another fig was a brilliant professor鈥� and another fig was Constantin and Socrates and Attila and a pack of other lovers with queer names and offbeat professions, and another fig was... (Chapter 7)
There is a lulling silence engulfing this entire book, and if it weren鈥檛 for the darkening clouds approaching, an infinite palette brimming with all the shades of creation, one may never guess that it is the calm before the storm. Amid the impending commotion, the ancient state of confusion hovering over this land, a tree has already started to sense the chaos. A fig tree is losing its branches, one by one, as the storm unleashes its fury and time passes us by. The house does no longer provides shelter; its white walls won鈥檛 stop the cold, we see the ceiling yet we鈥檒l feel the rain. Crystals are besieging us. The captives in the world of glass feel it all.
My first encounter with Sylvia Plath鈥檚 work was Ariel. It was a good read but it didn鈥檛 leave me memorable impressions. Later I understood how excruciatingly personal her poetry was, thus missing a plethora of subtle vocals, strong undertones, harrowing melodies. After reading about her life and watching a biopic, the connection was absolutely different regarding, for instance, the same two poems I had read months ago. There may be a lack of lyrical substance, of the mellifluous quality in language worthy of all praises, but to me, the beauty of her verse lies on her honest display of emotions through complex and raw imagery. I find that openness refreshing. How unsafe it is to be on the brink of vulnerability, with a bunch of emotions for one person or a whole world to see. And yet, how brave; giving free expression to such feelings, turning them into creative energy. How invigorating. Even when no one is listening to anyone. Not even the ones who complain about how deaf the world is.
Under these circumstances, I decided to revisit her poetry someday. The thing that triggered this series of fortunate events was a review by a friend, which made me want to give Plath鈥檚 writing another try, because I had sensed many times that she was an author I would certainly love 鈥� inexplicable hunches. Therefore, I dived into her only novel, The Bell Jar, first published in 1963 under the pseudonym 鈥淰ictoria Lucas鈥� and under her name in 1967. It tells the story of Esther Greenwood, the young heiress of several of Plath鈥檚 life experiences.
The trouble was, I had been inadequate all along, I simply hadn't thought about it.
I dreaded this review; I knew that from this novel would emerge a personal journal barely touching upon the merits of the book. I postponed the process many times since I didn鈥檛 want to deal with it, the easiest path evoking an infantile self-preservation, considering the world as an enormous rug where one can hide every unpleasant feeling, all the mirrors whose reflections we don鈥檛 dare to acknowledge.
I saw myself sitting in the crotch of this fig tree, starving to death, just because I couldn鈥檛 make up my mind which of the figs I would choose. I wanted each and every one of them, but choosing one meant losing all the rest, and, as I sat there, unable to decide, the figs began to wrinkle and go black, and, one by one, they plopped to the ground at my feet.
In this novel, I found indecision under the apposite metaphor of a fig tree; undying portions of time where absence is a unilateral reality, and the inability to fit the standards to which a woman is supposed to belong 鈥� a perpetual rift between professional development and motherhood. The disparities between the world of a man and the encapsulated universe of a woman in mid-20th-century America. Or any place, any time.
I couldn鈥檛 stand the idea of a woman having to have a single pure life and a man being able to have a double life, one pure and one not.
Such differences constitute a theme that is deeply explored in this book, and from all perspectives, such as work and sexuality.
Whether she knew it or not, Philomena Guinea was buying my freedom. 鈥淲hat I hate is the thought of being under a man鈥檚 thumb,鈥� I had told Doctor Nolan. 鈥淎 man doesn鈥檛 have a worry in the world, while I鈥檝e got a baby hanging over my head like a big stick, to keep me in line.鈥�
While fighting against her demons, we find in Esther a powerful and perceptive character, full of conviction and harboring a strong yearning for independence, a situation that naturally didn鈥檛 involve the oppressive presence of a man absorbing her individuality like an unwavering sponge. However, the way her mind worked was much more profound than a trendy dislike composed of empty words. It was a search for identity in a society ruled by men and in which she felt inadequate most of the time. Through the character鈥檚 reflections, we witness her longing for liberation from the ties of the expected.
The trouble was, I hated the idea of serving men in any way. I wanted to dictate my own thrilling letters.
It is certainly striking that this novel, which deals with complex themes under such a stifling atmosphere, could also make me smile. Esther has a unique sense of humor and some of her comments regarding a vast array of things were rather amusing. Under the night that never seemed to end, trying to illuminate the long corridors of her mind, accompanied by voices, electricity and despair, she made me her confident and brought me smiles to pass the time.
The Bell Jar is an ambitious work, as I read before, but it鈥檚 not a perfect novel. There are some fissures that should prevent me from giving it a 5-star rating. Nevertheless, I changed my first rating from four to five stars; it is on my 鈥渇avorites鈥� shelf, another favorite axe, and it has rekindled my feelings for Plath. I am grateful for the story she shared. And for the fate she forged for her character. I took a deep breath and listened to the old brag of my heart. I am, I am, I am. Despite the darkness in which this book is immersed, a sense of hope still lingers even after finishing this somber journey. Fig trees are on solid ground, awaiting for courage, a leap of faith, life-changing decisions 鈥� meaning, beauty, uniqueness. The silence, a limpid layer which allows to admire the now splendid azure sky, is no longer an ominous sign. As a small stone is thrown into a pond, causing violent ripples that soon vanish while the former serenity is restored, such silence is interrupted briefly by the sound of glass breaking. In the midst of too much consciousness, those small shivers are a vital part of the ritual for being born twice鈥攑atched, retreaded and approved for the road.
Feb 02, 17
* Also on .
