Teenage Angst Pays Off Well for Sylvia Plath
The growing pains captured in Sylvia Plath’s “The Bell Jar” are timeless.
Coming of age in the 1990s, teenage angst seemed like it was everywhere. Seattle grunge bands dominated radio. Turn on an afternoon talk show and you might find Maury Povich interviewing teens who worshipped Satan, listened to Marilyn Manson music, and dressed in Goth attire. On a more serious note, the Columbine high school shooting in Colorado stunned the nation and left 12 students and one teacher dead, and it dominated the news for what seemed like months.
It’s not surprising therefore that Sylvia Plath’s “The Bell Jar” was considered to be somewhat of a classic at that time. Perhaps “classic” is too strong a word. After all, it was only published (under a pseudonym, originally) in 1963. Nevertheless, by the 1990s, it was taught in many college courses around the country and even some high schools. The book was not initially well-received by critics, apparently, but by the time I was a teenager, America had incorporated the novel into its literary cannon, perhaps because mental health issues were starting to be talked about more openly.
As I sat down to reread “The Bell Jar,” I wondered whether the book would hold up. To offer a parallel example, Kurt Cobain’s music had an enormous influence on me as a teenager. It inspired me to start playing guitar when I was 13, which quickly grew into an obsession. I don’t think it’s an exaggeration to say his music saved my life. But when I go back and listen to “Nevermind” or “Bleach” now, something about that music doesn’t connect with me.
Maybe it’s that Nirvana was so overplayed after Cobain’s suicide. Maybe it’s that as a teenager I was convinced that Cobain understood my own pain and so I couldn’t see his music for what it was detached from the man himself. Don’t get me wrong, Cobain was a phenomenal talent. The music is so simple and honest—that’s it’s beauty. But when I listen to those songs now, I find myself wishing there were more layers to that onion.
I pondered whether rereading “The Bell Jar” would feel similar. Its main character, Esther Greenwood, grapples with a suicidal depression. Would her struggles feel dated in hindsight, like Cobain’s simplistic songs? Or might her experiences even seem comical, like those confused Goth kids on the Maury show?
The book is semi-autobiographical, mirroring many aspects of Plath’s own life. There is also much for me personally to identify with. Esther is from a suburb of Boston (I grew up in Newton, Massachusetts). She moves to New York City for a time to work for a fashion magazine as a guest editor (I moved to New York after high school to pursue a career in music). And most importantly, Esther struggles with severe depression (I experienced an earth-shattering depression that began when I was 13 and lasted throughout most of my teenage years).
What a difference a year makes. My seventh and eighth grades class pictures.
Plath came to be known as one of the founders of the Confessional Poetry movement for her personal writing style, and that style certainly shines through in “The Bell Jar.” A defining feature of Esther’s depression is the way she wallows in her own sadness. That’s one of the things I remember most too. As a teenager, sadness came to form an important part of my identity. I cherished it because it was so powerful—those were probably the most powerful emotions I’ve ever experienced in my whole life. But, strangely, the sadness eventually gave way and was replaced by an emptiness, a feeling of nothing. And while that meant that thoughts of self-harm largely subsided, something about this latter phase was much worse, because rather than have the sadness to hold on to, I had nothing.
Throughout the novel, Plath captures this pendulum of emotions. Esther, a bright young college student, moves to New York City, where she has a seemingly ideal internship and a fashionable circle of peers. But deep down her life lacks purpose. She struggles to find meaningful romantic relationships. Her boyfriend Buddy has much going for him, but he is not deep or sensitive. Her other romantic relationships are destructive: one involves a physical assault and she chaotically loses her virginity to a math professor. She experiences disappointment when she isn’t accepted into a writing program she planned on attending, so she must instead spend the summer with her mother. She gradually descends deeper into depression. She makes several half-hearted attempts to kill herself. Eventually, she takes a large number of pills, goes into her basement, and crawls into a hole expecting to die there.
Esther does not die, however. In fact she is found, and so the remainder of the book centers around her ordeals in the mid-20th century American mental health system. At the end of the book, we understand she is to be released from the mental health facility. There is a sense the future could be brighter. But it is never realized with any certainty, and to some extent the author Plath’s real-life death dashes our hopes for Esther. (Plath killed herself shortly after this book’s release.)
There’s no doubt that I am drawn to this book because I think back on that 14-year old version of myself, that kid who practiced guitar fanatically four hours a day in his basement and wrote sad songs, and I see some version of myself. If I had to offer one criticism of the book, which perhaps might extend to being a criticism of Plath herself, it’s that there really is a light at the end of the tunnel. The book could have recognized more of that. The funny thing about teenage depression is that you stop being a teenager eventually, and in many or most cases also stop being depressed.
Personally, I haven’t experienced depression since moving out of my mother’s house in my late teens, and probably earlier. I never took anti-depressants either. Sure, there have been tough times since then: career disappointments, disastrous band showcases, cheating girlfriends, constant confusion about where my life was heading, all of that. Some of these events were quite devastating. But that’s experiencing the turmoil called life. I wasn’t depressed. Plus, I think I was able to contend with difficult adult situations because my experiences as a teenager made me stronger. No matter how hard things got, I always had this feeling like I had been through much worse.
The “Brooklyn hipster in a band” thing is a cliché now, but that was actually me in the early 2000s. Most of my friends were in bands too, and by my late 20s some of them started to go through what might be called identity crises, or maybe early mid-life crises. As 30 was approaching, it was starting to dawn on them that a career in music was not going to happen. Some went a little unhinged. I had one friend who smashed up our rehearsal space in a rage. Another took off in a van and disappeared for weeks. I heard he spent some time in jail, and when he came back he was a different person.
I never had much sympathy for this kind of behavior. I have sympathy for the kids who go through depression. I think society should be restructured to better accommodate those kids. But it seems to me that adults should be held to a higher standard. The solution for me, as a more or less failed musician at 26, was to start taking college courses. It was exhausting; I had to completely start over. But I dealt with it and kept on going. I did what I thought I needed to and didn’t ask for anyone’s pity.
Maybe I would have a different view if depression had hit me at a later age. Eventually I emerged from mine, though the experience changed the trajectory of my life in a way that is still playing out today. That said, I can see why not everyone would be strong enough to face down their demons, so maybe we should have more sympathy for those with a weaker disposition.
Esther Greenwood is sometimes referred to as a female Holden Caulfield. I don’t think that comparison is quite right. Holden had a “me against the world” mentality. There is much I can relate to in his character, but what he was experiencing was teenage angst. Esther, on the other hand, is part of a more exclusive club. If you want to know what it’s like to be part of that club, go read “The Bell Jar.” It’s an insider’s take from someone who clearly knew what she was talking about.