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“‘How do you feel?’ ‘All right.’ But I didn’t. I felt terrible.”

I feel incredibly conflicted over Sylvia Plath’s The Bell Jar. On the one hand, I found it to be an ingenious and striking read, one that immortalizes in exacting detail a young woman’s slow descent into psychosis and offers a piercing commentary on 1950s American society, specifically its oppressive gender norms. On the other hand, I could not look past how racist it was.

Set in 1953 The Bell Jar is narrated by Esther Greenwood, a misanthropic 19-year-old from the suburbs of Boston who wins a summer internship working for a New York fashion magazine. For the most part, Esther’s voice is a winning combination of acerbic and witty. She often entertains morbid thoughts, she offers scathing assessments of those around, and, as the days go by, she seems to be steadily sinking into torpor. Although Esther tries to make the most of New York, she quickly becomes disenchanted by its supposedly glamorous scene. She is at once repulsed and appreciative of the girls who are interning with her. While Esther is drawn to Doreen, who is one of the livelier of the girls, and Betsy, a pious goody-two-shoes, she ultimately feels very much apart from them, and often seems to view them and the rest of New York through a glass darkly. What follows is Esther's unsettling descent into depression. As her contempt towards others and life in general grows, she begins to engage in self-destructive behaviour and acts in increasingly irrational ways. Later on, Esther attempts to write a novel but her deteriorating mental health becomes a concern to her mother who forces her to see a psychiatrist who goes on to prescribe her electroconvulsive therapy. This ‘treatment’ goes awry and Esther worsens. Eventually, Esther is committed to a hospital where she is reunited with an old acquaintance. While the novel does end on a hopeful note, it is by no means an easy ride. It is brutal and unsparing. Throughout the course of this novel, Plath captures with razor-sharp precision the mind of an alienated young woman. She articulates Esther’s ugliest thoughts and fears. As Esther tries and fails to navigate adulthood in New York she becomes more and more withdrawn. She’s apathetic, pessimistic, and derisive of others. Her experiences fail to match her expectations and Esther struggles to make sense of who she is, who she wants to be, and who she ought to be. She’s suffocated by the limitations of her gender and seems to reject the visions of womanhood, of marriage, and of motherhood that American society presents her with: “when you were married and had children it was like being brainwashed, and afterwards you went about numb as a slave in some private, totalitarian state.”

Not only does Plath render the stultifying atmosphere of the city and of the circles Esther moves in, but she conveys the lethal ennui experienced by her protagonist. In New York Esther struggles to traverse from adolescence to adulthood. Her alienation from others, her self-estrangement, and her disconnection from her contemporary society pave the way to her eventual breakdown. When others attempt to ‘help’ and/or ‘cure’ Esther they cause more harm than good. They either treat her in an inhumane way or dismiss the severity of her condition.
Esther is certainly not a likeable heroine. She’s a mean snob who often views other people as grotesque and beneath her. But, as I read on, I came to pity her. In spite of her solipsisms and general nastiness, Esther is clearly suffering. Esther’s mother seems to care more about appearances than her daughter’s wellbeing. The men around seem unable to truly see her. Her former sweetheart doesn’t really know her, while the men she meets in New York seem all too eager to use her. As Esther’s desperation grows her view of the world becomes steadily more distorted, her imagination even more ghoulish.
I appreciated how effective Plath’s style is in rendering Esther’s mental state. At times a scene or one of Esther’s thoughts are depicted in such vivid detail as to be overwhelming. But, the story also plays around with linear storytelling, presenting us with fragmented conversations or scenes that we are able to understand only as we read on. At times her prose acquires a sticky quality that fits perfectly with the story’s initial summer backdrop.