** Photo credit: Bell jar / via
Fig Tree (ficus)- Masai Mara, Kenya / Elsen Karstad
Broken window / via karasoft.info
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June 8, 2022
賵賰丕賳鬲 賮賰乇丞 兀賳 兀賯鬲賱 賳賮爻賷 賯丿 乇爻禺鬲 賮賷 毓賯賱賷 亘賴丿賵亍 賲孬賱 卮噩乇丞 兀賵 夭賴乇丞
赌赌赌赌赌赌赌赌赌赌赌赌赌赌赌赌赌
賮賷 毓丕賲 1963 賰丕賳鬲 爻賷賱賮賷丕 亘賱丕孬 賯丿 丨爻賲鬲 兀賲乇賴丕鈥�
兀胤賱鬲 毓賱賶 胤賮賱賷賴丕 丕賱賱匕賷賳 賱賲 賷賰賳 毓賲乇 兀賰亘乇賴賲丕 賯丿 亘賱睾 丕賱毓丕賲賷賳 亘毓丿
兀胤毓賲鬲賴賲丕 賵鬲乇賰鬲 賲夭賷丿丕 賲賳 丕賱胤毓丕賲 賵丕賱賱亘賳鈥�
賮鬲丨鬲 丕賱賳賵丕賮匕 毓賳 丌禺乇賴丕
孬賲 鬲賴丕丿鬲 亘禺賮丞 廿賱賶 丕賱賲胤亘禺
賵爻丿鬲 賰賱 賲賳丕賮匕 丕賱賴賵丕亍
賵賮鬲丨鬲 氐賲丕賲丕鬲 丕賱睾丕夭鈥�
賵兀乇賯丿鬲 乇兀爻賴丕 丕賱賲毓匕賾亘 丕賱賲禺鬲賳賯 亘賳丕賯賵爻賴 丕賱夭噩丕噩賷鈥� 賮賷 丕賱賮乇賳
鈥� 賵鬲乇賰鬲 賳賮爻賴丕 鬲鬲爻乇亘 亘亘胤亍 廿賱賶 丕賱毓丕賱賲 丕賱丌禺乇鈥�
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賲賳 丕賱氐毓亘 兀賳 鬲賯乇兀 賰鬲丕亘丕 賱賰丕鬲亘 丕賳鬲丨乇 丿賵賳 兀賳 鬲亘丨孬 亘賴 鈥�
毓賳 賰賱 丕賱丕卮丕乇丕鬲 丕賱鬲賷 賯丿 鬲丿賱 毓賱賶 兀賳賴 爻賷賮毓賱賴丕 賯乇賷亘丕
乇睾賲 兀賳 匕賱賰 賷亘丿賵 胤賮賵賱賷丕 賵爻丕匕噩丕
賱丕 賷賲賰賳賰 兀賳 鬲賮氐賱 亘賷賳 丕賱乇賵丕賷丞 賵爻賷賱賮賷丕鈥�
賱丕 賷賲賰賳賰 鬲賯賷賷賲賴丕 鬲賯賷賷賲丕 兀丿亘賷丕 賲丨丕賷丿丕 鈥�
賮賴賷 卮賴賯丕鬲 爻賷賱賮賷丕 丕賱兀禺賷乇丞 賯亘賱 丕賯丿丕賲賴丕 毓賱賶 丕賱丕賳鬲丨丕乇
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鈥�-兀鬲毓乇賮賷賳 賲丕 賴賷 丕賱賯氐賷丿丞 賷丕 廿爻鬲乇責
鈥�-賱丕 貙 賲丕 丕賱賯氐賷丿丞責
鈥�-廿賳賴丕 卮賷亍 賲賳 丕賱睾亘丕乇
赌赌赌赌赌赌赌赌赌赌赌赌赌赌赌赌赌賭
丕賱賳丕賯賵爻 丕賱夭噩丕噩賷
賴匕丕 丕賱毓丕賱賲 丕賱賲卮賵賴 丕賱匕賷 賷賳鬲噩 毓賳 賲乇囟 丕賱丕丿乇丕賰 丕賱丨爻賷 丕賱賮氐丕賲賷
亘兀毓乇丕囟賴 丕賱賲丿賲乇丞
賵睾賱丕賮賴 丕賱夭噩丕噩賷 丕賱匕賷 賷丨賷胤 亘毓賯賱賰 賮丨乇賯 賵賷賲夭賯 賵賷賲賷鬲鈥�
丨賷賳 鬲賲賵鬲 丕賱兀亘噩丿賷丞 兀賲丕賲 卮丕毓乇丞
賮鬲爻鬲丨賷賱 丕賱丨乇賵賮 胤賱丕爻賲賸丕 鈥�
賵賷亘丿賵 賰賱 賲丕 丨賵賱賴丕 禺胤乇丕 賵睾賷乇 丨賯賷賯賷
賲丕 丕賱匕賷 賷鬲亘賯賶責
賴賱 賱賰 兀賳 鬲鬲禺賷賱 兀賳 鬲鬲賴丕賵賶 丕賱兀亘噩丿賷丞 兀賲丕賲 卮丕毓乇丞 賮賱丕 鬲爻鬲胤賷毓 丕賱丕賲爻丕賰 亘賴丕責
亘賱 鬲禺乇噩 賱賴丕 賱爻丕賳賴丕 賮賷 鬲丨丿 賵爻禺乇賷丞 亘賷賳賲丕 鬲乇賯丿 賴賷 鬲鬲毓丕胤賶 氐丿賲丕鬲 丕賱賰賴乇亘丕亍 賵賲乇丕乇丞 丕賱禺賵賮責責
賴賰匕丕 丨丕賵賱鬲 爻賷賱賮賷丕 鬲氐賵賷乇 毓丕賱賲賴丕 賵丕賱賳丕爻 賮賷賴 賲孬賱賲丕 乇兀鬲賴 賮賷 丕賱毓丿爻丞 丕賱賲卮賵賴丞 賱賱賳丕賯賵爻 丕賱夭噩丕噩賷 -毓賱賶 丨丿 賯賵賱賴丕
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賰賱 卮賷亍 賷亘丿賵 兀賰孬乇 丨丿丞 賲毓 兀賵噩丕毓賰 丕賱賳賮爻賷丞
鬲睾丿賵 兀毓氐丕亘賰 毓丕乇賷丞
賰賱 鬲賮丕毓賱 鬲賲乇 亘賴 賷鬲卮賵賴 亘丿丕禺賱賰
賰賱 賲卮賰賱丞 丨賷丕鬲賷丞 鬲睾丿賵 賱睾夭丕賸 賮賱爻賮賷賸丕 賵賱毓賳丞 賲賳 丕賱爻賲丕亍
丕賳 丕賱賲賳馗賵乇 丕賱賲賳丨乇賮 丕賱匕賷 鬲乇賶 亘賴 丕爻鬲乇 丕賱毓丕賱賲 丕賱賲丨賷胤 亘賴丕
賴賵 賳賮爻賴 賲賳馗賵乇 爻賷賱賮賷丕
丕爻鬲乇 賴賷 爻賷賱賮賷丕 賮賷 賵賯鬲 賲丕 賲賳 丨賷丕鬲賴丕
