The melancholic and profound prose of Sylvia Plath I'm…
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The melancholic and profound prose of Sylvia Plath
I'm fascinated by Sylvia Plath's writing. I find admirable the way she writes about pain in such a poetic and profound way, in a way I didn't even know was possible to put such complex feelings into words. I finished \*The Bell Jar\* some time ago and it really made me reflect on how mental disorders were misunderstood and treated so cruelly back then. Perhaps if they had the knowledge we have today, Sylvia wouldn't have committed suicide. I want to read her diaries, but I don't think I'm 100% ready for that yet. I'd like to know your opinions on Sylvia and works with a similar writing style.
Here's one of my favorite passages from the book:
The problem was actually that I had always been inadequate, I just hadn't thought about it yet.
The only thing I excelled at was winning scholarships and awards, and that time was coming to an end.
I felt like a racehorse in a world without racetracks, or a college football champion suddenly confronted with Wall Street and an executive suit, his glory days reduced to a small golden trophy on a shelf with a date engraved on it like on a tombstone.
I saw my life branching out before me like the green fig tree in that story.
From the tip of each branch, like a huge purple fig, a wonderful future beckoned and shimmered. One of those figs was a happy home with a husband and children, another was a famous poet, another a brilliant teacher, another was É Gê, the fantastic editor, another was made of trips to Europe, Africa, and South America, another was Constantine and Socrates and Attila and a bunch of lovers with strange names and eccentric professions, another was an Olympic rowing champion, and above those figs there were many others that I couldn't see.
I found myself sitting under the tree, starving, simply because I couldn't decide which fig I would keep. I wanted them all, but choosing one meant losing all the rest, and as I sat there, unable to make a decision, the figs began to shrink and turn black and, one by one, collapsed to the ground at my feet.
\- The Bell Jar
#entertainment
source
I'm fascinated by Sylvia Plath's writing. I find admirable the way she writes about pain in such a poetic and profound way, in a way I didn't even know was possible to put such complex feelings into words. I finished \*The Bell Jar\* some time ago and it really made me reflect on how mental disorders were misunderstood and treated so cruelly back then. Perhaps if they had the knowledge we have today, Sylvia wouldn't have committed suicide. I want to read her diaries, but I don't think I'm 100% ready for that yet. I'd like to know your opinions on Sylvia and works with a similar writing style.
Here's one of my favorite passages from the book:
The problem was actually that I had always been inadequate, I just hadn't thought about it yet.
The only thing I excelled at was winning scholarships and awards, and that time was coming to an end.
I felt like a racehorse in a world without racetracks, or a college football champion suddenly confronted with Wall Street and an executive suit, his glory days reduced to a small golden trophy on a shelf with a date engraved on it like on a tombstone.
I saw my life branching out before me like the green fig tree in that story.
From the tip of each branch, like a huge purple fig, a wonderful future beckoned and shimmered. One of those figs was a happy home with a husband and children, another was a famous poet, another a brilliant teacher, another was É Gê, the fantastic editor, another was made of trips to Europe, Africa, and South America, another was Constantine and Socrates and Attila and a bunch of lovers with strange names and eccentric professions, another was an Olympic rowing champion, and above those figs there were many others that I couldn't see.
I found myself sitting under the tree, starving, simply because I couldn't decide which fig I would keep. I wanted them all, but choosing one meant losing all the rest, and as I sat there, unable to make a decision, the figs began to shrink and turn black and, one by one, collapsed to the ground at my feet.
\- The Bell Jar
#entertainment
source
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