While "L" is reading our last selection (I read it super fast), I've re-read Sylvia Plath's "The Bell Jar," a fiction work based loosely on Plath's own experiences as a blooming writer, who plunges into mental illness. The Bell Jar's Esther Greenwood slowly unravels, and attempts suicide in a way that mirrors Plath's own early attempt.
Sylvia Plath's bipolar disorder was not understood or treatable as it is today. Such is the case for the protagonist, Esther.
Since a book's title makes us notice words in the text such as "jar," I earmarked the page (p.63 in paperback) where Esther observes fetuses (who died in utero) in "big glass bottles". ...that "smelt like old pickle jars." I wondered if Esther saw herself as being stunted by her mental illness. Alas, on pg 185, we finally read the first reference to "sitting under the same glass bell jar, stewing in my own sour air."
Esther feels that her illness follows her wherever she goes -- which is the case for those with untreated (undiagnosed) mental illness.
After reading The Bell Jar, I read more about Sylvia Plath herself. Married Ted Hughes (famous poet), had 2 kids with him, then his infidelity led to a divorce. Plath was extremely talented, a Fullbright Scholar, and the stress of keeping up a high level of creativity worthy of publishing took its toll. That along with mental illness led to her suicide in Feb. 1963 at age 30. Her kids were so young.
Beyond The Bell Jar, I'm reading her book of poems, Ariel -- the poem, Lady Lazarus, is my favorite. I admit that most of her poetry leaves me bewildered. Its existential nature is a bit too much for my brain.
Also, I've read/viewed the book "Sylvia Plath Drawings," brought out in 2013; with its cooyright held by Frieda Plath, daughter of Sylvia and Ted H. Tragically, Sylvia's other child, a son, Nicholas, committed suicide (March 16, 2009) . He was a biologist at U of Alaska-Fairbanks. He'd long battled depression. He was 47.
The book of black and white sketches in the book illustrate Sylvia's talent and/or interest in developing that art form. She had hoped that her sketches would be printed alongside her poems in the New Yorker or other lit magazines.
The treatment of mental health has made huge advances since Sylvia's lifetime. Unfortunately, there are no cure-alls. Such was the case for her son and countless others. In what can appear to be a cold impersonal world, connections are crucial.
There's a saying (and a song): "One is the loneliest number."
Rather than sit and bemoan loneliness, my suggestion is always to REACH OUT. Phone a friend. Volunteer at a soup kitchen. Join a book club. Take an art class. Connection, folks. That's what this Book Club For Two can do for anyone who reads along with us. Leave a comment if you wish. Above all, pay attention to your mental health.
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