So what could possibly cause me to give this novel 3 stars instead of say 4 or 5? Well, while I recognise that this is a seminal feminist work, I could not look past how racist Esther, Plath’s ‘alter ego’, was. While I can usually look past classics’ books using dated/non-pc language, Esther’s racist remarks/attitudes did not strike me as merely being symptomatic of ‘the times’. It’s totally ‘okay’ if our college-educated and intellectual protagonist, who is critical of the accepted social norms of her time when it comes to gender-based inequalities, uses racial slurs. Sure. She’s white and it's the 1950s. But then we have these instances where Esther is not feeling good and mistakes her reflection as belonging to somebody else, specifically someone who is Asian: “I noticed a big, smudgy-eyed Chinese woman staring idiotically into my face. It was only me, of course. I was appalled to see how wrinkled and used-up I looked.” and “The face in the mirror looked like a sick Indian.”.
When a girl says she’s meeting up with a Peruvian guy Esther says the following: “They’re squat,” I said. “They’re ugly as Aztecs.”....And then we have that scene at the hospital involving a Black orderly. After establishing that he is indeed Black she keeps referring to him as “the negro” rather than say “the orderly” or “the man”. This orderly say things like “Mah, mah!” or “Oh Miz, oh Miz […] You shouldn’t of done that, you shouldn’t, you reely shouldn’t.”. Before this (as far as i can recall of course) Plath did not lay much (or any really) emphasis on her characters’ accents. Yet, all of a sudden she just has to establish the specific way in which this man talks. And of course, because he’s an orderly and Black the way he talks has to be stereotyped. Anyway, Esther believes that the orderly is toying with her and the other patients so she “drew my foot back and gave him a sharp, hard kick on the calf of the leg”. Great stuff.
Plath’s description of non-American characters also left a sour taste in my mouth: “She was six feet tall, with huge, slanted, green eyes and thick red lips and a vacant, Slavic expression.” and “A large, bosomy Slavic lady”. Wtf is that even supposed to mean? How fucking lazy is this type of description? Why are all ‘Slavic-looking’ women large?

While Esther uses unflattering terms to describe white Americans, describing someone’s neck as “spam-coloured”, these descriptions, which poking fun at their physical appearance, are ultimately humorous. The ones referring to Black or Asian characters, not so much. Esther’s repugnance is even more pronounced in the instances I mentioned above, and the language she uses is often dehumanising or at least seems to suggest that she does view them as inferior to white people. Every few chapters I would come across a racist remark/line that simply prevented me from becoming invested in Esther’s story. That this is a highly autobiographical novel makes me feel all the more uneasy at Esther's racism.
While this is certainly an important novel and one of the first books to depict in such uncompromising terms a young woman’s descent into depression, its white American brand of feminism is dated at best.

it was fine

her writing style is lovely and i really felt the whole ‘descending into madness’ was reflecting in the structure, but, i was a bit bored throughout apart from a few intense moments sprinkled along the way

i did see the feminist undertones which is nice from a book written in the 60s?? but that also meant the racism was rampant and not pleasant to read.

overall, i think it’s overhyped by tiktok but one of the better “classics” i’ve read

The Bell Jar is about an American Dream gone wrong. Esther, a young woman from Boston, comes to New York and feels the immense pressure of the city's upper-class intellectual circles. The lavish lifestyle and superficiality are evident from the 3rd chapter, "Ladies' Day," with its descriptions of extravagant food. In my opinion, this is actually a work of a small-town writer who fears the shattering of her dreams, afraid of being left behind in the fast-paced world of elite schools, high society, publishing, and handsome men.

After publishing this book, Plath committed suicide. So, it's more like a suicide note, a burden released by a mentally ill person. It tells the story of how women in the upper-class intellectual circles of post-war America felt oppressed. After her death, not only was the book published, but it also achieved unprecedented success, and countless generations of women have read it.

But for me, as human beings, we all have to bear the weight of reality, no matter what. It's a responsibility, and no matter how difficult it is, we must endure it.

This is the reason why I feel a certain degree of disgust and irony towards the latter half of the novel, when nearly half of it is devoted to describing how Esther destroys herself after experiencing betrayal in love, friendship, and her dreams.

Plath’s writing was OK, but this is definitely not a good novel. The story is too childish, the central theme is childish, the narrative is childish, and Plath herself, as the author of the book, is childish. Strangely enough, many people loved it, look at the amount of 4 & 5-star reviews.

I’m sorry but I don’t get it.

Esther always presents herself as a Plath-esque American sweetheart, yet despite being a virgin, she is perceived as promiscuous due to her appearance. And the seemingly honest and hardworking Yale medical student, with over 30 sexual experiences, is seen as a perfect marriage candidate. OK, he was tempted and fell, but that doesn't really count as a fall. It was just a lapse, the fault of that flirtatious women, not his own problem. But this is clearly the problem — both for Plath and Esther.

