Sylvia Plath

Esther Greenwood, a talented and successful writer, finally succumbs to madness when the world around her begins to falter.

Bell Jar

Helen 

Francesca 

julia

Iris van der zanden

Cecilie Spangsberg

Lissy Young

Maria

Chloe Heisserer

Emma Jacobsen 

Naïa

There is something demoralizing about watching two people get more and more crazy about each other, especially when you are the only extra person in the room.

It's like watching Paris from an express caboose heading in the opposite direction — every second the city gets smaller and smaller, only you feel it's really you getting smaller and smaller and lonelier and lonelier, rushing away from all those lights and that excitement at about a million miles an hour.

Ecnamreh

alma

clara

louane

There must be quite a few things a hot bath won't cure, but I don't know many of them. Whenever I'm sad I'm going to die, or so nervous I can't sleep, or in love with somebody I won't be seeing for a week, I slump down just so far and then I say: ´I'll go take a hot bath.'

I meditate in the bath. The water needs to be very hot, so hot you can barely stand putting your foot in it. Then you lower yourself, inch by inch, till the water's up to your neck. […]

I never feel so much myself as when I'm in a hot bath.

[…] I don't believe in baptism or the waters of Jordan or anything like that, but I guess I feel about a hot bath the way those religious people feel about holy water. […]

The longer I lay there in the clear hot water the purer I felt, and when I stepped out at last and wrapped myself in one of the big, soft, white, hotel bath towels I felt pure and sweet as a new baby.

Ruby Emmeline Fisher

nullptr

akshita

That's one of the reasons I never wanted to get married. The last thing I wanted was infinite security and to be the place an arrow shoots off from. I wanted change and excitement and to shoot off in all directions myself, like the coloured arrows from a Fourth of July rocket. 

Marie

Stavros Kosmas

I felt very still and very empty, the way the eye of a tornado must feel, moving dully along in the middle of the surrounding hullabaloo.

Beatrix

Madison Bowyer

Steffi Colberg

The silence depressed me. It wasn't the silence of silence. It was my own silence.

To the person in the bell jar, blank and stopped as a dead baby, the world itself is the bad dream. A bad dream. I remembered everything.

I knew perfectly well the cars were making a noise, and the people in them and behind the lit windows of the buildings were making a noise, and the river was making a noise, but I couldn't hear a thing. The city hung in my window, flat as a poster, glittering and blinking, but it might just as well not have been there at all, for all the good it did me.

I knew I should be grateful to Mrs Guinea, only I couldn't feel a thing. If Mrs Guinea had given me a ticket to Europe, or a round-the-world cruise, it wouldn't have made one scrap of difference to me, because wherever I sat - on the deck of a ship or at a street café in Paris or Bangkok - I would be sitting under the same glass bell jar, stewing in my own sour air.

the perfectionist procrastinator syndrome

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 off-beat 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. 

lise jeurissen

There is nothing like puking with somebody to make you into old friends.

nikki

Macy HB

The trouble was, I hated the idea of serving men in any way. I wanted to dictate my own thrilling letters.

Hope14 

And I knew that in spite of all the roses and kisses and restaurant dinners a man showered on a woman before he married her, what he secretly wanted when the wedding service ended was for her to flatten out underneath his feet like Mrs. Willard's kitchen mat.

Sophía Allan

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 Bell Jar chronicles the crack-up of Esther Greenwood: brilliant, beautiful, enormously talented, and successful, but slowly going under -- maybe for the last time. Sylvia Plath masterfully draws the reader into Esther's breakdown with such intensity that Esther's insanity becomes completely real and even rational, as probable and accessible an experience as going to the movies. Such deep penetration into the dark and harrowing corners of the psyche is an extraordinary accomplishment and has made The Bell Jar a haunting American classic.

