I have just finished reading The Bell Jar by Sylvia Plath. It was her only novel published before her suicide in 1963. Published under under pseudonym originally (although it is now published under her name) it is a semi-autobiographical tale of protagonist Esther Greenwood’s journey into depression, and documents both the character’s and author’s year in ‘the bell jar’, a wonderful metaphor describing the atmosphere of her depression, where she is trapped beneath it ’stewing in her own sour air.’
Plath does not give much insight into her character’s, and vicariously, her own background, which makes her depression difficult to understand, and less empathetic readers may end up alienated and end up hating her character for her actions. The novels starts with Esther Greenwood living for many, what would only be a dream. She is interning at a high-fashion magazine in New York, attending upmarket parties and galas on a scholarship. She is intelligent, a high achiever, and from the outset looks destined for great things. However, through subtle twists, and an exponentially growing dread and depressing tone, the novel ends with Greenwood in an asylum, after an unsuccessful suicide attempt.
Stylistically, it is a very easy novel to get into, but through the first page you get hit with Plath’s style of wry pessimism, lurking below the surface of her fast-lane, glamourous position. The novel derives much of its greatness from Plath’s lauded use of clever and original metaphors, that add personality and perspective to situations. Like other great portrayals of madness before it, the novel’s focus is not so much on what happens externally to the protagonist, but externally. Written in first-person, we follow Esther’s thoughts and feelings throughout her downfall, and her digressions and wry pessimism add to the plain-spoken wording and descriptions to leave the reader reveling in the cold, blunt world of her clinical depression. As a kind of autobiography, Plath writes with knowledge and authenticity, yet bares no self-consciousness nor self-loathing.
In the end, The Bell Jar is a gripping and fascinating read, and Esther Greenwood almost becomes like a female version of Holden Caulfield, as we listen to her digressions, her misanthropic views of society, her confusion and loneliness in a time where she should be having fun and coming-of-age, but she never does, and the cliffhanging ending leaves us wondering if she ever will.
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