How to solve this problem has always puzzled them, and until the end of the novel they are still trying to overcome the extreme impact of this fact. So, during a break from the asylum, she randomly found a man she decided not to see again and lost her virginity. She tries to make her virginity as unimportant as a man's virginity. But in fact, she values ​her virginity too much, and cannot understand that men go crazy thinking about getting it. Whether it is a male student at Yale or a young associate professor of mathematics, this kind of thinking does not require wisdom at all. As long as straight men have sexual ability, they just, want it.

That's the problem with Ploth and Esther. Even after having sex, she still didn't find the answer. The process of losing her virginity and bleeding was the process of endless doubts. This question will obviously not be answered by women losing their virginity.

One thing that shocked me is how poorly female friendships are depicted in this novel. Do women in real life often see another women as competition, or are all those so-called 'BFFs' fake?

Another thing is: do intelligent women, like female writers, not want to get married and have children? They think being a good wife and mother is undignified?

Personally, it's a pity, thou. Both Plath and Esther were initially portrayed as such wonderful figures: independent, strong-willed, intelligent, happy, and lively. It's just puzzling why they would choose such a tragic ending.

My interpretation is that they were too sensitive, perfectionist and craved love and freedom too much, feeling as if they were living under a bell jar, unable to breathe.

I still believe that one's destiny is shaped by thought and action, not by despair or a negative outlook.

1 / 5

L’INVERNO DI SYLVIA


Foto MD’O.

Uno di quei libri che mi è rimasto appiccicato – storia, temi, stile, mi sono entrati dentro – un’esperienza 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’opera che deve avere coinvolto anche Plath ben oltre il consigliabile, se è vero che la prima bozza risale alla metà degli anni Cinquanta, ma fu solo grazie a una borsa di studio vinta nel 1961 che riuscì a dedicarsi a questa scrittura per completarla e darla alle stampe all’inizio del 1963.
Coinvolgerla tanto da affermare che ‘La campana di vetro’ 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’autobiografismo di queste pagine: al punto che la madre ne ostacolò la pubblicazione negli States riuscendo a postporla fino al 1971.



Si liberò così bene del passato che tre settimane dopo l’uscita del romanzo nelle librerie, Sylvia preparò pane e burro e due tazze di latte che lasciò al sicuro sul comodino per i figli, sigillò porte e finestre, infilò la testa nel forno a gas e riuscì laddove Esther, l’io narrante di queste pagine, aveva fallito.
Continuando a sentirsi sul lato sbagliato della vita, come Holden al quale questo romanzo è così spesso accostato, Lady Lazarus portò a termine il suo suicidio, gesto già tentato in pratica, e dettagliatamente esaminato in tutte le sue svariate possibilità in queste stesse illuminanti pagine.

Silvia Plath è stata prima di tutto e soprattutto dedita alla poesia: è con quest’arte che è rimasta nella storia. Questo è il suo unico romanzo, l’unica opera in prosa (diari a parte).


Foto MD’O.

Eppure, La campana di vetro è scritto dimenticando la poesia, senza cercare lirismo, con uno stile diretto irriverente spiazzante, e agghiacciante, intriso d’ironia 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 – a me sembra che la depressione è un’etichetta che si appiccica un po’ ovunque - da un po’ 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 unità di stile pur passando dalla pazzia del mondo al mondo della pazzia.
Il risultato è ben più che notevole, è il primo regalo di questo romanzo molto molto bello.



Tre fasi: la prima è ambientata a New York nell’estate del 1953.
La "campana di vetro" è resa ancora più manifesta, percepibile, quasi visibile, dall’afa estiva che avvolge la città.
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 verginità, vissuta come parte dell’oppressione, fa vita modaiola, aspetta di essere ammessa a un corso di scrittura creativa, sta vivendo il suo rito iniziatico, accumula incontri ed esperienze, ma più di tutto accumula scollamento.
Infatti, ciò che dovrebbe essere non corrisponde a ciò 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 “smarginatura” 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’amore è responsabile di molti misfatti – in questo caso, è certo che la presenza materna, il suo modo di voler bene alla figlia, la completa integrazione dell’adulta alle regole imposte dalla società, 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 è diventata illeggibile, storta e distorta come la sua mente e il suo modo di guardare la realtà delle cose.

