Ms. Plath

I'm not much of a Sylvia Plath enthusiast. Of course I can't particularly say I'd like to know anyone who openly describes themselves as a 'Sylvia Plath enthusiast' (ie lonely feminist). Although I think "The Bell Jar's" appeal resides in the inextricable connection of her character's voice and the suicide of Ms. Plath herself. Readers almost want to stare into the text and glimpse the beyond the pale. At least this is how I felt when I read it. One can't help but associate the words of the character with the words of Plath, and ponder the depth of the difference. Her language is haunting, however I'm not entirely convinced that the harrowing quality of the text transpires from Plath's exceptional literary skill or the presumptions of the readers who project the visage of the dead author onto her character.

The common complaint I've heard filed against Plath's poetic prose throughout "The Bell Jar," is that it is in fact too poetic, with a metaphor per paragraph rate bordering on flowery.

"I dropped the compact into my pocketbook and stared out of the train window. Like a colossal junkyard, the swamps and back lots of Connecticut flashed past, one broken-down fragment bearing no relation to another." Does the flashing of swamps and backyards really look like a 'colossal junkyard?' I think this may be an exaggeration, or at least an in-concise use of language.

Advocates, fans, and dare I say enthusiasts of Plath's novel would probably claim that the maudlin metaphors express the immaturity of the young narrator, and do not directly reflect Plath's own poetic voice. Instead a more diligent critic would consider what the narrator's consistent use of description states about her condition. What are the qualities of her metaphorical dialogue that correlate to theme and imagery? From these elements, what can we derive about the novels inconclusive conclusion? What is the fate of our narrator?

Joan Didion's 'Good to All That,' has the potency to make me laugh and simultaneously cry. She understands the dichotomy between tragedy and comedy; the dark side of irony, and she conveys it in her work. She expresses this sense of thematic duality from the very first line, "It is easy to see the beginnings of things, and harder to see the ends."

The central dichotomy that resonates throughout her work, is the relation of the present to her past. Her voice maintains a sense of the present, in which she realizes the 'morals' of her story and reflects nostalgically, but she concurrently relates them to a quality of almost romantic enthusiasm that encompasses the emotions of her innocent new to New York self.