Retro Review: The Bell Jar by Sylvia Plath

When the late Sylvia Plath’s novel The Bell Jar was released in 1963, it was considered groundbreaking. It focused on topics quite controversial just over 60 years ago, including ambition in young women in a time when women were supposed to desire only marriage and motherhood and dealing with horrifying mental health issues. Originally published under the name Victoria Lucas, Sylvia’s only novel is still considered a classic in the feminist canon. But how well does The Bell Jar hold up in 2024? I decided to read it and found out for myself.

Meet Esther Greenwood, raised in the Boston suburbs by her widowed mother, Esther is now in college, which is being funded by a wealthy local author. It is the summer of 1953, and Esther has procured an internship with the fictional women’s magazine “Ladies Day” in New York City. Though Esther’s days are filled with magazine-related activities, and her nights trying to socialize with her fellow interns, Esther feels disconnected and empty. She just can’t work up the excitement over this opportunity that most girls would give their eye teeth for. Esther is riddled with anxiety and depression. Can she shake out of this funk?

Several incidents occur during Esther’s internship that Plath goes into great detail to describe. Esther talks about the various assignments for “Ladies Day” the interns get to work on as well as the nice swag they all receive (not to mention the horrid food poisoning everyone gets at a luncheon). She also describes Esther trying to befriend her fellow interns like the flirtatious and sociable Doreen and the very pious and naïve Betsy, who Esther is more drawn towards. Esther also reminisces about the various scrapes she gets into when it comes to men, like when a local New York City radio host tries to seduce her, but later he decides to date Doreen. And towards the end of her internship, Esther is nearly raped at a country club party she attends with Doreen. Esther escapes but this causes her to throw out her new clothing and sends her further into despair.

After the internship ends, Esther returns to her childhood home. During this time, Esther is absolutely crushed when another scholarship opportunity, a writing course featuring a well-known author, does not come through. She is not accepted into this prestigious program. Esther tries to fill her time before school resumes in the fall by writing a novel. Yet, she thinks she lacks the life experience to write a proper book. And she also questions what her life will be like after she graduates from college. Up till then, Esther’s whole life has revolved around academics. Will she have a career or will so end up “just a wife and mother” as the fifties often dictated to women back then.

Esther continues to fall into deeper and deeper depression, not being able to sleep or attend to basic activities. She does see a psychiatrist for a while (whom she doesn’t exactly warm up to because she thinks he’s too handsome). And when this psychiatrist suggest electroconvulsive therapy, better known as ECT. The ECT doesn’t work, and Esther makes some half-hearted suicide attempt.

However, she does nearly die after she crawls into a cellar and takes far too many sleeping pills. When her mother can’t find Esther, it is assumed she has been kidnapped and possibly murdered, which the media takes note of. Once discovered, Esther spends time at several mental hospitals, the last one paid for by her college benefactor, the writer who is named Philomena Guinea. It is at this facility, Esther meets Dr. Nolan, a woman therapist, receives questionable treatments including insulin shots, and more ECT. She also meets another patient named Joan, and it is implied Joan is a lesbian who is attracted to Esther. Esther is not fond of Joan at all.

Esther also muses about her old boyfriend, Buddy. Buddy thinks the two might get married someday, but Esther won’t entertain the idea. Esther thinks Buddy is a hypocrite because he lost his virginity to another woman instead of staying pure for Esther. It is also found out that Joan also dated buddy (even though she may be heavily closeted).

During her sessions with Dr. Nolan, Esther bemoans the life women back then must lead and she wants to have the same freedom men have, which includes everything from having sex (Dr. Nolan suggest Esther be fitted with a diaphragm), and to have a full life outside of total domesticity. And as the The Bell Jar ends, Buddy visits Esther and wonders if he’s the cause of both Esther and Joan going crazy and ended up hospitalized. Perhaps he did have a part in it, but who cares? Esther is relieved when Buddy decides to end their non-engagement. Now she is free to really live.