La terza fase è dedicata alla cura e alla faticosa risalita verso la "normalità".
Da una clinica all’altra, da un intervento medico all’altro, Esther sembra farcela, mentre invece Sylvia, che conosce il male di scrivere e quello di vivere, non ce la farà.



Esther non vuole sottostare alle regole, si sente un pesce fuor d’acqua (in questo, certo, ricorda Holden), continua a ribellarsi alle scelte rigide e definitive (vedi il matrimonio, il promesso sposo) che le vengono imposte dall’ambiente.
Esther vorrebbe poter provare tutto, non essere ingabbiata, e Plath sceglie un’immagine molto bella per esemplificare: l’albero 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.

Più che brividi, dà la scossa leggere degli elettroshock ai quali viene sottoposta la protagonista, sia nella forma massiccia che in quella più blanda (omeopatica?).
E non si può non cogliere l’agghiacciante parallelo con la vicenda dei Rosenberg giustiziati sulla sedia elettrica (riguarderò il film di Lumet).



Sembra riduttiva una lettura femminista di quest’opera, che trascende l’identificazione con la sola sfera femminile, come non è 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’ingranaggio di una normalità che ignora la poesia, non riguarda solo Esther.

Così 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’è neppure l’adolescenza in comune, Esther per quanto frettolosa di liberarsi della sua (tardiva?) verginità, è più grande di Holden, e si sa a quell’età della vita tre anni sono una differenza di secoli.
Non basta l’impossibilità di ricomporre un ‘io diviso’ per giocare nella stessa squadra.
Anche se non è 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.

‘‘Θα ήμουν πάντα καθισμένη κάτω από τον ίδιο γυάλινο κώδωνα, βράζοντας μέσα στην ίδια την ξινή μου ανάσα’’.

Ο «γυάλινος κώδων» ένα αμιγώς αυτοβιογραφικό μυθιστόρημα για την συμβολική και ουσιαστική διαδικασία που οδηγεί την ψυχή στα σκοτεινά, υγρά, υπόγεια και πέτρινα μονοπάτια της αυτοκαταστροφής.

‘‘Γι αυτόν που βρίσκεται μέσα στο γυάλινο κώδωνα, άδειος και ακινητοποιημένος σαν νεκρό μωρό, ο ίδιος κόσμος είναι το κακό όνειρο”

Η Σύλβια Πλαθ περιγράφει διεξοδικά, χαρίζοντας βαριά ταύτιση και διαδραστική σκοτεινιά θλίψης, όλα τα απροσμέτρητα βάθη των καταθλιπτικών ασθενειών.

Η γραφή της υπερχειλίζει, σκορπίζοντας το γλυκό δηλητήριο της διχασμένης ψυχής της, μεταφέροντας όλη την απελπισία και την ασφυξία που βίωσε.

Δημιουργεί ένα υλικό ανάγνωσης με ψιθυριστά μηνύματα που προκαλούν αμηχανία, ενόχληση και τρομακτικό συσχετισμό.
Αυτή η φρικιαστική αίσθηση που σου δημιουργεί μια ευφυής πένα, αυτή η απαίσια πιθανότητα συσχετισμού ότι ίσως, μπορεί, ενδέχεται, ή τουλάχιστον θα μπορούσε, αυτή η απεικόνιση των διαταραγμένων πτυχών μιας προσωπικότητας να είναι η δική μου.... η δική σου.. η ψυχή μας.

Περιγραφές τόσο απλές, αλληγορικές, οικίες, κυνικές και ειλικρινείς μέσα απο ένα διορατικό και εξοικειωμένο με την καθημερινότητα όλων μας γυναικείο χαρακτήρα. Εγκλωβισμένο σε ένα αδιέδοξο ματαιότητας, ώστε ο αναγνώστης με δυσκολία μπορεί να ανακάμψει απο τις διαστρεβλωμένες προβολές θανάτου.