鈥徺勜ж� 丨鬲賶 兀賳 丕賱兀爻賲丕亍 爻賷賱賮賷丕貙 廿爻鬲乇貙 鈥�
孬賲 廿賷賱賷賳 丕賱卮禺氐賷丞 丕賱鬲賷 鬲鬲禺賷賱賴丕 廿爻鬲乇 賮賷 乇賵丕賷鬲賴丕
賰賱賴賳 鬲鬲胤丕亘賯 丨乇賵賮 兀爻賲丕卅賴賳 賮賷 丕賱廿賳噩賱賷夭賷丞
賰賱賴賳 爻賷賱賮賷丕
鬲賯毓 廿爻鬲乇 鈥撠ㄘ焚勜� 乇賵丕賷鬲賳丕 賮乇賷爻丞 賱賲乇囟
賷丨賷胤 丿賲丕睾賴丕 丕賱賲爻賰賷賳 亘卮乇丕卅丨 夭噩丕噩賷丞 鈥�
鬲氐亘丨賺 賰賱 匕賰乇賷丕鬲賴丕
丕賱賲氐賴賵乇丞 亘兀賱賮 賱賵賳 賵胤毓賲 賵乇丕卅丨丞
賴賷 丕賱賲賳馗乇 丕賱胤亘賷毓賷鈥� 丕賱丨賯賷賯賷
賵賱賷爻鬲 丕賱兀賱賵丕賳 丕賱賲卮亘毓丞 亘賴丕 丕賱胤亘賷毓丞 丕賱禺囟乇丕亍
丕賱鬲賷 賯丿 鬲亘丿賵 賱賳馗乇賴丕 爻禺賷賮丞
賮賷 賰賱 賲乇丞 鬲噩乇亘 胤乇賷賯丞 噩丿賷丿丞 賵鬲賮卮賱 賮賷 丕鬲賯丕賳賴丕
丨鬲賶 賰丕賳鬲 丕賱賱丨馗丞 丕賱鬲賷 卮賯鬲 賮賷賴丕 乇爻睾賷賴丕
賵丕禺鬲亘兀鬲 賱鬲賲賵鬲 賮賷 賯亘賵 丕賱賲賳夭賱
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賱丕 卮賷亍 賷賵胤賾丿 毓乇賶 氐丿丕賯鬲賰 賲毓 卮禺氐 丌禺乇 兀賰孬乇 賲賳 丕賱鬲賯賷丐 賮賷 丨囟賵乇賴
赌赌赌赌赌赌赌赌赌赌赌赌赌赌赌赌赌賭
賵賰丕賳鬲 爻賷賱賮賷丕 亘禺賮丞 丿賲 睾乇賷亘丞 鬲鬲丨丿孬 毓賳 兀賮賰丕乇賴丕 毓賳 丕賱丕賳鬲丨丕乇 賵毓賲丕 賯丿 賷毓賵賯賴丕 毓賳賴 賮賱丕 鬲賲賱賰 廿賱丕 兀賳 鬲賯毓 賮賷 丨亘賴丕
賰兀賳 鬲賯胤毓 卮乇丕賷賷賳賴丕 賮賷 賲丕亍 丿丕賮卅 賮賷賰賵賳 丕賱賲丕亍 兀賰孬乇 亘乇賵丿丞 賲賲丕 賷賳亘睾賷 賲孬賱丕鈥�
鈥�:顿
賱爻賷賱賮賷丕 毓丕賱賲賴丕 丕賱乇丕卅毓 丕賱禺丕氐 亘賴丕 賵丨丿賴丕
賵爻鬲賰鬲卮賮賴 亘毓賲賯 賲毓 賯氐丕卅丿賴丕 丕賱賲匕賴賱丞
兀賰乇賴 丕賱兀賮賱丕賲 丕賱賲賱賵賳丞 丨賷孬 賷亘丿賵 賰賱 卮禺氐 賵賰兀賳賴 賲囟胤乇 賱丕乇鬲丿丕亍 兀夭賷丕亍 乇賴賷亘丞 賮賷 賰賱 賲卮賴丿 噩丿賷丿
賵丕賱賵賯賵賮 賮賷 丕賱噩賵丕乇 賰賲賳卮乇 丕賱睾爻賷賱
赌赌赌赌赌赌赌赌赌赌赌赌赌赌赌赌赌賭
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賯乇亘 丕賱賳賴丕賷丞 賯丕賱 亘丿賷 賱廿爻鬲乇 亘亘爻丕胤丞 :鈥�
鈥� 兀鬲爻丕亍賱 賲賳 爻鬲鬲夭賵噩賷賳 丕賱丌賳 賷丕 廿爻鬲乇 賵賯丿 賰賳鬲賽 ...賴賳丕 鈥撡娰傌地� 丕賱賲氐丨丞
賵毓賳丿賲丕 鬲卮丕亘賰 賯丿乇賷 爻賷賱賮賷丕 賵鬲賷丿 鈥�
賱賲 鬲賰賳 鬲毓賱賲 兀賳賴 亘卮賴賵鬲賴 賱賲胤丕乇丿丞 丕賱賳爻丕亍 賵丕鬲禺丕匕 毓卮賷賯丕鬲 鈥�
賯丿 爻胤乇 丕賱丨乇賮 丕賱兀禺賷乇 賮賷 丨賱賲 爻毓丕丿鬲賴丕 鈥�
鈥� 丕賱匕賷 丕賳鬲賴賶 爻乇賷毓丕 賰卮賴丕亘 賮賷 丨賷丕鬲賴丕 丕賱賯氐賷乇丞 丕賱亘丕卅爻丞鈥�
賰賲丕 鬲卮丕亘賴鬲 丕賱噩賲賱丞 丕賱鬲賷 賯丕賱賴丕 亘丿賷 賱廿爻鬲乇
賴賱 賴賳丕賰 卮賷亍 賮賷 賷丨賷賱 丕賱賳爻丕亍 賲噩賳賵賳丕鬲責"鈥�"
亘丨賷丕丞 鬲賷丿 賳賮爻賴 亘胤乇賷賯丞 賲孬賷乇丞 賱賱丕爻鬲睾乇丕亘
賮賯丿 丕賳鬲丨乇鬲 夭賵噩鬲賴 孬賲 毓卮賷賯鬲賴 賰賱鬲丕賴賲丕 亘丕賱睾丕夭
鈥�" 賮賴賱 賴賳丕賰 卮賷卅丕賸 賮賷 鬲賷丿 賷噩毓賱 丕賱賳爻丕亍 鬲賯丿賲賳 毓賱賶 丕賱丕賳鬲丨丕乇 賵亘丕賱睾丕夭 鬲丨丿賷丿丕責責!!"鈥�
丿毓賳丕 賳丨丕賵賱 丕賱噩賵丕亘 賴賳丕
乇爻丕卅賱 毓賷丿 丕賱賲賷賱丕丿..丿賷賵丕賳 鬲賷丿 賴賷賵夭 廿賱賶 爻賷賱賮賷丕 亘賱丕孬
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鈥�"賰丕賳 毓賱賷 兀賳 兀賰鬲亘 賱兀鬲丨乇乇 賲賳 丕賱賲丕囟賷"鈥�
賴賱 丕爻鬲乇噩毓鬲 爻賷賱賮賷丕 丕賱賲丕囟賷 賵睾丕氐鬲 賮賷賴 賲噩丿丿丕責 鈥�
賴賱 鬲丨賵賱鬲 鬲噩乇亘丞 丕賱賰鬲丕亘丞 廿賱賶 丕爻鬲毓丕丿丞 丕賱賵噩毓 賰賱賴
亘丿賱丕 賲賳 兀賳 鬲賰賵賳 胤乇賷賯丞 卮丕賮賷丞 賳丕噩丨丞責
