Skip to main content

The Bell Jar



The Bell Jar
Sylvia Plath

Esther Greenwood, a college student, finds herself inside a bell jar quite often. Outside world looks surreal and eerily silent while she is inside. In spite of her scholarly achievements she struggles to get out of the bell jar of depression.

She struggles to pick the right fruit from the fig tree of her life. 
"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 a 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."

The metaphorical bell jar and the fig tree summarise the plight of Esther Greenwood. Sylvia Plath in this autobiographical work takes us through the dark, sorrowful and uncertain arena of mental illness. The book's narrative is so graphical that you feel it, see it and sometimes be in it.
Yet, it is quite a good read, because of the ingrained humour and because finally we see Esther emerging out of the Bell Jar , though it still hangs right there above her head.

Preetha Raj




Comments

Popular posts from this blog

A Pleasant Winter

A pleasant winter Cool nights and starry skies, Fragrance of mango flowers, The buzz of vrischikakkattu... I cherish those days at home... December is my favorite month... It's winter in Bahrain. The Sun who used to be furiously bright and hot , stays languid and spiritless The wind and occasional rain accelerate the descent of already dropping mercury levels. The Bahrain national flags flutter   on the buildings and along the road.. It's the week of the national day It's celebrations all over.. Decorating a Christmas tree, Building a sand castle on the beach Patting a rabbit and a cat I glide along the days holding tiny hands of my little girl!!  Preetha Raj

As smooth as can be!!

As smooth as can be!! A surgery and recovery! A week in the hospital donning the role of a bystander. Expertise and warmth of the surgeon and  competence of other doctors of the department boosted confidence and the journey of recovery was  smooth. Life as a bystander was made a lot easy by the luxury of devoted nursing, food delivery, cleaning and helping staff.   I must say nature plays a role in the business of healing in this particular hospital. Periyar on one side , backwaters on the other. Beautiful landscape and aesthetically kept interiors.  From the fifth floor room, I could see the various moods of the sky, sunny, sullen and sad, drizzle and downpour..Is the sky reflecting the moods of the people down under? The cross of a church stood high amidst trees and buildings..I knew the crowded busy road beyond the walls, leading to the cross..I used to go to work by that road. It was tough to drive through the road full of haphazard bicycles, str...

Mother Mary Comes To Me

Mother Mary Comes To Me Arundhati Roy  Penguin  'Mother Mary Comes To Me' is a memorial grove Arundhati Roy built for her mother, Mary Roy. The epitaph on it says, " In these pages, my mother, my gangster shall live. She was my shelter and my storm." Mrs. Mary Roy was a warrior for the cause of women. She successfully challenged the Travancore Christian Succession Act which left daughters no right on their father's  property. She was a go-getter who built a reputed school out of a barren hill ( a 'mottakkunnu'). She was a bold woman who  never forgave ill-treatment, be it her own mother on the other side. But shouting at her children in front of others, making them  leave the car or the house according to her mood, punishing them for the slightest perceived incompetence, Mrs Roy was a difficult mother, if not an abusive one. During her frequent bouts of asthma attacks, she used to tell her little girl that if she was dead, she would end up in t...