122. First Impression: The Bell Jar

 I read The Bell Jar the year after I graduated college.  I was much more inclined to read fiction then and was averaging a book a year.  That's a lot for me.  It caught me from the first page.

I had heard or read somewhere that it's the true-ish story of a young woman's breakdown shortly after she graduates from college and begins working in New York City.  For some reason that appealed to me.  I think I'm attracted to writing that seriously explores the thoughts and feelings a person has when they're in the midst of those rare but critical soul-shaking and defining moments we all have.  That kind of writing, when it's done well, is always so true to me.

So anyway I picked up the book and never put it down.  Though I felt that the second half was less remarkable than the opening, I'd say it's worth reading.  I should probably add a copy to the permanent collection.

Here's the opening page for your reading pleasure.  The entire book is available on Google Books using the link above.  Something about this first page still gets me.  I find my eyes racing from line to line faster than my brain can even sound the words out to itself.  The writing just moves.  All on its own.

Maybe it's just me.

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        It was a queer, sultry summer, the summer they electrocuted the Rosenbergs, and I didn't know what I was doing in New York. I'm stupid about executions.  The idea of being electrocuted makes me sick, and that's all there was to read about in the papers - goggle-eyed headlines staring up at me on every street corner and at the fusty, peanut-smelling mouth of every subway. It had nothing to do with me, but I couldn't help wondering what it would be like, being burned alive all along your nerves.  
       I thought it must be the worst thing in the world.
       New York was bad enough. By nine in the morning the fake, country-wet freshness that somehow seeped in overnight evaporated like the tail end of a sweet dream.  Mirage-gray at the bottom of their granite canyons, the hot streets wavered in the sun, the car tops sizzled and glittered, and the dry, cindery dust blew into my eyes and down my throat.
       I kept hearing about the Rosenbergs over the radio and at the office till I couldn't get them out of my mind.  It was like the first time I saw a cadaver.  For weeks afterward, the cadaver's head - or what there was left of it - floated up behind my eggs...