How to begin? First, I can't believe I went SOOO long without reading a book. That last one must have been really bad, to put me off to reading for so long. Shame. But this, this one was a perfect way to get back into the groove.
I feel reviewing this book will open up too many of my own thoughts, and reveal too much of my own personal life. As much as I want to write my own Bell Jar, I'm not quite ready and I'm unsure what will come out in this post. But here goes . . .
I guess I'll start with how disappointed I was by some of the reviews on Goodreads.com. As I read the book I was floored by the time periods medical professionals' ideas about mental illnesses and treatments used for certain disorders. How on earth are shocks of electricity that knock you out cold going to suddenly cheer up your spirits when you regain consciousness? As I read this novel, I realized how wonderfully advanced modern medicine has turly become. As I read reviews on goodreads I was saddened by how little people's understanding of mental illnesses have progressed.
As I read this novel, I saw it all. I saw the happiness Esther felt. The pride she had in her bold, somewhat cynical and witty personality. A strong independent woman, a likely heroine of many great novels. I saw her mind become discombobulated. I saw her sadness control her in the most uncontrolable ways. I felt her desire to slap herself out of that slump, only to wind up desperate on the bathroom floor, and later awakened in the asylum. It was all too easy to understand and empathize.
That's the tricky thing about mental illness. So many have suffered from bouts of depression, I dare say . . . everyone who has ever lived knows what it is like to lift themselves out of the dumps. So I can see why it is so easy for those billions of people to wonder why those of us who suffer from depression can't pick ourselves up out of those slumps.
The other day my co-workers were talking about the pain of a charlie horse. I mentioned I thought I'd had one a time or two before. Emily and Amanda both assured me that if I couldn't pin point the exact when, what, and where, of a former charlie horse, if I simply thought I'd had one but didn't know for sure I'd experienced it . . . I had never had a charlie horse. They were very convincing. I've decided I suffered serious muscle cramps, but never a charlie horse.
Same for depression. We can all think of times we were in pain, the kind of pain we didn't want to get out of bed for. But unless you can really pinpoint a time you were beyond help, a time there was truly nothing you could do to stop yourself from your own suffering, than you have not suffered from the powers of depression. That's why all those reviews on goodreads, and all the ones flooding the papers shortly after Plath's novel debut are so devastating.
If you have ever wondered what life trapped behind a bell jar might be like. Read this book. If you finish, and feel that Plath was just a whiny, priviliged girl . . . you have learned nothing and can never understand the suffering we go through.
Even though they are never super fulfilling, I usually like pop-literature. With all its cliches, predictability, and lack of diverse characterization; I still enjoyed this. After a rough start it turned into a real page turner. I think I get so anxious with these books cause I want what I can't predict to happen. It didn't. And the tricky thing with this one is that when I looked at all the possible endings none of them made me happy, not even the one where the narrator gets everything she wants (at the loss of other characters).