兀賱賲 鬲爻鬲胤毓 丕睾賱丕賯 氐賮丨丞 丕賱賲丕囟賷 賵鬲鬲胤賱毓 廿賱賶 丨賷丕丞 兀賰孬乇 丕爻鬲賯乇丕乇丕責責
賷亘丿賵 兀賳賴丕 兀噩丕亘鬲賳丕 毓賳 賴匕丕 丕賱爻丐丕賱
鈥�.......鈥�
September 9, 2021
(Book 433 from 1001 books) - Victoria Lucas = The Bell Jar, Sylvia Plath
The Bell Jar is the only novel written by the American writer and poet Sylvia Plath.
Originally published under the pseudonym "Victoria Lucas" in 1963, the novel is semi-autobiographical, with the names of places and people changed.
The book is often regarded as a roman a clef since the protagonist's descent into mental illness parallels Plath's own experiences with what may have been clinical depression or bipolar II disorder. Plath died by suicide a month after its first UK publication.
The novel was published under Plath's name for the first time in 1967 and was not published in the United States until 1971, in accordance with the wishes of both Plath's husband, Ted Hughes, and her mother. The novel has been translated into nearly a dozen languages. The novel, though dark, is often read in high school English classes.
毓賳賵丕賳賴丕蹖 趩丕倬 卮丿賴 丿乇 丕蹖乇丕賳: 芦丨亘丕亘 卮蹖卮賴禄貨 芦卮蹖卮賴禄貨 賳賵蹖爻賳丿賴: 爻蹖賱賵蹖丕 倬賱丕鬲 (賳卮乇 亘丕睾)貨 鬲丕乇蹖禺 賳禺爻鬲蹖賳 禺賵丕賳卮: 乇賵夭 爻賵賲 賲丕賴 爻倬鬲丕賲亘乇 爻丕賱 2006賲蹖賱丕丿蹖
毓賳賵丕賳: 卮蹖卮賴貨 毓賳賵丕賳 丿蹖诏乇 丨亘丕亘 卮蹖卮賴貨 賳賵蹖爻賳丿賴: 爻蹖賱賵蹖丕 倬賱丕鬲 (倬賱鬲)貨 賲鬲乇噩賲: 诏賱蹖 丕賲丕賲蹖貨 鬲賴乇丕賳貙 賳蹖賱貙 1352貨 丿乇 229氐貨 趩丕倬 丿蹖诏乇 鬲賴乇丕賳貙 賳賯卮 賵 賳诏丕乇貙 爻丕賱 1381貨 丿乇 230氐貨 卮丕亘讴 9646235581貨 亘丕 毓賳賵丕賳: 丨亘丕亘 卮蹖卮賴貨 鬲賴乇丕賳貙 亘丕睾 賳賵貙 1384貨 丿乇 225氐貨 卮丕亘讴 9647425295貨 賲賵囟賵毓 丿丕爻鬲丕賳賴丕蹖 賳賵蹖爻賳丿诏丕賳 丕蹖丕賱丕鬲 賲鬲丨丿賴 丕賲乇蹖讴丕 - 爻丿賴 20賲
丿丕爻鬲丕賳 丿禺鬲乇蹖 亘賴 賳丕賲 芦丕爻鬲乇 诏乇蹖賳賵賵丿禄 卮蹖賮鬲賴鈥� 蹖 倬爻乇蹖 亘賴 賳丕賲 芦亘丕丿蹖禄 賲蹖鈥屫促堌� 亘丕 诏匕卮鬲 夭賲丕賳 芦丕爻鬲乇禄 丿乇賲蹖鈥屰屫жㄘ� 讴賴 丕賵 賴蹖趩 卮亘丕賴鬲蹖 亘賴 賴賲爻乇 丕蹖丿賴鈥� 丌賱 丕賵 賳丿丕乇丿 賵 賳丕诏夭蹖乇 丕夭 丕賵 噩丿丕 賲蹖鈥屫促堌� 丿乇 丕蹖賳 賴賳诏丕賲貙 芦丕爻鬲乇禄 亘賴 亘蹖賲丕乇蹖 乇賵丕賳蹖 丿趩丕乇 賵 丿爻鬲 亘賴 禺賵丿讴卮蹖 賲蹖鈥屫操嗀� 丨丕賱 丌賳 讴賴 賲丕丿乇卮 丕賵 乇丕 丕夭 賲乇诏 賳噩丕鬲 賲蹖鈥屫囏� 賵 芦丕爻鬲乇禄 丿乇 丌爻丕蹖卮诏丕賴 乇賵丕賳蹖 亘爻鬲乇蹖 賲蹖鈥屭必� 賵.....