Sylvia Plath

The Bell Jar

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Sylvia Plath's shocking, realistic, and intensely emotional novel about a woman falling into the grip of insanity
Esther Greenwood is brilliant, beautiful, enormously talented, and successful, but slowly going under—maybe for the last time. In her acclaimed and enduring masterwork, Sylvia Plath brilliantly draws the reader into Esther's breakdown with such intensity that her insanity becomes palpably real, even rational—as accessible an experience as going to the movies. A deep penetration into the darkest and most harrowing corners of the human psyche, The Bell Jar is an extraordinary accomplishment and a haunting American classic.
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    valeriaje podelio/la utisakпре 6 месеци
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    Поэтично и честно о самых тёмных уголках человеческой психики. Знаю что ещё долго буду о ней думать. Очень хочу вам посоветовать, но ещё хочу сказать что это тот случай когда нужно сначала подумать готовы ли вы ее читать.

    Kristina Kusakinaje podelio/la utisakпре 7 месеци
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    Darya Kushnirje podelio/la utisakпрошле године
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    Alejandra Gómezje citiraoпре 2 године
    The silence depressed me. It wasn’t the silence of silence. It was my own silence.
    Marieke van Damje citiralaпре 2 године
    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
    Julia Eremeevaje citiralaпрошле године
    I thought the most beautiful thing in the world must be shadow, the million moving shapes and cul-de-sacs of shadow. There was shadow in bureau drawers and closets and suitcases, and shadow under houses and trees and stones, and shadow at the back of people’s eyes and smiles, and shadow, miles and miles and miles of it, on the night side of the earth.

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