'The Bell Jar' by Sylvia Plath

 The Bell Jar (1963) by Sylvia Plath is a touching story about a young girl named Esther Greenwood. She has dreams of being a writer, but soon discovers that life does not always go the way one wants. Having won a literary internship, Esther embarks on a journey through lavish parties, city lights, and young love. However, depression and isolation soon catch up to her. This is a novel about the struggles of a female creative, trying to survive the expectations society puts on her. 

I found this novel to be slow-paced, but vivid in imagery. Plath's wonderful way of zooming in on a moment makes you feel as though you're right there witnessing it for yourself. There were many times in this novel that I felt understood. Being an aspiring female writer who has struggled with MH, Esther's emotions and thoughts were comforting. In youth, there are many pressures: choosing a career path, making enough money, being happy, finding a romantic partner. Plath manages to de-stigmatize all of these beautifully and make any young person in a similar position feel seen. 

Q: What did I personally take from this story? 

A: Take your time, it's okay to not know what you're doing. No one does.

Moments from the novel that stayed with me:

'I would be sitting under the same glass bell jar, stewing in my own sour air.' 

'I also hate people to ask cheerfully how you are when they know you're feeling like hell and expect you to say 'Fine.'

'...what I wanted to kill wasn't in that skin or the thin blue pulse that jumped under my thumb, but somewhere else, deeper, more secret, and a whole lot harder to get at.'

'I thought I'd better go to work for a year and think things over... I could be a waitress or a typist. But I couldn't stand the idea of being either one.' 

'...drops of sweat crawled down her back, one by one, like slow insects.'

'My mother had always told me never under any circumstances to go with a man to a man's room after an evening out, it could mean only the one thing.'

'I saw my life branching out before me like the green fig-tree... 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 glass egg-beater of Ladies' Day's revolving doors.'