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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. (Goodreads) ("Lasikellon alla" suomentanut Mirja Rutanen 1963)
"År 1953 vinner 19-åriga Esther Greenwood en tävling där priset är en månads vistelse i New York i en damtidnings regi. Den unga flickan ser klarögt på den mondäna värld hon hamnar i och beskriver träffande de evenemang hon får bevista och de människor hon möter. Hemkomsten till det sommarvarma Boston blir en chock. Esther får veta att hon inte har kommit in på den författarkurs hon sökt till. Hon gör ett självmordsförsök och förs till mentalsjukhus. En lång kamp mellan hennes framgångsrika dagsljusjag och hennes ångestfyllda nattjag har börjat. Glaskupan som bara i Sverige tryckt i över 100 000 exemplar, har blivit en hel generations kultbok. Den kom första gången på svenska 1974." (Adlibris) ( )
Bra bok om hur det är att gå över gränsen från "frisk" till psykiskt "sjuk". Den är bra men hade nog förväntat mig mer. Den griper inte tag i mig så som jag förväntat mig att den skulle göra men visst är den riktigt läsvärd. ( )
Esther Greenwood's account of her year in the bell jar is as clear and readable as it is witty and disturbing. It makes for a novel such as Dorothy Parker might have written if she had not belonged to a generation infected with the relentless frivolity of the college- humor magazine. The brittle humor of that early generation is reincarnated in "The Bell Jar," but raised to a more serious level because it is recognized as a resource of hysteria.
Information från den engelska sidan med allmänna fakta.Redigera om du vill anpassa till ditt språk.
for Elizabeth and David
Inledande ord
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It was a queer, sultry summer, the summer they electrocuted the Rosenbergs, and I didn't know what I was doing in New York.
[Foreword] You might think that classics like The Bell Jar are immediately recognized the moment they reach a publisher's office.
Citat
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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 colored arrows from a Fourth of July rocket. (p. 69)
The trouble was, I hated the idea of serving men in any way.
"We'll take it up where we left off, Esther," she had said, with her sweet, martyr's smile. "We'll act as if all of this were a bad dream" A bad dream. 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 remembered the cadavers and Doreen and the story of the fig tree and Marco's diamond and the sailor on the Common and Doctor Gordon's wall-eyed nurse and the broken thermometers and the Negro with his two kinds of beans and the twenty pounds I gained on insulin and the rock that bulged between sky and sea like a gray skull. Maybe forgetfulness, like a kind snow, should numb and cover them. But they were part of me. They were my landscape. (p. 181)
I took a deep breath, and listened to the old bray of my heart: I am, I am, I am.
I began to think that maybe it was true that when you were married and had children it was like being brainwashed, and afterward you went about numb as a slave in some private, totalitarian state. (p. 70)
I wanted to tell her that if only something was wrong with my body it would be fine, I would rather have anything wrong with my body than something wrong with my head, but the idea seemed so involved and wearisome that I didn't say anything. (p. 140)
I smelt a mingling of Pablum and sour milk and salt-codstinky diapers and felt sorrowful and tender. How easy having babies seemed to the women around me! Why was I so unmaternal and apart? Why couldn't I dream of devoting myself to baby after fat puling baby like Dodo Conway? If I had to wait on a baby all day, I would go mad. (p. 170)
I felt myself melting into the shadows like the negative of a person I'd never seen before in my life.
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 cafe in Paris or Bangkok - I would be sitting in the same glass bell jar, stewing in my own sour air.
To the person in the bell jar, blank and stopped as a dead baby, the world itself is the bad dream.
I buried my head under the darkness of the pillow and pretended it was night. I couldn't see the point of getting up. I had nothing to look forward to.
Avslutande ord
Information från den engelska sidan med allmänna fakta.Redigera om du vill anpassa till ditt språk.
The eyes and the faces all turned themselves towards me, and guiding myself by them, as by a magical thread, I stepped into the room.
Sylvia Plath har ett Efterlämnat bibliotek. Efterlämnade bibliotek är berömda läsares personliga bibliotek, inlagda av medlemmar i LibraryThing-gruppen Legacy Libraries.
("Lasikellon alla" suomentanut Mirja Rutanen 1963)