The Bell Jar - Sylvia Plath

When I think of performative male, the Bell Jar is the Bible. But you know what, maybe it deserves it place in the sacred halls and maybe I'm the churches disciple.

This was recommended to me when I wanted to start being serious about reading more than one book every few years. I had just started becoming used to Boston after moving from California on somewhat of a whim a couple years earlier. Symbolically this may have been the perfect start to a journey of growth and pathfinding as Esther in her journey, struggles with the curse of possibility. How choice and commitment can drive someone to the very edge if you're unable to let go of expectation. And maybe how to hope in the eyes of the inevitable void.

The coincidence of being somewhat fresh to Boston while following Plaths story here as well felt very special to me. Following a lost soul through the streets that I had been becoming more and more aware of. Then the incredible spark once I realized her targetted location was one I so frequently walked and explored and had become so special to me. Her childhood home still standing, being one I drive by nearly every day. Her father, buried nearby, an entomologist who studied bees (bees are my favorite animal). Maybe that's the most spiritually close I had felt to literature by that time, like a ghost guiding me through their footsteps.

There's a lot I don't have in common with Esther/Slyvia. So although I did not have the absolute privilege of navigating the world in the 1950s as a woman seriously battling their mental health while being totally disregarded and tortured by the very people that were supposed to be helping (feels wrong writing anything after this 🚬). I do know what it means to be lost, while still finding the courage to see hope.