Name: The Bell Jar LP
Rating: 4.053985722784057 (1681 reviews)
ISBN: 9780060573096

Sylvia Plath

The Bell Jar LP

Helen 

Francesca 

julia

Iris van der zanden

Cecilie Spangsberg

Lissy Young

Maria

Chloe Heisserer

Emma Jacobsen 

alma

clara

louane

Ecnamreh

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.

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

Madison Bowyer

Steffi Colberg

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 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

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.

haley kendall owen

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.

The Bell Jar

Josephine Cammarano

I felt the darkness, but nothing else, and my head rose, feeling it, like the head of a worm. Someone was moaning. Then a great, hard weight smashed against my cheek like a stone wall and the moaning stopped.
The silence surged back, smoothing itself as black water smooths to its old surface calm over a dropped stone.
A cool wind rushed by. I was being transported at enormous speed down a tunnel into the earth. Then the wind stopped. There was a rumbling, as of many voices, protesting and disagreeing in distance. Then the voices stopped.
A chisel cracked down on my eye, and a slit of light opened, like a mouth or a wound, till the darkness clamped shut on it again. I tried to roll away from the direction of the light, but hands wrapped round my limbs like mummy bands, and I couldn’t move.

This eBook edition of "The Bell Jar (Unabridged)" has been formatted to the highest digital standards and adjusted for readability on all devices. 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.

The Bell Jar (Unabridged)

Unpopular opinion. I started this book, and I HATED it. The plot was starting and they like went to a party or something (it was about 6 months ago I tried to read it), and even then I was acutely aware of the over description of imagery. Then she gets in a bath, and God, it's awful. I understand it's a style of writing, that intense deep imagery to put you into her perspective, but God it just came off as want to be edgy and deep. I feel like Sylvia Plath was the pomegranate, deer in headlights, TikTok poem equivalent of the 1940s. I just genuinely could not take it, and I've never put down a book so fast--especially when it's as hyped on as The frickin Bell Jar because it WAS The frickin Bell Jar! It was just genuinely unbearable and as an orphan who is a really big advocate for mental health, I thought I would align with her writing. No. Just came off as fake deep. 

Jill

readingnmusings

"How did I know that someday--at college, in Europe, somewhere, anywhere--the bell jar, with its stifling distortions, wouldn’t descend again?"
“To the person in the bell jar, blank and stopped as a dead baby, the world itself is a bad dream.”

emily alver

niush

Kyle Wilkinson

I wasn't as emotionally involved as I thought I would be, but the prose is so beautifully written, and Plath portrays her own experiences with mental illness so vividly and harrowingly that I can see why it's regarded as a classic

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.
(back cover)

yuvika

totally worth the hype! one of the most relatable books ever. the writing feels so natural and real that you can almost feel plath. best book to start a new year.

Talharim

A escrita da Plath é muito eficiente em demonstrar a apatia gerada pela depressão, mas sem se esquivar de demonstrar como um mundo dominado pelo masculino é diretamente responsável por gerar essa apatia. Talvez uma das primeiras obras a mostrar a depressão como uma reação ao mundo, e não algo meramente pessoal. Ainda não acho que justifica o casual e constante racismo da protagonista tho.

thya

Chanel

The deep dark spiral that is womanhood and depression. Sylvia Plath curated it so perfectly, it was utterly relatable. From the struggles of knowing your place in the world as a person and a woman, compounded by the struggles of depression, I found this novel to be so comforting, knowing Im not alone, yet so terrifying for where this spiral may lead.

Greg Talbot

More than any literary artist I’ve encountered, Plath’s work is inseparable from her personal life. Plath herself says in the end of book interview (published in the Harper Perennial Modern classics edition), that the “Bell jar” is a collection of personal stories, with colorful additions and literary add-ins. The troubling events of self-harm, deterioration, electroshock therapy and suicide, are all events documented as having occurred to Plath. The “Bell Jar” is well written, and not rapturously mad, suggesting the work of a diligent and efficient mind; but in all honesty, it strikes me as a work produced by someone profoundly disturbed. There is a peculiar haunted sense with the novel that I’ve encountered with some albums such as Joy Division’s “Closer” or Nick Drake’s “Pink Moon”. All of these are the work of an artist who has touched something that pulls them away from life and self-preservation. I really didn’t expect the first half to be so colorful. Esther’s character is so modern. Feminist, intelligent, and a little hipster in a 1950s way. Quiet but deep minded. The partying, drinking, flirtations all give us an understanding of who she is. In many ways, it is a coming of age novel. How does she square her career ambitions, her interest in a man, and guide her own way from college. Seems pretty relevant today. You could imagine Esther and her collegiate friends a tv show like “Girls” or other hip tv show. Prepare to be blindsided by turn that the book takes halfway through. Okay, yes, I kinda knew we were headed for darker territory, but Plath takes us to bleakness and desolation so quickly. It’s truly one of the most dark literary experiences I’ve experienced. Esther’s suicide attempts, the perversion of nature, the anxious/schizophrenic observations. The tone is nonplussed, sharp, it disturbs. Was not really sure if the character Joan was real or a hallucination for a while. When I imagine her character sitting on the beach, looking out to the ocean as a gigantic grave, with whalebones… it gives me the creeps still. The book is cold to the end. But we are left with the idea that Esther can change, she is given the chance to present herself. We are reminded that she is surrounded by people trying to help her, even if her character is largely self-absorbed and uncommunicative. Plath’s work as a writer is better exemplified in her soaring and gut-wrenching poetry (see “Ariel”), but the Bell Jar is a worthy accomplishment. It’s confessional tone, it’s brutal unsentimental and willingness to walk the reader through a devastating mental breakdown, requires the work of a great writer. That Plath can gave so much earnestness and never flinches demands our gratitude and respect.

