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A review by schinko94
The Bell Jar by Sylvia Plath
5.0
Oh yes, this is the original sad girl book.
I've struggled with depression and anxiety for most of my adult life. The first half of this novel felt so familiar in terms of the symptoms Esther was describing, although I was fortunate that my mental state didn't progress as far down the rabbit hole as hers. Regardless, Esther in college might as well have been me in college--I so vividly remember being full of hope regarding my eventual career, and then having that hope basically disintegrate when things didn't work out the way I wanted. I remember the summertime, and how I was supposed to be happy, but instead felt tired and like the bright light was hurting my eyes. I even had an internship like Esther's at a literal prison (as opposed to the concrete prison of NYC), and I had no idea what I was doing there. I remember doing risky or crazy things just to feel something. I remember feeling profoundly disappointed by just about every man that I feigned a relationship with.
The feeling of loneliness and numbness sort of persisted even after college until I found Tantric Buddhism, and I realized that my compassion was really what was keeping me around. I loved other people too much. Esther, unfortunately, doesn't share that sentiment in this novel, and it leads her to constantly think about suicide. I really feel for people, especially women, in her situation, because it could have easily been me if I had been a couple of screws looser. We're very fortunate to live in a time where we have excellent medical care for people with chronic depression, and access to medications that actually help rather than harm. In the 1950's, and even after that, that wasn't the case, and sadly it led to the author's demise. RIP Sylvia, your novel is a 5-star work of art.
I've struggled with depression and anxiety for most of my adult life. The first half of this novel felt so familiar in terms of the symptoms Esther was describing, although I was fortunate that my mental state didn't progress as far down the rabbit hole as hers. Regardless, Esther in college might as well have been me in college--I so vividly remember being full of hope regarding my eventual career, and then having that hope basically disintegrate when things didn't work out the way I wanted. I remember the summertime, and how I was supposed to be happy, but instead felt tired and like the bright light was hurting my eyes. I even had an internship like Esther's at a literal prison (as opposed to the concrete prison of NYC), and I had no idea what I was doing there. I remember doing risky or crazy things just to feel something. I remember feeling profoundly disappointed by just about every man that I feigned a relationship with.
The feeling of loneliness and numbness sort of persisted even after college until I found Tantric Buddhism, and I realized that my compassion was really what was keeping me around. I loved other people too much. Esther, unfortunately, doesn't share that sentiment in this novel, and it leads her to constantly think about suicide. I really feel for people, especially women, in her situation, because it could have easily been me if I had been a couple of screws looser. We're very fortunate to live in a time where we have excellent medical care for people with chronic depression, and access to medications that actually help rather than harm. In the 1950's, and even after that, that wasn't the case, and sadly it led to the author's demise. RIP Sylvia, your novel is a 5-star work of art.