Source: https://www.harpercollins.com/9780060886646/

The Bell Jar

So sharp!it really is a bad bad dream!!and I need a brainwash now urgently!!!

martian1138

raw, unflinching, and vulnerable. one of the most poignant pictures of mental illness i’ve ever read. sylvia plath was generational.

tink 😵‍💫⭐

I was supposed to be having the time of my life. When Esther Greenwood wins an internship on a New York fashion magazine in 1953, she is elated, believing she will finally realise her dream to become a writer. But in between the cocktail parties and piles of manuscripts, Esther's life begins to slide out of control. She finds herself spiralling into serious depression as she grapples with difficult relationships and a society which refuses to take her aspirations seriously. The Bell Jar, Sylvia Plath's only novel, was originally published in 1963 under the pseudonym Victoria Lucas. The novel is partially based on Plath's own life and descent into mental illness, and has become a modern classic.

I understand why people like it but the racism and some of her remarks I could not ignore. 

Olivia Rousseau 

This carefully crafted ebook: "The Bell Jar" is formatted for your eReader with a functional and detailed table of contents. Esther Greenwood, a young woman from the suburbs of Boston, gains a summer internship at a prominent magazine in New York City, under editor Jay Cee; however, Esther is neither stimulated nor excited by either the big city or the glamorous culture and lifestyle that girls her age are expected to idolize and emulate. She instead finds her experience to be frightening and disorienting. From hereafter her mental state keeps deteriorating until she starts feeling helpless as if being kept inside a glass bell jar! The Bell Jar is the only novel written by the American writer and poet Sylvia Plath. Originally published under the pseudonym "Victoria Lucas" in 1963, the novel is semi-autobiographical, with the names of places and people changed. The book is often regarded as a roman à clef because the protagonist's descent into mental illness parallels Plath's own experiences with what may have been clinical depression or bipolar II disorder. Plath died by suicide a month after its first UK publication. The novel was published under Plath's name for the first time in 1967 and was not published in the United States until 1971, in accordance with the wishes of both Plath's husband, Ted Hughes, and her mother.

jana 

not as life changing as i’d been led to believe, although i can see how it would be for the time

evie coxon

Although people say its all depressing, the first half is full of almost comical satire about the society.  

The tone of writing changes with the how esther is feeling. During depression, the writing feels absolutely devoid of any feelings, and changes as she recovers into more beautiful quotes, quite literally depicting how depression feels in real time. 

Its a novel worth reading! The story doesn't fail to surprise after each page.

Mind you it does have some racist remarks!

Although people say its all depressing, the first half is full of almost comical satire about the society.  

The tone of writing changes with the how esther is feeling. During depression, the writing feels absolutely devoid of any feelings, and changes as she recovers into more beautiful quotes, quite literally depicting how depression feels in real time. 

Its a novel worth reading! The story doesn't fail to surprise after each page.

Mind you it does have some racist remarks!

Essence

Una nueva edición de la novela icónica de Sylvia Plath, con traducción inédita de Eugenia Vázquez Nacarino y prólogo de Aixa de la Cruz, que da una nueva lectura en pleno reflujo de la más reciente oleada feminista. «Respiré profundamente y escuché el antiguo estribillo de mi corazón. Yo soy, yo soy, yo soy». Esta es la historia de una chica que tiene todo lo que una joven puede desear en el Nueva York de los años cincuenta: una carrera prometedora, un pretendiente que estudia medicina y toda una vida por delante. Esther Greenwood ha ganado una beca para trabajar en una revista de moda en la gran ciudad y siente que por fin podrá realizar su sueño de ser escritora. Pero entre cócteles, noches de fiesta y pilas de manuscritos descubre una sociedad que repudia las aspiraciones de las mujeres y su vida empieza a desmoronarse. Esther -alter egode la autora- se encierra en sí misma, como si estuviera atrapada en una campana de cristal: respirando continuamente el mismo aire viciado y sin posibilidad de escapar. Más de cincuenta años después de su publicación original, La campana de cristal se ha convertido en un clásico moderno, y las palabras de Plath, con la nueva traducción de Eugenia Vázquez Nacarino, conservan todo su impacto. Esta obra icónica, como dice Aixa de la Cruz en el prólogo, «viaja al presente como una corriente eléctrica y nos interpela de tú a tú, sin mediaciones». La crítica ha dicho... «Sylvia Plath no es un genio cualquiera, su sombra caliente rodea las gargantas de miles de lectores, de aspirantes a poeta y de adolescentes que quieren ser como ella: hermosa, fuerte, brutal [...]. Plath es un mito, sí. Plath es una musa. Plath es una marca que preside nuestras estanterías.» Luna Miguel «La novela en clave dolorosamente gráfica de Sylvia Plath, en la que una mujer lucha por su propia identidad ante la presión social, es un texto esencial en el feminismo angloamericano.» The Guardian «Mantiene su poder después de cinco décadas.» The Telegraph «Sylvia Plath se convirtió para mucha gente en una figura extraliteraria, en una heroína de las contradicciones: alguien que se enfrentó al horror, con el que supo crear algo, pero que también la destruyó.» The New Yorker «Esta novela contempla la locura del mundo y el mundo de la locura y nos fuerza a considerar el gran interrogante planteado en toda ficción verdaderamente realista: ¿qué es la realidad y cómo podemos enfrentarnos a ella?» The New York Times Books Review

