Thursday, January 31, 2013

What, Mr. Todd? What, Mr. Todd? What is that sound?

Absolutely writing a ghastly bit, and typing more Britishly than ever.  I picked up a copy of The Bell Jar at Salvation Army for ¢99 and went a right perfect bender.  Esther is lovely, not particularly tragic, just longing, which I'm sure is tragic in a sense the way the kids from Dawson's Creek were tragic.

Perhaps that's what's so sad about her...there's no good reason why she doesn't want to live. She's got a lot ahead of her.  Still, I don't want to minimalize her depression; her neuroses were very real: the insomnia, the loss of appetite and motor function. She had physical symptoms of what we now know as chronic depression possibly bridging into mild psychosis. Most likely her brain's way of dealing with the immense pressure of academic expectations, the culture shock of going home to nothing, and the emotional trauma of attempted rape in the midst of her own realization of sexuality. One realizes all her lashing out at orderlys and attendants is incredibly justifed and not at all psychotic, ODing burying herself in the crawlspace in the basement...that's another story.

Still...I may be greedy. The biggest thing I took away from the book was what the hell happened to opportunity for young women? What in the blue hell are writing contests and paid month long summer internships to New York?! Does that still happen?

So now I'm reading Prince of Tides and writing profusely.

Much Much More later.

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