貨 芦丨亘丕亘 卮蹖卮賴禄 乇賲丕賳 卮亘賴鈥� 夭賳丿诏蹖鈥屬嗀з呝団€� 丕蹖 丕孬乇 芦爻蹖賱賵蹖丕 倬賱丕鬲禄 卮丕毓乇 芦丌賲乇蹖讴丕蹖蹖禄 丕爻鬲貙 讴賴 丿乇 爻丕賱 1963賲蹖賱丕丿蹖 賲賳鬲卮乇 卮丿貙 賵 鬲賳賴丕 乇賲丕賳 丕蹖卮丕賳 亘賴 卮賲丕乇 賲蹖鈥屫辟堌� 芦爻蹖賱賵蹖丕 倬賱丕鬲禄 丕蹖賳 丕孬乇 乇丕 亘丕 賳丕賲 賲爻鬲毓丕乇 芦賵蹖讴鬲賵乇蹖丕 賱賵讴丕爻禄 賲賳鬲卮乇貙 賵 蹖讴 賲丕賴 倬爻 丕夭 丌賳 禺賵丿讴卮蹖 讴乇丿賳丿貨 芦丨亘丕亘 卮蹖卮賴禄 卮亘丕賴鬲 亘爻蹖丕乇蹖 亘丕 夭賳丿诏蹖 賵丕賯毓蹖 芦爻蹖賱賵蹖丕 倬賱丕鬲禄 丿丕乇丿貙 賵 趩賳蹖賳 亘賴 賳馗乇 賲蹖鈥屫必池� 讴賴 鬲賳賴丕 丕爻丕賲蹖 卮禺氐蹖鬲鈥屬囏� 賵 賲讴丕賳鈥屬囏� 鬲睾蹖蹖乇 讴乇丿賴鈥� 丕賳丿貨 芦爻蹖賱賵蹖丕 倬賱丕鬲禄 丿乇 丕蹖賳 卮丕賴讴丕乇 鬲丨爻蹖賳 卮丿賴 賵 噩丕賵丿丕賳貙 亘丕 趩賳丕賳 馗乇丕賮鬲蹖 禺賵丕賳卮诏乇 乇丕 亘賴 丿賳蹖丕蹖 匕賴賳蹖 丿乇 丨丕賱 賳丕亘賵丿蹖 芦丕爻鬲乇禄 賲蹖亘乇丿貙 讴賴 噩賳賵賳 賵 丿蹖賵丕賳诏蹖 丕蹖賳 卮禺氐蹖鬲貙 讴丕賲賱丕 賲賱賲賵爻 賵 丨鬲蹖 賲賳胤賯蹖 賵 毓賯賱丕賳蹖 噩賱賵賴 賲蹖讴賳丿貨 乇賲丕賳 芦丨亘丕亘 卮蹖卮賴禄貙 讴丕賵卮蹖 跇乇賮貙 丿乇 鬲丕乇蹖讴鬲乇蹖賳 賵 賲禺賵賮鬲乇蹖賳 诏賵卮賴 賵 讴賳丕乇賴丕蹖 匕賴賳 亘卮乇 丕爻鬲貙 賵 倬蹖乇賵夭蹖 卮诏乇賮 賵 丕孬乇 讴賱丕爻蹖讴蹖 噩丕賵丿丕賳 亘賴 卮賲丕乇 賲蹖丌蹖丿貙 丕孬乇 亘賴 夭亘丕賳鈥屬囏й� 亘爻蹖丕乇蹖 鬲乇噩賲賴 卮丿賴 賵 亘丕 賵噩賵丿 丿乇賵賳賲丕蹖賴 蹖 鬲蹖乇賴鈥� 丕卮 丿乇 丿亘蹖乇爻鬲丕賳鈥屬囏й� 讴卮賵乇賴丕蹖 丕賳诏賱蹖爻蹖鈥� 夭亘丕賳 亘賴 毓賳賵丕賳 賲鬲賳 丿乇爻蹖 丕爻鬲賮丕丿賴 賲蹖鈥屫促堌�...貨
丕夭 爻蹖賱賵蹖丕 倬賱丕鬲 倬賳噩 丿賮鬲乇 卮毓乇 亘乇噩丕蹖 賲丕賳丿賴 丕爻鬲: 芦亘趩賴 睾賵賱 (1960賲蹖賱丕丿蹖)禄貨 芦讴賱賵爻賵爻 賵 丕卮毓丕乇 丿蹖诏乇 (1962賲蹖賱丕丿蹖)禄貨 芦丌乇蹖賱 (1965賲蹖賱丕丿蹖)禄貨 芦诏匕乇 丕夭 丌亘 (1971賲蹖賱丕丿蹖)禄貨 芦丿乇禺鬲丕賳 夭賲爻鬲丕賳蹖 (1972賲蹖賱丕丿蹖)禄貨 芦賲噩賲賵毓賴 丕卮毓丕乇 (1981賲蹖賱丕丿蹖)禄貨
鬲丕乇蹖禺 亘賴賳诏丕賲 乇爻丕賳蹖 07/08/1399賴噩乇蹖 禺賵乇卮蹖丿蹖貨 16/06/1400賴噩乇蹖 禺賵乇卮蹖丿蹖貨 丕. 卮乇亘蹖丕賳蹖
The Bell Jar is the only novel written by the American writer and poet Sylvia Plath.
Originally published under the pseudonym "Victoria Lucas" in 1963, the novel is semi-autobiographical, with the names of places and people changed.
The book is often regarded as a roman a clef since the protagonist's descent into mental illness parallels Plath's own experiences with what may have been clinical depression or bipolar II disorder. Plath died by suicide a month after its first UK publication.
The novel was published under Plath's name for the first time in 1967 and was not published in the United States until 1971, in accordance with the wishes of both Plath's husband, Ted Hughes, and her mother. The novel has been translated into nearly a dozen languages. The novel, though dark, is often read in high school English classes.