A very good portrayal of mental illness but the homophobia and racism was so not justified. At certain points, I myself, began to question my sanity because I felt like I was going insane along Esther so had to take a pause. The fig tree and the neurotic paras won me over. A very very sad yet true reality of mental illness.

Esther Greenwood, una joven de los suburbios de Boston, llega a Nueva York para hacer una pasantía en una famosa revista. La oportunidad equivale a vislumbrar las puertas del Olimpo. Estamos a mediados de la década del cincuenta y la persecución del éxito gobierna la vida de la ciudad. Sin embargo, nada de eso puede disfrutarse sin asimilarse a esa cultura. Que indica un lugar prefijado para las mujeres: glorificar la liviandad y el glamour, entregarse felizmente a los brazos de la frivolidad y más tarde convertirse en madres.
Esther no está hecha para adorar esa secuencia.  Y su regreso a casa, a lo que debería ser un remanso y un reencuentro, tampoco la recompone. De algún modo ha quedado marcada por la experiencia de lo insustancial de la vida. Su destino, que una vez pareció una línea recta, es ahora un laberinto. Su sentimiento dominante es esa angustiosa levedad que oscurece lo trivial, lo amoroso y lo trascendente.
Clásico de la literatura del siglo XX, La campana de cristal es el emocionante relato de una joven que lucha por encontrar su identidad. Para hallarla debe atravesar la malla de hierro de las convenciones sociales y los fantasmas, para nada amables, que se levantan de no respetarlas. La escritura de Sylvia Plath, a la vez fría y conmovedora, retrata la desorientación de Esther con una sensibilidad aguda que asombra en cada página. El dolor de la soledad y el desamparo no se piensan igual después de leer esta novela.  

Source: http://www.edhasa.com.ar/libro.php?ean=9789876283526&t=La+campana+de+cristal

La campana de cristal

La autora logró hacerme parte de sus anécdotas, de sus pensamientos y de aquello que no siempre se atreve a decir en voz alta. Mientras avanzaba en sus páginas, tuve la sensación de acompañarla, de comprender sus dudas, sus anhelos y sus contradicciones.

Conocer la lucha de una mujer que, desde afuera, parece tener todo lo que cualquiera podría desear, pero que en el fondo anhela algo más, algo distinto, resulta hermoso, inquietante y profundamente sincero. Es un recordatorio de que la plenitud no siempre coincide con las expectativas ajenas, y de que escuchar la propia voz suele ser el desafío más difícil.

Un libro íntimo, honesto y lleno de sensibilidad, que invita a preguntarnos qué significa realmente vivir una vida que nos pertenezca.

Maria Camila Arbelaez Arango

La autora logró hacerme parte de sus anécdotas, de sus pensamientos y de aquello que no siempre se atreve a decir en voz alta. Mientras avanzaba en sus páginas, tuve la sensación de acompañarla, de comprender sus dudas, sus anhelos y sus contradicciones.

Conocer la lucha de una mujer que, desde afuera, parece tener todo lo que cualquiera podría desear, pero que en el fondo anhela algo más, algo distinto, resulta hermoso, inquietante y profundamente sincero. Es un recordatorio de que la plenitud no siempre coincide con las expectativas ajenas, y de que escuchar la propia voz suele ser el desafío más difícil.

Un libro íntimo, honesto y lleno de sensibilidad, que invita a preguntarnos qué significa realmente vivir una vida que nos pertenezca.

Karolina Zizkova

cass

i’m obsessed with the way she writes. it truly feels like i am just reading the thoughts of a girl who doesn’t understand. this book is really great, so so so clever. however, whilst i think it's not a bad book, her poetry is much more full and possesses this brilliance that this novel seems to fall short of reaching.

lytia

wilu lim

I saw someone say that the book is written in a style called "stream of consciousness" and maybe that's why it kept my attention because it wasn't too focused on one thing and often drifted.
Although it wasn't necessarily emotional, it's still very depressing mainly because of Plath's real life and the semi-autobiograpgical nature of the novel.
Got quite confused at the end but I think that's mainly because I sort of lost interest after <spoiler> she was admitted to the asylum</spoiler> and stopped reading it properly.
Though of course it must be said that Plath is such a brilliant mind and her poetic style is so beautiful to read.

Jennifer

This was a five star book until the end. It did not go as I thought it would. I loved most of this story. 

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/

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.

EDEN!!!!!

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.

The Bell Jar LP

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