While reading The Bell Jar, I could understand why it was so groundbreaking when it was published in 1963. It portrayed a young woman who had ambition beyond getting married and having oodles of children. It’s wonderful Esther is smart and has goals her life that don’t necessarily include marriage and motherhood solely. And as someone who has dealt with mental health issues, I appreciate a novel that spoke of one woman’s struggle and her fight to remedy herself.

However, in 2024, The Bell Jar just cuts different. For one thing, there is a lot of racism in this book. Esther talks about the ugliness of Peruvians and Aztecs. She also keeps referring to a Black orderly at the mental hospital as the Negro. He is never given a name or just referred to his profession as an orderly. Plus, I found Esther to be rather insufferable to the other women in the book whether it was her mother (who struggled greatly to raise her without Esther’s father) or looking down on a woman in the neighborhood who is raising a large brood of children.

Still, I do think The Bell Jar is an important work. Just keep in mind how things have changed since the fifties when it takes place, and in 1963, when it was published. And be grateful things have changed for women in the past sixty years…or have they? Hmm.

One of My Favorite Poems

Mad Girl’s Love Song by Sylvia Plath

I write only because there is a voice within me that will not be still.” -- Sylvia  Plath (1932 - 1963) | Sylvia plath, Thats not my, Writing

“I shut my eyes and all the world drops dead;
I lift my lids and all is born again.
(I think I made you up inside my head.)

The stars go waltzing out in blue and red,
And arbitrary blackness gallops in:
I shut my eyes and all the world drops dead.

I dreamed that you bewitched me into bed
And sung me moon-struck, kissed me quite insane.
(I think I made you up inside my head.)

God topples from the sky, hell’s fires fade:
Exit seraphim and Satan’s men:
I shut my eyes and all the world drops dead.

I fancied you’d return the way you said,
But I grow old and I forget your name.
(I think I made you up inside my head.)

I should have loved a thunderbird instead;
At least when spring comes they roar back again.
I shut my eyes and all the world drops dead.
(I think I made you up inside my head.)”

Book Club: My Musings on Poetry

poetry word in mixed vintage metal type printing blocks over grunge wood

“Poetry is just the evidence of life. If your life is burning well, poetry is just the ash.” ― Leonard Cohen

What does poetry mean to you?

When I was a little girl and read the books of Dr. Seuss and Shel Silverstein, I thought all poetry had to rhyme. My idea of poetry was quite simplistic.

As I got older, my ideas of poetry advanced. I learned poetry didn’t have to rhyme. In fact, it often didn’t. I also learned of various styles of poetry—sonnets, haiku, limericks—to name a few. So for a while I thought of poetry was a writing format with a lot of rules and regulations and something a wee bit pretentious.

However, a few years ago I covered a slam poetry event for high school students sponsored by Still Waters Collective, an organization that mentors talented young writers and speakers. This event blew me away, and reminded me that poetry could be whatever you wanted it to be and wasn’t pretentious at all.

“To be a poet is a condition, not a profession.” – Robert Frost

Who are your favorite poets and why? Name some of you favorite poems and why?

Well, I mentioned Dr. Seuss and Shel Silverstein, but I also got to give a shout out to three ladies whose appreciate like Maya Angelou, whose classic “Phenomenal Woman” never fails to lift my spirits.

Phenomenal Woman

Pretty women wonder where my secret lies.
I’m not cute or built to suit a fashion model’s size
But when I start to tell them,
They think I’m telling lies.
I say,
It’s in the reach of my arms,
The span of my hips,
The stride of my step,
The curl of my lips.
I’m a woman
Phenomenally.
Phenomenal woman,
That’s me.
I walk into a room
Just as cool as you please,
And to a man,
The fellows stand or
Fall down on their knees.
Then they swarm around me,
A hive of honey bees.
I say,
It’s the fire in my eyes,
And the flash of my teeth,
The swing in my waist,
And the joy in my feet.
I’m a woman
Phenomenally.
Phenomenal woman,
That’s me.
Men themselves have wondered
What they see in me.
They try so much
But they can’t touch
My inner mystery.
When I try to show them,
They say they still can’t see.
I say,
It’s in the arch of my back,
The sun of my smile,
The ride of my breasts,
The grace of my style.
I’m a woman
Phenomenally.
Phenomenal woman,
That’s me.
Now you understand
Just why my head’s not bowed.
I don’t shout or jump about
Or have to talk real loud.
When you see me passing,
It ought to make you proud.
I say,
It’s in the click of my heels,
The bend of my hair,
the palm of my hand,
The need for my care.
’Cause I’m a woman
Phenomenally.
Phenomenal woman,
That’s me.
Huffington Post has nine other inspirational poems written by Ms. Angelou I also love.
Then there is Sylvia Plath, Mad Girl’s Love song really speaks to me when it comes to love and desire.

