A lot of the short stories here are missing the story element, I fear.

It reminds me of how I would first start writing: all prose, no direction.

When I read these stories, I often find myself lost, not knowing where the plot is going or what the author is trying to convey.

However, there are a few exceptions. The Mouse, The Labyrinth, and Hejda are the stand-outs for me.

These stories have a clear narrative arc and engaging characters that draw the reader in and keep them interested until the end.

The Mouse, for example, tells the story of a small mouse who must navigate a dangerous labyrinth to find food.

The Labyrinth is a complex and mysterious place, full of twists and turns, and the mouse must use its wits and courage to survive.

Hejda, on the other hand, is a story about a young girl who discovers a hidden world within her own mind.

The story is full of奇幻 and imaginative elements that make it a joy to read.

Overall, while there are some flaws in the collection, these three stories make it worth reading.

This collection of Nin's short stories was written just after the second world war.

I have long been a fan of Anaïs Nin's writing. However, to be completely honest, I had not explored beyond her erotica (which I adore, filled with artistic female-centered descriptions of perceptions) until I read Under a Glass Bell.

The stories in this collection are prose narratives. Many of them achieve this objective exquisitely. There are 14 stories in total, and among them, my favorites are "The Mouse," "The Mohican," "Ragtime," "The All-Seeing," and "Hejda."

In the aforementioned set, "The Mohican," "Ragtime," and "The All-Seeing" are outstanding examples of poetic storytelling.

To describe the captivation the Mohican has in his speech, for instance, Nin provides the following vivid description: "His talk was like the enormous wheel at the Fair, carrying little cages filled with people, the slow motion of the wheel, the little cages traveling spherically and the illusion of a vast circular voyage which never took one any near to the hub. One was picked up on the edge of the wheel, shirled in space, and deposited again without for an instant feeling nearer to its pulse. He carried people up and around him always at the same mathematical distance, breaking all the laws of human life which demanded collisions and intermarriages."

In "Ragtime," the animation given to objects endows the story with three narrators: the objects themselves speak - the city unfastens its bridges, the new not new - the rag picker has his life, and your life becomes intertwined with his story as he captures elements of your life through worn, discarded belongings. The story seizes moments of emotion, where we dance our blue dresses to pieces.

Although "The All-Seeing" employs an overused theme, smothering, Nin's talent for capturing insatiability makes the story original, as every insatiable person has their own source of fuel for such a consuming fire.

"The Mouse" and "Hejda" center on women and are both filled with fantastical imagery. These represent Anaïs Nin at her finest, where (similar to her erotica) she captures the intricacies of social life, gender, history, and class with an economy of words, offering a clarity to being human that few authors master. "The Mouse" reflects the life of the serving class, while "Hejda" reflects the formation, capture, and release of feminine sexuality.

I'm a fan. I hope our names will someday be squished together on a shelf, read through the fuzzy edges of worn book bindings.

All the beauty that I once believed was lost in this vast world is, in fact, concentrated within you and surrounds you.

When I am in your proximity, I no longer experience that dreadful sensation of my being contracting and shriveling.

The terrible fatigue that has been consuming me is miraculously lifted.

The fatigue I endure when I am apart from you is of such enormity that it is as if I were God at the dawn of creation, beholding a world unformed, shapeless, and crying out to be brought into existence.

I feel a fatigue of the tongue, straining to utter the impossible until it ties itself in knots and nearly chokes me.

I feel a fatigue in this mass of nerves, attempting to uphold a world that seems to be falling apart at the seams.

I feel a fatigue in feeling, in the fervor of my dreams, the fever of my thoughts, and the intensity of my hallucinations.

A fatigue from the sufferings of others and my own.

I sense my own blood thundering within me, and I feel the horror of plummeting into abysses.

But you and I would always descend together, and I would not be afraid.

We would fall into the abysses, yet you would carry your phosphorescences all the way to the very bottom.

We could fall together and ascend together, soaring far into the reaches of space.

I have always been exhausted by my dreams, not due to the dreams themselves, but because of the fear of being unable to return.

I do need to return.

I will discover you everywhere.

You alone can accompany me wherever I journey, into the same mysterious realms.

You too understand the language of the nerves and the perceptions of the nerves.

You will always know what I am trying to convey, even if I myself do not.

I cannot read Anaïs Nin ever again. Five stars for this passage alone. (I say, as I continue to read Anaïs Nin).

Anais Nin is an exceptionally beautiful writer, boasting a truly unusual writing style. The profundity of her work is as equally remarkable as its often confusing nature. 'Under the Glass Bell' was a quite disturbing yet poetic read. Somehow, Anais has the uncanny ability to capture feminine rage, the feeling of shrinking, and despair with perfect precision. Some of the lines within the book were simply breathtaking and astounding, despite the fact that a great many of the stories seemed rather nonsensical to me. I didn't find this book easy to read. Initially, I felt rather dismissive of her dense and dramatic way of writing. However, the second half of the book was truly beautiful. In the first half, I mostly had the sense that I was missing something. Perhaps it was some context or the underpinning themes or thoughts that were integral to each short story. But once I let go of my attempts to understand everything, I found that I enjoyed it a great deal more. Personally, I believe that a lot of her stories really epitomize the battles with mental illness. Anais Nin most definitely deserves more recognition, as her lines, though not always entirely coherent, are so incredibly magnetic. I'm certain that this book will stay with me, and I'm very much looking forward to reflecting on her work in even more detail.