La campana de cristal

Lo sentí bastante familiar, como si una parte de Esther viviera dentro de mí; sentí que no solo estaba acompañando a Esther con sus sentimientos negativos sino que ella también me estaba acompañando a mí, si bien las razones detrás de nuestras tristezas difieren bastante, la manera en la que se ven representadas es bastante similar, y me hace sentir menos miserable no ser la única persona con esta carga emocional

La traducción al español súper me causó conflictos a ratos, las decisiones de usar ciertas palabras me sacó full de onda; siento que hubiera conectado mucho más de haberlo leído en inglés 

Manis

Lo sentí bastante familiar, como si una parte de Esther viviera dentro de mí; sentí que no solo estaba acompañando a Esther con sus sentimientos negativos sino que ella también me estaba acompañando a mí, si bien las razones detrás de nuestras tristezas difieren bastante, la manera en la que se ven representadas es bastante similar, y me hace sentir menos miserable no ser la única persona con esta carga emocional

La traducción al español súper me causó conflictos a ratos, las decisiones de usar ciertas palabras me sacó full de onda; siento que hubiera conectado mucho más de haberlo leído en inglés 

i’m no stranger to the bell jar. i first read it in my sophomore year of high school, then saw the recent hype and reread it a couple more times, and i'm just trying to figure out what the hell the hype is about. did we read the same book? because this was insane.

before i rip into it, i can see why this is considered a classic. it’s beautifully written, and some could say sylvia was ahead of her time. there are a lot of memorable quotes, and yes, the fig tree passage is nice (i guess). but i find it despicable how so many people dub this as feminist literature—how they claim all modern women can relate to and benefit from it.

 talking about?? because i am black, and i’m sure many other WOC wouldn’t appreciate this book being pushed as some savior of modern womanhood. fuck sylvia, fuck esther, and FUCK that fig tree. this was not written for women of color—she wrote this for the women who looked like her. look at these quotes and tell me she was thinking of us when she wrote this:

“a big, smudgy-eyed Chinese woman staring idiotically into my face.”

“the face in the mirror looks like a sick Indian.”

“dusky as a bleached-blonde negress.”

“they're squat…they're ugly as Aztecs.”

i'm not even going to provide context for these, just sit there and take it in.

the amount of racism and other -isms littered throughout this book is insane, and so many people try to excuse it by saying, oh, it was written in the 1960s. the 1960s?? you mean during the civil rights movement?? did your brain slip from your thick skull down to your ass? i didn’t know being mentally ill was an excuse for being a disgusting racist—i guess i’ve been living my life all wrong. stop trying to impress the dead. if she was conscious and intelligent enough to write this shitshow—along with loads of other work—then she was intelligent enough to know right from wrong. she simply didn’t care.

in all seriousness, this was a huge disappointment, and i can’t help but feel a pang of hurt. how can this be so widely enjoyed? i’m genuinely confused, and if this question applies to you, i’d love to hear your answer. how could i possibly relate to the themes of womanhood, identity, and mental health when she would most likely refer to me as a “negress” if i appeared in front of her? such an incredible letdown.

sundus

 updated review 1/16


i’m no stranger to the bell jar. i first read it in my sophomore year of high school, then saw the recent hype and reread it a couple more times, and i'm just trying to figure out what the hell the hype is about. did we read the same book? because this was insane.

before i rip into it, i can see why this is considered a classic. it’s beautifully written, and some could say sylvia was ahead of her time. there are a lot of memorable quotes, and yes, the fig tree passage is nice (i guess). but i find it despicable how so many people dub this as feminist literature—how they claim all modern women can relate to and benefit from it.

what women are you talking about?? because i am black, and i’m sure many other WOC wouldn’t appreciate this book being pushed as some savior of modern womanhood. fuck sylvia, fuck esther, and FUCK that fig tree. this was not written for women of color—she wrote this for the women who looked like her. look at these quotes and tell me she was thinking of us when she wrote this:

“a big, smudgy-eyed Chinese woman staring idiotically into my face.”

