Scott Fitzgerald used to claim that he wrote with “the authority of failure,” and he did. I do it exceptionally well.I do it so it feels like hell,I do it so it feels real.I guess you could say I’ve a call.Īt twenty I tried to dieAnd get back, back, back to you.I thought even the bones would do.But they pulled me out of the sack,And they stuck me together with glue.į. And she added,ĭyingIs an art, like everything else. “Lady Lazarus,” Sylvia Plath called herself in a poem. It is very much a story of the ’50s, but written in the early ’60s, and now, after being effectively suppressed in this country for eight years, published in the ’70s. It is a fine novel, as bitter and remorseless as her last poems - the kind of book Salinger’s Franny might have written about herself 10 years later, if she had spent those 10 years in Hell. “The Bell Jar” is a novel about the events of Sylvia Plath’s 20th year: about how she tried to die, and how they stuck her together with glue. THE BELL JAR by Sylvia Plath | Review first published April 11, 1971
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