毓賳賵丕賳賴丕蹖 趩丕倬 卮丿賴 丿乇 丕蹖乇丕賳: 芦丨亘丕亘 卮蹖卮賴禄貨 芦卮蹖卮賴禄貨 賳賵蹖爻賳丿賴: 爻蹖賱賵蹖丕 倬賱丕鬲 (賳卮乇 亘丕睾)貨 鬲丕乇蹖禺 賳禺爻鬲蹖賳 禺賵丕賳卮: 乇賵夭 爻賵賲 賲丕賴 爻倬鬲丕賲亘乇 爻丕賱 2006賲蹖賱丕丿蹖
毓賳賵丕賳: 卮蹖卮賴貨 毓賳賵丕賳 丿蹖诏乇 丨亘丕亘 卮蹖卮賴貨 賳賵蹖爻賳丿賴: 爻蹖賱賵蹖丕 倬賱丕鬲 (倬賱鬲)貨 賲鬲乇噩賲: 诏賱蹖 丕賲丕賲蹖貨 鬲賴乇丕賳貙 賳蹖賱貙 1352貨 丿乇 229氐貨 趩丕倬 丿蹖诏乇 鬲賴乇丕賳貙 賳賯卮 賵 賳诏丕乇貙 爻丕賱 1381貨 丿乇 230氐貨 卮丕亘讴 9646235581貨 亘丕 毓賳賵丕賳: 丨亘丕亘 卮蹖卮賴貨 鬲賴乇丕賳貙 亘丕睾 賳賵貙 1384貨 丿乇 225氐貨 卮丕亘讴 9647425295貨 賲賵囟賵毓 丿丕爻鬲丕賳賴丕蹖 賳賵蹖爻賳丿诏丕賳 丕蹖丕賱丕鬲 賲鬲丨丿賴 丕賲乇蹖讴丕 - 爻丿賴 20賲
丿丕爻鬲丕賳 丿禺鬲乇蹖 亘賴 賳丕賲 芦丕爻鬲乇 诏乇蹖賳賵賵丿禄 卮蹖賮鬲賴鈥� 蹖 倬爻乇蹖 亘賴 賳丕賲 芦亘丕丿蹖禄 賲蹖鈥屫促堌� 亘丕 诏匕卮鬲 夭賲丕賳 芦丕爻鬲乇禄 丿乇賲蹖鈥屰屫жㄘ� 讴賴 丕賵 賴蹖趩 卮亘丕賴鬲蹖 亘賴 賴賲爻乇 丕蹖丿賴鈥� 丌賱 丕賵 賳丿丕乇丿 賵 賳丕诏夭蹖乇 丕夭 丕賵 噩丿丕 賲蹖鈥屫促堌� 丿乇 丕蹖賳 賴賳诏丕賲貙 芦丕爻鬲乇禄 亘賴 亘蹖賲丕乇蹖 乇賵丕賳蹖 丿趩丕乇 賵 丿爻鬲 亘賴 禺賵丿讴卮蹖 賲蹖鈥屫操嗀� 丨丕賱 丌賳 讴賴 賲丕丿乇卮 丕賵 乇丕 丕夭 賲乇诏 賳噩丕鬲 賲蹖鈥屫囏� 賵 芦丕爻鬲乇禄 丿乇 丌爻丕蹖卮诏丕賴 乇賵丕賳蹖 亘爻鬲乇蹖 賲蹖鈥屭必� 賵.....貨 芦丨亘丕亘 卮蹖卮賴禄 乇賲丕賳 卮亘賴鈥� 夭賳丿诏蹖鈥屬嗀з呝団€� 丕蹖 丕孬乇 芦爻蹖賱賵蹖丕 倬賱丕鬲禄 卮丕毓乇 芦丌賲乇蹖讴丕蹖蹖禄 丕爻鬲貙 讴賴 丿乇 爻丕賱 1963賲蹖賱丕丿蹖 賲賳鬲卮乇 卮丿貙 賵 鬲賳賴丕 乇賲丕賳 丕蹖卮丕賳 亘賴 卮賲丕乇 賲蹖鈥屫辟堌� 芦爻蹖賱賵蹖丕 倬賱丕鬲禄 丕蹖賳 丕孬乇 乇丕 亘丕 賳丕賲 賲爻鬲毓丕乇 芦賵蹖讴鬲賵乇蹖丕 賱賵讴丕爻禄 賲賳鬲卮乇貙 賵 蹖讴 賲丕賴 倬爻 丕夭 丌賳 禺賵丿讴卮蹖 讴乇丿賳丿貨 芦丨亘丕亘 卮蹖卮賴禄 卮亘丕賴鬲 亘爻蹖丕乇蹖 亘丕 夭賳丿诏蹖 賵丕賯毓蹖 芦爻蹖賱賵蹖丕 倬賱丕鬲禄 丿丕乇丿貙 賵 趩賳蹖賳 亘賴 賳馗乇 賲蹖鈥屫必池� 讴賴 鬲賳賴丕 丕爻丕賲蹖 卮禺氐蹖鬲鈥屬囏� 賵 賲讴丕賳鈥屬囏� 鬲睾蹖蹖乇 讴乇丿賴鈥� 丕賳丿貨 芦爻蹖賱賵蹖丕 倬賱丕鬲禄 丿乇 丕蹖賳 卮丕賴讴丕乇 鬲丨爻蹖賳 卮丿賴 賵 噩丕賵丿丕賳貙 亘丕 趩賳丕賳 馗乇丕賮鬲蹖 禺賵丕賳卮诏乇 乇丕 亘賴 丿賳蹖丕蹖 匕賴賳蹖 丿乇 丨丕賱 賳丕亘賵丿蹖 芦丕爻鬲乇禄 賲蹖亘乇丿貙 讴賴 噩賳賵賳 賵 丿蹖賵丕賳诏蹖 丕蹖賳 卮禺氐蹖鬲貙 讴丕賲賱丕 賲賱賲賵爻 賵 丨鬲蹖 賲賳胤賯蹖 賵 毓賯賱丕賳蹖 噩賱賵賴 賲蹖讴賳丿貨 乇賲丕賳 芦丨亘丕亘 卮蹖卮賴禄貙 讴丕賵卮蹖 跇乇賮貙 丿乇 鬲丕乇蹖讴鬲乇蹖賳 賵 賲禺賵賮鬲乇蹖賳 诏賵卮賴 賵 讴賳丕乇賴丕蹖 匕賴賳 亘卮乇 丕爻鬲貙 賵 倬蹖乇賵夭蹖 卮诏乇賮 賵 丕孬乇 讴賱丕爻蹖讴蹖 噩丕賵丿丕賳 亘賴 卮賲丕乇 賲蹖丌蹖丿貙 丕孬乇 亘賴 夭亘丕賳鈥屬囏й� 亘爻蹖丕乇蹖 鬲乇噩賲賴 卮丿賴 賵 亘丕 賵噩賵丿 丿乇賵賳賲丕蹖賴 蹖 鬲蹖乇賴鈥� 丕卮 丿乇 丿亘蹖乇爻鬲丕賳鈥屬囏й� 讴卮賵乇賴丕蹖 丕賳诏賱蹖爻蹖鈥� 夭亘丕賳 亘賴 毓賳賵丕賳 賲鬲賳 丿乇爻蹖 丕爻鬲賮丕丿賴 賲蹖鈥屫促堌�...貨
丕夭 爻蹖賱賵蹖丕 倬賱丕鬲 倬賳噩 丿賮鬲乇 卮毓乇 亘乇噩丕蹖 賲丕賳丿賴 丕爻鬲: 芦亘趩賴 睾賵賱 (1960賲蹖賱丕丿蹖)禄貨 芦讴賱賵爻賵爻 賵 丕卮毓丕乇 丿蹖诏乇 (1962賲蹖賱丕丿蹖)禄貨 芦丌乇蹖賱 (1965賲蹖賱丕丿蹖)禄貨 芦诏匕乇 丕夭 丌亘 (1971賲蹖賱丕丿蹖)禄貨 芦丿乇禺鬲丕賳 夭賲爻鬲丕賳蹖 (1972賲蹖賱丕丿蹖)禄貨 芦賲噩賲賵毓賴 丕卮毓丕乇 (1981賲蹖賱丕丿蹖)禄貨
鬲丕乇蹖禺 亘賴賳诏丕賲 乇爻丕賳蹖 07/08/1399賴噩乇蹖 禺賵乇卮蹖丿蹖貨 16/06/1400賴噩乇蹖 禺賵乇卮蹖丿蹖貨 丕. 卮乇亘蹖丕賳蹖
August 6, 2014
Everything she said was like a secret voice speaking straight out of my own bones.
A light at the end of a tunnel? May be! A flicker of hope? Perhaps. A cloud with a silver lining? Possibly. Eventually it鈥檚 the doubt that remains a constant companion while one is busy gathering shreds of a life which apparently turns into something unexpected, something frail, something blurred, something sour, something like sitting under a Bell Jar. There are no promises to keep and no expectations to be fulfilled except a small desire survives somewhere, a desire wishing for wings of freedom to gather their strength again to soar high in the sky and letting the old brag of heart to leap out and declare in a booming voice 鈥� I am, I am, I am.
Another book, another writer and another winner. I simply loved The Bell Jar. I approached it weighing under the burden of my hollow prejudices and expected a story that won鈥檛 surprise me in any remarkable way but Sylvia Plath! She gave me a valuable gift in the form of this book. I鈥檒l probably come across as heavily drenched in my emotions here but it鈥檚 not every day one finds something which perfectly vocalizes the suppressed whispers of one鈥檚 past and an immediate present. Another case of deep connection? Not exactly. Just the right amount of shared feelings and a long awaited consolation that I鈥檓 not the only one.
