During the first half of the book, Esther Greenwood's stint in New York reminded me so much of The Catcher in The Rye. It was full of angst (albeit an estrogen-charged one) and pointless, apart from being a novel, and a very convincing one at that.
Then came the second half. Esther was now back in suburban Boston, spending (or wasting) the rest of summer under her mother's roof because her application to enroll in a writing course given by a prominent writer/professor was rejected. Esther expected herself to breeze through the application process, and went on to fulfill her ambition to be a published writer whose short stories would be bought by the likes of the magazine she worked for in New York. But that was not to be.
At this hiccup in life, Esther, who was a straight-A student for 15 years, asked herself: what if I decided to let everything go? Myself, my mind and people's expectations of what I would, could be?
As someone who's all about discourse, and 'educational' novels, I surprised even myself when I found I actually enjoyed the whole book. What was it with me? Or rather with Sylvia Plath herself? Was it this online quiz I took some time ago entitled 'Which Poet Are You?' and my answers spat out that I inclined to be like the darkly emotional Plath?
But I was disappointed when near the end it was implied that Esther's problems seemed to spark off from people's expectations of her marrying medical student, childhood friend Buddy Willard. So you don't love him, or any men for that matter. Can't you just tell him off? Oh well. She did turned down his proposal, but her mother hinted what a nice boy he was. Oh well.
Esther's issues with sexuality were also pretty lame. I can't believe myself that in the end she was 'cured' after being fitted with an IUD because "now I can have sex without getting pregnant, just like men."
I wish being a woman is that easy. But again, this novel was written more than 40 years ago, when things like birth control and non-marital intimacy defined female emancipation.
The ending was alright. I couldn't help feeling please that the IUD turned out to be a disaster. But I was glad that she made Irwin paid for the hospital bills. We never learned what exactly happened, but beware, it involved a hemorrhage. I also like it when Esther said "I don't care" when Buddy Willard upon visiting her during he last few days in Caplan asked, "who would marry you now, Esther (now that you've been institutionalized)?"
That, ladies and gentlemen, is what I call a liberation.
This book reminded me to the movie Girl, Interrupted, which starred Wynona Ryder, who also loved writing and had a disturbed mind. Yikes.
What is it about writing that makes people spiral down under?
PRAPROMOSI II
5 days ago
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4 komentar:
The about writing that makes people spiral down under?
It is writing Godlessly that make them as such.
I guess we all write from the subconscious. Some writers, like Plath, go even deeper into the dark. No surprise then that all her poems are confessional since there was so much emotional baggage that she found in herself: she just needed to share them, directly, with the reader.
But not all women writers share her openness. Especially our women writers. What about you? I think this is just a redundant question :) you can ignore it
Anyway, have you started reading James Wood?
Firdaus,
I agree.
Azriq,
even from what I share through this blog, you can tell the sort of writer that I am. I've started the book, but need to find time to read it with the attention it deserves, not when swaying back and forth in the LRT during rush hour. So far I like the way Wood analyzed the writer's presence and influence in her/his works. I've started rereading Madam Bovary too, trying to figure out for real this time why Flaubert started the story with Charles when it is actually about his wife. Wish me luck.
Dear Beck,
I on the other hand think that if I didn't write, I would have spiralled down under!
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