The Bell Jar: The Illustrated Edition

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

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.

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. Plath fictionalized nearly all of these experiences in The Bell Jar, which is narrated by Esther Greenwood, a summer intern at Ladies’ Day magazine and an aspiring writer who attempts suicide after suffering a breakdown. Plath based Esther loosely on herself: both were raised by a widowed mother in Massachusetts; both were star writers at a women’s college; both dated an imperious medical student; both suffered breakdowns, attempted suicide and recovered at an upscale mental hospital outside Boston. 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. The Bell Jar reads like a very interesting diary. It feels real – as though you are experiencing the story. 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.

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). 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. 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.

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. 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. From the time she was a young child, Sylvia Plath wanted to write. Her first poem was published when she was just eight years old in a Boston newspaper, and she began writing an early novel, titled Stardust, when she was nine. She published regularly in her school magazines; by the time she was eighteen, her poetry and fiction had appeared in the Christian Science Monitor and Seventeen after more than fifty rejections.