I felt dreadfully inadequate. The trouble was, I had been inadequate all along, I simply hadn't thought about it... I felt like a racehorse in a world without racetracks or a champion college footballer suddenly confronted by Wall Street and a business suit, his days of glory shrunk to a little gold cup on his mantel with a date engraved on it like the date on a tombstone.No self-pity or depressing delusions, just plain simple confession which born out of the realization after an official entry into the real world. The Bell Jar is about Esther Greenwood but I would like to view that name as some sort of anagram which encompasses everyone of us within it, maybe not in its entirety but in bits and parts. In all likelihood, nothing is there in a name and surely I can鈥檛 speak for everyone else but I know that there鈥檚 something in the writing style of Sylvia which holds the power of drawing readers in her tale and no matter how much one tries to break free from her words (because they hurt!) it鈥檚 almost impossible to do so. Esther made me laugh with her honest descriptions of the world and the people around her. She made me her accomplice in her jokes and in her secrets and she made me empathized with her and her plights but at the same time, I was grateful that she was able to share her pain without appearing miserable or demanding any form of solace. She is. She is. She is. That鈥檚 how I cheered for her.
I uttered 'nothing new鈥� many times while reading it but considering it as a book written 50 years ago which still resonated at such an inexplicable level with me is fascinating to think of. Should I mourn at the repeated instances of histories which repeat themselves or cheer about the knowledge that there lived a girl who had a talent of telling something on behalf of most of us? I鈥檓 still contemplating about those questions but I guess they鈥檒l lose their significance in time to come and only magical essence of Sylvia鈥檚 words shall remain with me.
Piece by piece, I fed my wardrobe to the night wind, and flutteringly, like a loved one's ashes, the gray scraps were ferried off, to settle here, there, exactly where I would never know, in the dark heart of New York.
July 1, 2021
La novela o yo hemos, en cierta manera, fracasado en el intento. O bien ella no ha logrado transmitirme el horror de ese fondo del hoyo que es una depresi贸n o yo no he sido capaz de concebir la profunda desesperaci贸n que, pienso, debe sentir la protagonista dentro de esa campana que la envuelve y que le impide relacionarse y encontrar su sitio en ese mundo de hombres en el que la mujer sigue sujeta a roles y comportamientos establecidos por ellos.