Mad Girl’s Love Song

“I shut my eyes and all the world drops dead;
I lift my lids and all is born again.
(I think I made you up inside my head.)

The stars go waltzing out in blue and red,
And arbitrary blackness gallops in:
I shut my eyes and all the world drops dead.

I dreamed that you bewitched me into bed
And sung me moon-struck, kissed me quite insane.
(I think I made you up inside my head.)

God topples from the sky, hell’s fires fade:
Exit seraphim and Satan’s men:
I shut my eyes and all the world drops dead.

I fancied you’d return the way you said,
But I grow old and I forget your name.
(I think I made you up inside my head.)

I should have loved a thunderbird instead;
At least when spring comes they roar back again.
I shut my eyes and all the world drops dead.
(I think I made you up inside my head.)”

I often wonder what else Ms. Plath could have written if she hadn’t met such a tragic demise.

And then there is my love for Dorothy Parker, the patron saint of all witty women too smart for their own good.

“A poet is, before anything else, a person who is passionately in love with language.” ― W.H. Auden

Have you ever written poetry? Why or why not? (You can share your original poetry if you want to)

Back in the 1990s, as I inched my way back into the world of writing, I participated in a local poetry writers group. Though I wasn’t in it for a very long time, it did get the writing juices flowing. I didn’t think of myself as a poet, especially compared to my fellow writers, and I turn my talents to non-fiction writer working as a copywriter, research writer, freelance journalist, publicist and editor professionally, personally and academically.

Interestingly enough, I found some of the poems I wrote while in this group and was pleasantly surprised that a good deal of it wasn’t as cringe worthy as I thought. Sure, some of it was pretty damn good.

And last month I attended a poetry workshop at my friends Nora and Elaine’s Buddhist temple in Chicago. I was at first hesitant to participate because of my lack of experience writing poetry. I thought maybe I could just sit back and observe. No dice. I actually had to write something, which I did and I had so much fun and learned so much, not just from the teacher but from my fellow students, too. Everyone’s poem weaved such eloquent and creative tapestries of words. I felt humbled to be around such rich talent.

Now I don’t envision myself a poet but this class (and the discovery of some of my old poetry), once again challenged me as a writer and inspired me in ways that go beyond the written word.

“There is not a particle of life which does not bear poetry within it.” ― Gustave Flaubert

Anything else you would like to add?

It’s funny; ever since I asked people to give me their thoughts on and experiences with poetry, I am starting to see poetry beyond actual poems. I see poetry in music, words I read in various books, dialogue in both movies and TV shows, various quotes, and just from everyday conversation. I see poetry in visual art and innovative crafts. I see poetry through fashion and style. I also see poetry in my love of food when I read my cookbooks or discover a new recipe or make a meal. I’m finding poetry in the natural world around me, whether it’s the blooms of lilac bushes, Lake Michigan, the twittering of birds when I wake up in the morning, or a glorious sunset as I end my day. I see poetry in the physical world of dance, yoga, and athletics. I find poetry in prayer, meditation and just simple silent contemplation. I guess I just find poetry in living life!

“I think that were beginning to remember that the first poets didn’t come out of a classroom, that poetry began when somebody walked off of a savanna or out of a cave and looked up at the sky with wonder and said, ‘Ahhh.'” That was the first poem. – Lucille Clifton