Όλη η ιστορία είναι μια ισχυρή υποκίνηση άρρωστης ελπίδας, ένα μελαγχολικό πλαίσιο σκέψης, μια διαυγή κραυγή που πνίγεται στα γυάλινα σπειροειδή τοιχώματα του κώδωνα χωρίς οξυγόνο.
Ένα μουντό φθινόπωρο με καταχνιά που κρύβει τον ήλιο, το σύννεφο της κατάθλιψης που ξεσπάει την ασταμάτητη μπόρα του και σε μουσκεύει μέχρι να πνιγεί ένας απο τους εαυτούς σου.
Αυτός που θα επιζήσει δεν είναι απαραίτητα ο δικός σου, δεν είναι ο εαυτός που θέλεις να είσαι.

Η πυξίδα της ψυχής δείχνει προς το πεπρωμένο σου και σίγουρα δεν σου εξασφαλίζει διέξοδο απο την τρομερή δυαδικότητα που σε συνθλίβει.
Κάποιος έχει προκύψει απο μέσα σου και έχει πάρει τον έλεγχο της ζωής και του θανάτου σου, αλλά όποιος κι αν είναι αυτός, σίγουρα δεν είναι ο ίδιος.

Η συγγραφέας με λυρισμό και ποιητικό λόγο ξετυλίγει το μαγικό νήμα της ψυχικής αρρώστειας που την καταδυναστεύει.
Παρακολουθούμε μια αναπαράσταση συνθηκών της ίδιας της ζωής της που επικρατούν στο μυθιστόρημα (διπολική διαταραχή,προβλήματα εγκατάλειψης, καταθλιπτική συμπεριφορά) και τη φρίκη που έχει αισθανθεί αλλά την αποδέχεται.
Την αγαπάει αυτή τη φρίκη ως επίφοβο, αναπόσπαστο κομμάτι της ζωής της.
Μέσα απο αυτή την αποδοχή ίσως καταφέρει να απελευθερωθεί απο τους διπλούς δαίμονες.
Ίσως αν τους αγαπήσει να την αφήσουν να ξαναγεννηθεί ή να της πιστώσουν μια λυτρωτική αναγέννηση.

Τίποτα δεν είναι σίγουρο.


«Μα δεν ήμουν σίγουρη. Καθόλου σίγουρη. Πως ήξερα ότι κάποια μέρα, στο κολέγιο στην Ευρώπη, κάπου, οπουδήποτε, ο γυάλινος κώδωνας, με τις ασφυκτικές του παραμορφώσεις, δεν θα με έκλεινε ξανά μέσα του» ;

“Φαίνεται, δυστυχώς, πως δεν είχε άδικο!
Λίγους μόνο μήνες μετά από την έκδοση ετούτου του μοναδικού της μυθιστορήματος, στην Ευρώπη όπως προέβλεψε, συγκεκριμένα στο Λονδίνο, στις 11 Φεβρουαρίου 1963, άρρωστη και οικονομικά αδύναμη, η Πλαθ έφτιαξε το γάλα και το φαγητό για τα παιδιά της, έβαλε το κεφάλι της μέσα στο φούρνο και εισπνέοντας φυσικό αέριο, έφυγε για την αθανασία”.

★★★★★/5
This wan an interesting, fast read. It was interesting to deep dive into women's mind and world. I do not know a lot about Sylvia Plath, but now I really want to read her other works and maybe a life story.

The Bell Jar by Sylvia Plath is a Modern Classic and Literary Fiction Novel!

In 1953, protagonist Esther Greenwood, an ambitious and intelligent nineteen-year-old English undergrad from Boston, is awarded a summer internship as a guest-editor with Ladies Magazine in New York City.

Initially, everything is wonderful with the excitement of being in the big-city, working at the magazine, and the gatherings with other young women in the program. But certain things happen that Esther doesn't anticipate and she begins feeling disconnected, unfocused, and anxious.

When Esther returns home, she realizes the aspirations she imagines for herself are in conflict with current social norms for women. She feels confined and trapped by these expectations.

As these feeling intensify, Esther slowly spirals into a depression that quickly escalates into a mental break...

The Bell Jar is written in the first-person voice of Esther as she shares details of her past and current circumstances. She has a non-conformist viewpoint about sexuality, marriage, and having children, a unique opinion for a woman in the 1950's.

My first impression of The Bell Jar is the beauty of Sylvia Plath's writing style and gorgeous prose that is in sharp contrast to the darkness of the story. Esther's journey is raw and frightening and yet the light within the writing continues to draw the reader in. I was completely engaged.