En realidad, no s茅 si hay que buscar razones, no s茅 hasta qu茅 punto la depresi贸n es consecuencia de las circunstancias que rodean al sujeto o solo bastan las circunstancias internas. Lo que s铆 s茅 es que esa enfermedad determina completamente la relaci贸n que el individuo establece con esas circunstancias. Y esto es lo que m谩s me ha gustado de la novela, la forma tan honesta -se supone que es autobiogr谩fica- en la que describe sus relaciones con las amigas, con los hombres, cercanos o desconocidos, con su madre y, por encima de todo, consigo misma, su insatisfacci贸n personal, su baj铆sima autoestima, su ansiedad por abarcarlo todo o, al menos, abarcar en su totalidad algo importante. Si hubiera que buscar una de esas razones, que quiz谩s no sean suficientes para explicar nada, estar铆an perfectamente descritas y resumidas en una de las famosas citas de la autora:
En realidad, no s茅 si hay que buscar razones, no s茅 hasta qu茅 punto la depresi贸n es consecuencia de las circunstancias que rodean al sujeto o solo bastan las circunstancias internas. Lo que s铆 s茅 es que esa enfermedad determina completamente la relaci贸n que el individuo establece con esas circunstancias. Y esto es lo que m谩s me ha gustado de la novela, la forma tan honesta -se supone que es autobiogr谩fica- en la que describe sus relaciones con las amigas, con los hombres, cercanos o desconocidos, con su madre y, por encima de todo, consigo misma, su insatisfacci贸n personal, su baj铆sima autoestima, su ansiedad por abarcarlo todo o, al menos, abarcar en su totalidad algo importante. Si hubiera que buscar una de esas razones, que quiz谩s no sean suficientes para explicar nada, estar铆an perfectamente descritas y resumidas en una de las famosas citas de la autora:
"Quiz谩s cuando sintamos que queremos tenerlo todo, ser谩 porque estamos en peligro de estar cerca de no querer nada."
July 24, 2021
i kept putting off this book, because i鈥檓 not really into classics, and i thought it would be super banal, but i was pleasantly surprised at how invested i became in esther鈥檚 story. i believe the bell jar鈥檚 cultural stronghold is well deserved, as it was truly ahead of its time. it contains excellent themes of gender roles, existentialism, and psychiatric treatment (particularly the barbaric and apathetic practices of the 1950s). it鈥檚 interesting to read early 鈥渇eminist鈥� works, since we鈥檝e come such a long way that a book like this would seem rudimentary in the grand scheme of feminist lore. i found myself relating to this book quite a lot, and it made me extremely contemplative. the beginning is pretty boring, as well as the end, but the really deep stuff lies in the middle. like most classics, this book has a handful of racist moments, and i鈥檓 glad that we live in a world that now denounces ignorance in literature. the bell jar felt almost eerie to read because of the context in relation to the life and death of sylvia plath鈥攖he book is mostly autobiographical, and she killed herself just one month after its publication. this novel helped catalyze the larger conversation surrounding mental health and feminism, which in my opinion, makes it worthy of a read and of its praise.
June 1, 2022
鈥滻t was a queer, sultry summer, the summer they electrocuted the Rosenbergs, and I didn't know what I was doing in New York.鈥�
When Esther Greenwood wins an internship at a New York fashion magazine in 1953, she is elated, believing she will finally realise her dream to become a writer. But in between the cocktail parties and piles of manuscripts, Esther's life begins to slide out of control. She finds herself spiralling into depression and eventually a suicide attempt, as she grapples with difficult relationships and a society which refuses to take women's aspirations seriously.
Where do I even begin to review this magnificent book. I feel it has come to me at a point in my life that I needed it most. We follow the life of young Esther who at a certain point in the narrative ends up going into a deep depression and is admitted to a psychiatric clinic. Plath herself had attempted suicide in 1952. It is because of this combination of autobiographical references, the topic of depression and the author's ability and sensitivity to express what she was going through that make this one of the most beautiful, complex, sensitive, deep, dense books, sad and hard to read.
Esther Greenwood, our fictional protagonist, is unfortunately only a veiled cover for Plath鈥檚 real world disease which reached its nadir in 1963 when she took her own life at the young age of thirty.
Plath鈥檚 prose is incredibly beautiful. If you did not already know, you can tell with ease that this writing is very personal. As much as it was meant to be shared, it also seems like a form of release. Plath deals with the anxieties of adulthood, the female psyche, and the grotesque reality of psychiatric treatments against a 50s backdrop. Themes like this are heavy. They linger. This is what makes The Bell Jar such a success. This is how the book manages to find a place between our hands, hearts, and heads.
What it has to say about what women expect of themselves, and what society expects of women, is as sharply relevant today as it has always been.
It's not a book for everyone, it's not for anytime, but at the same time it's a book for everyone and for life.
鈥漈o the person in the bell jar, blank and stopped as a dead baby, the world itself is a bad dream.鈥�
When Esther Greenwood wins an internship at a New York fashion magazine in 1953, she is elated, believing she will finally realise her dream to become a writer. But in between the cocktail parties and piles of manuscripts, Esther's life begins to slide out of control. She finds herself spiralling into depression and eventually a suicide attempt, as she grapples with difficult relationships and a society which refuses to take women's aspirations seriously.
Where do I even begin to review this magnificent book. I feel it has come to me at a point in my life that I needed it most. We follow the life of young Esther who at a certain point in the narrative ends up going into a deep depression and is admitted to a psychiatric clinic. Plath herself had attempted suicide in 1952. It is because of this combination of autobiographical references, the topic of depression and the author's ability and sensitivity to express what she was going through that make this one of the most beautiful, complex, sensitive, deep, dense books, sad and hard to read.
Esther Greenwood, our fictional protagonist, is unfortunately only a veiled cover for Plath鈥檚 real world disease which reached its nadir in 1963 when she took her own life at the young age of thirty.
Plath鈥檚 prose is incredibly beautiful. If you did not already know, you can tell with ease that this writing is very personal. As much as it was meant to be shared, it also seems like a form of release. Plath deals with the anxieties of adulthood, the female psyche, and the grotesque reality of psychiatric treatments against a 50s backdrop. Themes like this are heavy. They linger. This is what makes The Bell Jar such a success. This is how the book manages to find a place between our hands, hearts, and heads.
What it has to say about what women expect of themselves, and what society expects of women, is as sharply relevant today as it has always been.
It's not a book for everyone, it's not for anytime, but at the same time it's a book for everyone and for life.
鈥漈o the person in the bell jar, blank and stopped as a dead baby, the world itself is a bad dream.鈥�
October 1, 2024
why did she kick that black man and then call him a negro????? bc Sylvia used the word negro so many times i was like damn did i accidentally pick up a stephen king novel?? anyways liked the topics of the madonna complex even though that term wasn鈥檛 coined then. i just found this book boring ngl
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