“the face in the mirror looks like a sick Indian.”

“dusky as a bleached-blonde negress.”

“they're squat…they're ugly as Aztecs.”

i'm not even going to provide context for these, just sit there and take it in.

the amount of racism and other -isms littered throughout this book is insane, and so many people try to excuse it by saying, oh, it was written in the 1960s. the 1960s?? you mean during the civil rights movement?? did your brain slip from your thick skull down to your ass? i didn’t know being mentally ill was an excuse for being a disgusting racist—i guess i’ve been living my life all wrong. stop trying to impress the dead. if she was conscious and intelligent enough to write this shitshow—along with loads of other work—then she was intelligent enough to know right from wrong. she simply didn’t care.

in all seriousness, this was a huge disappointment, and i can’t help but feel a pang of hurt. how can this be so widely enjoyed? i’m genuinely confused, and if this question applies to you, i’d love to hear your answer. how could i possibly relate to the themes of womanhood, identity, and mental health when she would most likely refer to me as a “negress” if i appeared in front of her? such an incredible letdown.

It started off good until it’s not. The raw depiction of mental illness might be triggering for some people. There are certainly chapters that made me question where is the plot going but it was an enjoyable read after all.

Alisha

Campana de Cristal / the Bell Jar

finished the book 15min before new year's.....

this was such a raw experience, i could see and especially feel what Esther was experiencing. Sylvia was able to put into words some feelings that i once had, which was validating but also heartbreaking. 

this was fascinatingly sad, not my best summer read choice but i dont regret it one bit

micaela

finished the book 15min before new year's.....

this was such a raw experience, i could see and especially feel what Esther was experiencing. Sylvia was able to put into words some feelings that i once had, which was validating but also heartbreaking. 

this was fascinatingly sad, not my best summer read choice but i dont regret it one bit

Mdy<3

sylvia plath is one of the authors that encapsulates writing the feeling of emptiness perfectly. in addition to that, the lead character, Esther, remind me so much of sylvia on her unabridged journal. 

this book is such a good read that it healed my slump. 

march🐇

sylvia plath is one of the authors that encapsulates writing the feeling of emptiness perfectly. in addition to that, the lead character, Esther, remind me so much of sylvia on her unabridged journal. 

this book is such a good read that it healed my slump. 

i enjoyed this book at first, especially considering i dont usually choose literary fiction (?) but then it rlly lost me. having to google a summary of the book after finishing it ,, not my fav experience. i hate ambiguous endings so even more minus points & i wish i knew the trigger warnings going into it yikes 

An enjoyable read. I appreciate the pov & enjoyed the themes of marriage, women vs men & crippling mental health through Sylvia’s lens. 

hessensitive

im so sick to my stomach bcs been reading this for tooooo long and finished it this nighg where i thought im not at my function (like... at all!) 

Alma

Please be warned that there are descriptions of self harm and suicide in this book.

Throughout reading The Bell Jar, I felt an unmistakable emptiness. It’s in the tone, in protagonist Esther Greenwood’s focus on rationality over feeling, in her detachment from self. There’s a detachment that Sylvia Plath paints between Esther and her experiences, between Esther and emotion. Though rational in judgment and narration, the draining darkness of depression is felt as it pulls everyone within its reach down below. 

This is a book that reflects Sylvia Plath’s own life, provides an accurate portrayal of the debilitating nature and dismissive treatment of depression and mental illness, and calls to attention the limiting societal expectations of women. And it does all of this so beautifully and with a bit of levity from Plath’s sarcasm and wit. It’s vulnerable and honest and hopeful. It fights to reclaim womanhood and the self. It’s fairly poetic.