The Bell Jar audiobook is narrated by Maggie Gyllenhaal whose first-person voicing brings Esther to life. It feels like you're in her presence as she speaks the words. It's an amazing listen.

Some readers may have trouble separating the character, Esther Greenwood from the author, Sylvia Plath. Knowing this novel is semi-autobiographical is a hard reality to swallow. The trigger warnings of depression and suicide should be taken seriously. Parts can be difficult to read and this story stays with you after you're finished, so be concerned. With that said, it's a brilliant piece of Literary Fiction.

The Bell Jar is a novel I will remember, perhaps forever. I highly recommend this book to readers who enjoy Classics from the Mid-20th Century with a feminist point-of-view, like I do.

5⭐

n  The Bell Jar was originally published on January 14, 1963 in the U.K. under the pseudonym 'Victoria Lucas'. Sylvia Plath died less than one month later on February 11, 1963.n  
n  
n  The Bell Jar was not published in the U.S. until April 11, 1971 per the wishes of Sylvia Path's husband, Ted Hughes.n

Originally published in 1963, The Bell Jar must have been revolutionary for its time. A well-educated and witty young woman by the name of Esther Greenwood descends into depression after moving to New York. Along the way, she rejects the advances of male suitors, and as she spirals further and further out of control, she lampoons society's constructions of gender as well as the use of shock therapy within the mental health system. Her narrative flows in and out of time, pushing us forward and backward amidst her struggle to stay afloat in a sea of melancholy.

The Bell Jar raises questions still relevant today. It asks us to examine the intersection between feminism and psychology, such as how the confinement of women damages their mental health. Sylvia Plath provides us with a voice that is not altogether likeable, but relatable enough to sympathize and empathize with. I feel like all readers will react to Esther differently - some with indifference, some with a strong sense of solidarity, and others maybe an outward dislike. Still, I would recommend The Bell Jar to anyone interested in the subjects of feminism or psychology, because it delves into both in a time period that we might not all be familiar with.

nI 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.
— 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… 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’t 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’t stop the cold, we see the ceiling yet we’ll feel the rain. Crystals are besieging us. The captives in the world of glass feel it all.

n  n

My first encounter with Sylvia Plath’s work was Ariel. It was a good read but it didn’t 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’s writing another try, because I had sensed many times that she was an author I would certainly love – inexplicable hunches. Therefore, I dived into her only novel, The Bell Jar, first published in 1963 under the pseudonym “Victoria Lucas” and under her name in 1967. It tells the story of Esther Greenwood, the young heiress of several of Plath’s life experiences.

n  The trouble was, I had been inadequate all along, I simply hadn't thought about it.n

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’t 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’t dare to acknowledge.

n  I saw myself sitting in the crotch of this fig tree, starving to death, just because I couldn’t 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.n

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 – 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.

n  I couldn’t 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.n

Such differences constitute a theme that is deeply explored in this book, and from all perspectives, such as work and sexuality.

n  Whether she knew it or not, Philomena Guinea was buying my freedom. “What I hate is the thought of being under a man’s thumb,” I had told Doctor Nolan. “A man doesn’t have a worry in the world, while I’ve got a baby hanging over my head like a big stick, to keep me in line.”n

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’t 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’s reflections, we witness her longing for liberation from the ties of the expected.

n  The trouble was, I hated the idea of serving men in any way. I wanted to dictate my own thrilling letters.n

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’s 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 “favorites” 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. n  I took a deep breath and listened to the old brag of my heart. I am, I am, I am.n 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 – 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 n  ritual for being born twice—patched, retreaded and approved for the road.n

n  n

Feb 02, 17
* Also on my blog.
** Photo credit: Bell jar / via Pinterest
Fig Tree (ficus)- Masai Mara, Kenya / Elsen Karstad
Broken window / via karasoft.info

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’t 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’s, 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’m glad I finally did read it. I’m sure many of us at times feel we are stuck under the bell jar.

n  ”It was a queer, sultry summer, the summer they electrocuted the Rosenbergs, and I didn't know what I was doing in New York.”n

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’s real world disease which reached its nadir in 1963 when she took her own life at the young age of thirty.

Plath’s 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.

n  ”To the person in the bell jar, blank and stopped as a dead baby, the world itself is a bad dream.”n

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.

come to my blog!