The Bell Jar

"If I didn't think, I'd be much happier"

Sylvia Plath

I'm a bit behind documenting the books I've read. Some time ago I got into my head that I should occasionally read classic novels to educate myself. Not that reading contemporary literature is not educational too, but you know what I mean.

I settled on Sylvia Plath's Bell Jar for a few reasons: she's a legendary poet, had a tragic ending killing herself pretty young, I like her name, and I was curious. The book was also cheap on Amazon (usually NOT a good reason to read a book - or have you ever tried reading those free books on kindle? If not, DON'T!) Anyway, the Bell Jar is a pretty short book and a quick read. It was really well written with a tremendous ease to the tone but at the same time very sophisticated language. It's full of amazing little pearls of original thoughts, passages and quotes, by the way. I'm going to include one below. The book is clearly autobiographical, given it's a description of a young girl going into and through a mental illness, which is pretty much Plath's life. It may have been intentional by Plath, but the girl  felt cold and detached, which made her hard to like. Still it was a really good book, and I'm glad I read it. I will continue reading classics every now and then, though now I'm on to another contemporary book.



"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 Ee Gee, the amazing editor, and another fig was Europe and Africa and South America, and another fig was Constantin and Socrates and Attila and pack of other lovers with queer names and offbeat professions, and another fig was an Olympic lady crew champion, and beyond and above these figs were many more figs I couldn't quite make out. 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." 
Sylvia Plath, The Bell Jar