The Bell Jar

I have to admit I haven't finished reading this book yet, but here's what I've concluded of Sylvia Plath. I do acknowledge that she was a 'victim' of the 50s when there weren't many choices available to women. That she had depression, and ended her life, and I am aware that reading about it can give us an insight into the mind of an American teenager who suffered through its identity and sexuality politics.

But I am not impressed by this genre of seemingly 'rebellious minority' writing that is spouted out of the American ego itself. This is the kind of writing that allows suffering to multiply rather than end. It is writing that is founded on a false sense of 'coping mechanisms' that might help one survive temporarily but hurt others in the bargain.

But most importantly, this is a weak piece of writing, because literature is not just about merely saying something -- it is about detachment. As TS Eliot would say, writers' emotions have to undergo a chemical processing until they become catalysts in relation to their work of creation. Sadly, Plath had not arrived at that chemical stage with her emotions when she wrote the Bell Jar.

She works with rhythm and linguistic charm that is magnetic where her poetry is concerned, but is unable to apply that same intelligence to straight autobiographical prose, and I am not surprised why. The reason is simple: poetry requires sharp instincts; prose, on the other hand, a wide understanding. That an autobiography is a first-person account is no excuse. Autobiographical writing, though biased, does have certain qualitative benchmarks and a larger purpose to serve: the contribution of one's unique perspective and life experience for the selfless benefit of the rest of the world. Plath never really broke out to arrive at this.

If self awareness and understanding - about your role and meaning in this world - does not back autobiographical writing, then it is not a complete work of literature.

I find some of her observations annoying and stereotypical. She seems to believe that she is a "clever and cynical" poor girl who can be sardonic and "jealous" of other rich, "innocent and dumb" girls (creating an unhealthy dualistic image of women and the way they are perceived). This also exposes the extent to which she was influenced by American materialism -- suppressing her greed for money, and rationalising her envy by hating those who she thought were luckier than her. Moreover, she believes it is her fate to accept that she must have a date (or at least pretend to) every Saturday night in order "to shush up the girls in the hostel and keep her face", or she will be considered a failure and a loser. It was, clearly, more important for her to learn how to silently accept and succumb to social pressures -- rather than figure out and get what she really wanted.

Perhaps you might say that almost every woman who was a victim in her own time was unaware of later possibilities that we are now lucky to have. But only those women who saw further ahead of their times and had vision, who stood behind themselves, rock solid, who managed to create change. Plath was not one of these.

Plath was obviously a victim of the skewed perception that many women have about themselves and others, and that many men have too. One must either be pretty and stupid (interested in commodifying her body, or, if not that, submitting dutifully like a lamb to someone). Or she must be plain, boring, not very attractive, but shrewd and clever. Idealists are fools; cynics are smart: that's the modernist and post-modernist motto. It's as if humanity has to choose between only two things: beauty and intelligence. This is a dangerous sword for an individual's self-worth indeed, and I think Plath may have survived if she had seen through this nonsense.

Overall, I would not endorse her passive aggression, and I would not recommend this book to young people who are growing up and learning to cope with their emotional troubles.

Good autobiographical writing, from what I have read in the past - which can be genuinely therapeutic and personally liberating - include Kafka's personal diaries (passive) and Gandhi's political writings (active). I am still in search of a good autobiography written by a woman -- and I'll review it here once I do find it.

(I have updated this review following the one I submitted a few weeks ago. The earlier one had some stylistic and typing inconsistencies that I wanted to remove and tweak. I have also updated it with some more of my thoughts. Thanks.)

Plath takes you on a journey from the base to the tip of a knife. The travel through the cutting edge leaves scars that bring Esther to life.

We have all had a part of Esther in us. We will always have. No matter how subtle or intense.

You can read the first 100 pages without much effort and get only a glimpse of Esther. It's quick and brilliant. For the rest of the book I advise you all to go slow. Let Esther sit with you while you savour her individuality and Plath's fragrance around it.

Esther is an attention seeker(for the reader, not the character). She reveals herself passionately to some. For others she's just a fall.

It's a must read for everyone though the book is not for everyone.

Lastly, this novel is not a depressing saga. It is not about suicide.

It is an experience. A learning that can never be undone. A tale that conceals the pleasures of life on surface but exposes them in depth.

This is not a review, just my experience with the book and I hope many many more people will read this one. I read this one at one go. The writing is brutally honest and sharp. The honest insights about love, sex, friendship and more ,redefines the conventional idealistic meaning of these words. Even if you do not know anything about Plath, her poetry and her life you can still enjoy this book. What causes me a lot of bewilderment is that a few people call the book depressing. It moved me but I did not find it depressing, in fact I found it ending on a rather positive note, a new beginning. Of course that is hugely ironical because it was written by Plath towards the end of her career. At times it is good to detach one's knowledge about an author and read a book as if it's written by someone anonymous. I loved this book and can't wait to read it all over again.

I always maintain that Sylvia is someone known for her poetry more than prose.
Her poetry is revolutionary, especially Ariel, and I strongly reccommend it.
The Bell Jar is a good read for someone wanting to know more about her, or if you are an angsty teen going through similar situations.
Otherwise, on the whole it is not a very fine work of art.

The plot is excellent, and the story is extremely depressing but nevertheless a great great read!