This is a book I’ve been putting off for so long, and I’m so glad it’s found its way back to me now at this point in time. As I’ve mentioned before, life is pretty difficult right now. I feel my own perceptions clouded and distorted by the bell jar, my mind and my heart and my lungs trapped and stifled within its heavy glass. But despite the distortion, I know others are just outside, enclosed in their own bell jars, experiencing what may very well be the same thing. And I know I’ve lifted the glass over my head before, so I can do it again.

joana ashley

Please be warned that there are descriptions of self harm and suicide in this book.

Throughout reading The Bell Jar, I felt an unmistakable emptiness. It’s in the tone, in protagonist Esther Greenwood’s focus on rationality over feeling, in her detachment from self. There’s a detachment that Sylvia Plath paints between Esther and her experiences, between Esther and emotion. Though rational in judgment and narration, the draining darkness of depression is felt as it pulls everyone within its reach down below. 

This is a book that reflects Sylvia Plath’s own life, provides an accurate portrayal of the debilitating nature and dismissive treatment of depression and mental illness, and calls to attention the limiting societal expectations of women. And it does all of this so beautifully and with a bit of levity from Plath’s sarcasm and wit. It’s vulnerable and honest and hopeful. It fights to reclaim womanhood and the self. It’s fairly poetic.

This is a book I’ve been putting off for so long, and I’m so glad it’s found its way back to me now at this point in time. As I’ve mentioned before, life is pretty difficult right now. I feel my own perceptions clouded and distorted by the bell jar, my mind and my heart and my lungs trapped and stifled within its heavy glass. But despite the distortion, I know others are just outside, enclosed in their own bell jars, experiencing what may very well be the same thing. And I know I’ve lifted the glass over my head before, so I can do it again.

Written from a white perspective and although the story is interesting, it is not as groundbreaking as it was hyped up to be.

Gladys Marcos

I really, really, liked the prose in this one. Sometimes the stream-of-consciousness style of narration pops up, and the descriptions never fail to paint a picture of what Esther sees and feels.

I think I read it at a good time in my life (just fresh out of university, not knowing what exactly I want to do)... 

Throckmorton

I really, really, liked the prose in this one. Sometimes the stream-of-consciousness style of narration pops up, and the descriptions never fail to paint a picture of what Esther sees and feels.

I think I read it at a good time in my life (just fresh out of university, not knowing what exactly I want to do)... 

emmy 

** spoiler alert **
           This is an absolute masterpiece that left an indelible mark on me. From start to finish, I was utterly captivated by the raw honesty and poetic beauty of her writing. Every word seemed to resonate with me on a deeply level, as if she had reached into my soul and put my thoughts and feelings into words. I couldn't help but give it a perfect five-star rating because I genuinely loved everything about it. 
One aspect of the novel that particularly resonated with me was the fig tree metaphor. Plath’s portrayal of Esther Greenwood's struggle to find her place in the world and break free from societal expectations really spoke to me, as I too have grappled with feelings of disillusionment and uncertainty about the future. I feel it perfectly captures the overwhelming pressure to make the "right" choice and the fear of making the wrong one

Rocío de la Hera

Si estás en tus 20's lo tenés que leer.

willow belle

shit got a little too relatable after chapter 10 😁

Ghofran Mustafa 

Someone once said,
The thing about depression, A human being can survive almost anything, as long as she sees the end in sight. But depression is so insidious, and it compounds daily, that it's impossible to ever see the end.

We all, at some point, experience this phase: "I'm lost and I have no clue what to do with my life".
While reading this book,I thought that Esther was feeling the same way.
She didn't know what she wanted, feeling scared that she'd just sit there and watch her life pass by, and I believe that's the main reason that made her depressed.

Being lost in every kind of way, trying to find meaning for life in everything she does. And I can relate to all of this. 

As with so many other girls like her, Esther was a lonely person who
needed support and love.I also
was thinking about Sylvia the entire time I was reading this.

When she talked about the fig tree and how each fig represented a distinct life decision for her, that's when I felt the most moved.
It's a pretty dark and miserable book to read overall.
Although not everyone will like it, I definitely did.