Terribly, terribly sad.
The Bell Jar starts off fiery. Plucked out of context you could think the protagonist is a Hemmingway character, not Esther Greenwood
‘I’ll have a vodka,’ I said.
The man looked at me more closely. ‘With anything?’
‘Just plain,’ I said. ‘I always have it plain.’
I am ashamed to say I have never read a woman written like this. From Esther’s perspective I find men and their pig-headed self-centered ego infuriating. Characters I’m sure I’ve acted like in the past, there are too many tropes to list.
The Bell Jar is inspiring, but I cannot read it innocently, in of itself. Despite an ambivalent ending I finished reading this book terribly, terribly sad.