The Bell Jar by Sylvia Plath
My rating: 4 of 5 stars
I picked up this book because Sylvia Plath is an inspiration to one of the best writers I know.
And it was good, it really was.
I wasn't in the right frame of mind to read it, though. I'm a happy, bubbly person, and it's hard for me to understand depression, despite my attempts. I was disappointed that Plath couldn't really explain what changed as she went through the different phases of the book. I didn't expect her to be able to, but I had hoped. An unfair hope, for sure.
Everything seemed very emo, fittingly so, given the author, but not something I could relate to.
Questions I wanted answered went unanswered...the most menial of which being, does she ever regain her ability to write, penmanshipwise?
Some interesting lines:
"Woman haters were like gods: invulnerable and chock full of power. They descended, then they disappeared. You could never catch one."
"It would mean getting up at seven and cooking him eggs and bacon and toast and coffee and dawdling about in my nightgown and curlers after he'd left for work to wash up the dirty plates and make the bed, and then when he came home after a fascinating day, he'd expect a big dinner, and I'd spend the evening washing up even more dirty plates till I feel into bed, utterly exhausted."
I'm glad I read this book, but I'm equally glad it's over.
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