Connections
May
21
Bell Jar Criticism
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1. Knowing Sylvia Plath’s life makes the book difficult to read as a story rather than an autobiography. With that said, any possibility of hope in the end is undercut.
2. The book has interesting motifs, but they are forgotten at random times.
3. The book was intended as a pot boiler, yet is treated as heavy duty literature.
4. Does Esther care that Joan died?
5. Is anything solved in any societal way? Do “good” books have to address issues and work to answer a question?
6. Each section, seems to be a stanza in a poem. She wrote a book of poetry-prose that seems overly easy to understand.
I have more criticisms, and this book has been truly difficult as a “teaching” tool. Yet when she takes a breath and hears the “old brag” of her heart beat “I am, I am, I am,” I know this is the brag of a century of women from Gilman to Woolf.
Today, the students met in small groups with discussion leaders. Most often the topics were shallow. Then the conversation would become intense and sometimes personal. This could only happen in a smaller atmosphere, and that defines the book. It is personal and real and therefore difficult to teach in the public space of my class.
Whine, whine, whine. I’m beginning to sound a little like Esther in her first hospital.
May
19
B(h)ell Jar
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Well, I “feel” Esther. When she describes sitting in a chair unable to pack or move because she has too many clothes and she can’t conceive bringing the urban life back to the dreadful suburban existence, I understand. Her friend whirls in and sweeps the mess under the bed for a night on the town. It is the night Esther almost lets herself be raped through indecision and the need to cede control. Ultimately, in a crazy, gorgeous move Esther throws the clothes into the dark New York night. I wanted to be her.
She tries suicide time after time, but it really is too hard for the depressive state she is in. Finally, she crawls into a wood stove, pulls the rotting wood around her, and takes 50 sleeping pills. Then she wakes up in the hospital.
This entry is not some self-confessional suicide notice. I never went that route, but only because when depressed it seemed too much effort and my mother might never recover. This is an acknowledgement of how close the book connects and in a way it keeps sucking me back in.
So I find it a difficult piece to teach. The brilliancy lies in its power and its accuracy. But many could say this is true of so much literature. Today I am loving the womb imagery. It took me until almost the end of the novel to realize that the constant references to water and tears and eddies relates to the womb as well as other motifs. So the hope is that as Esther is reborn, so will I be.
My seniors are bored, difficult, and ready to graduate; therefore, this piece is not it for them. One led discussion today and she was brilliant with some really fun insights. For the most part though, those who don’t want to be there are taking the oxygen and life of those who do have an interest. Two more weeks. They are on the brink of their rebirth. It is an exciting time. And now I remember that I love seniors.
Where is this going? I don’t know. Except if I am Esther, I hope she escapes the B(h)ell.
May
6
Drop Out
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Now, I feel the need to be back though with even less purpose than before. The same could be said of all my writing. Let me co-opt an excuse e-mail sent to friends and family:
Over the past few weeks I’ve received many a missive, and if you sent one, you probably did not receive a reply. As Mom asked in her recent e-mail, has something happened or am I just lazy.
Yep, the answer is lazy.
I dropped off the planet. One, Jon and I had a fantasitic time in Vietnam. I’ve never traveled with someone who would prefer to sit on a street corner with a drink and watch the locals or talk to stranger-backpacker #4. The closet would be Catherine who loves restaurants and the food becomes the event itself. Jon and I had fresh squeezed lemonade or whatever other fruit juice you might prefer, ate an an amazing vegetarian restaurant with stuff eggplant, and talked about life, about nothing, and about censorship versus rights.
My friend Rhonda started me on the habit of the top ten from a trip. I’ve stuck with it since– until this trip. Jon mentioned that one of his top ten was probably the first breakfast he and I had. We sat at a sidewalk cafe with omelets and bacon (my first Western breakfast since Christmas), and Jon had a tiny espresso cup that was refilled. We watched cyclos and motorcycles, and hawkers and businesses opening. He said it was that moment that he felt worldly. I know what he means.
I dropped off the planet. One reason is that currently I love my students and teaching. At one point I had the thought that life is just that horrible waiting before the students walk into the classroom the next day. I love the energy and life that is the classroom. I’m amazed at what some of my students can produce, I worry that I’m not teaching them to stretch to the fullest extent. In the meantime, grading is still avoided.
Partially the blue skies and green earth disappeared in life again just because it does periodically. It becomes the time when I have no energy and I go through the motions waiting until the light reappears but despairing that months may go by before I care about anything again. That’s dark, but it happens as most friends know. So, I watched television and became familiar with the Disney Channel. Packing for Vietnam was a nightmare because it was so difficult to move beyond the fuzz.
Partially the earth dropped because of age. I’m unlikely to have kids and for the first time ever I felt that as a personal tragedy. I always said that if it happens I would be happy, if not okay. Well, the clock definitely ticked. I wanted to experience pregnacy. I wanted a chance to hold the soft body knowing the fleeting moments. I love two year olds and wanted to control my own temper. I wanted to listen to my child babble and babble at age nine. I didn’t want my favorite sweater to be ruined or the oil pan to drop out of the borrowed car.
I just found out today that a teacher who has gorgeous curly hair, is tall, talented, and married 3? years ago is in her third month of pregnancy. She and her husband have been trying for two years. She’s 40. They met when she was 37. So okay, if it is something desired, I could put this on my goal list. I’ve achieved almost the entire goal list that Dad had me create at age 18. I missing two countries and I no longer care about beating the Mario Ninetendo Game. However, of the 20 plus goals, I’ve achieved almost all.
I am a little busy. That does account for the rest of not communicating with Mom. Friday, went to a stupid movie (Street Fighter with Keanu Reeves.) Don’t see it. However, it must be mentioned that Keanu was excellent. He had very few lines and I think that as long as he doesn’t speak he is an excellent actor. Saturday, three of us took our bikes on the subway (a bit of a no-no), visited the large river by Seoul, went to an arboreteum and a park kind of like Central Park and then rode the two hours back to our neighborhood. That was my true introduction to spring. The lilacs have finished blooming, the green is no longer new, but that green that is right before summer green sets in, the cherry blossoms were gorgeous, and my cat Rain is antsy.
Today was CPR training, tomorrow is Korean lessons, Thursday dinner with Keith who is leaving at the end of May (friendships are very much hello, goodbye here), Friday is the school play, Saturday helping with the Swim Meet, Sat night is our principal’s 40th with poker, and Sunday I will probably grade. Whew! So, friends, even though I’m turtling, no one really knows. Though Clay did take me to task for not updating my blog.
Well, I’ve got to grade . . . or watch TV.
My goal is to be back. Watch for new posts that maybe are a little more analytical, a little less woe is me.