Bell Jar Z.0

Shot from the series ‘Master of None,’ 2015.

I’ve taught Sylvia Plath’s The Bell Jar many times in several courses: American literature, major authors, women’s literature, and the American 1950s. Most are brimming with English majors. During my class discussions in the late 1990s, a few students would identify with protagonist Esther Greenwood’s mental health struggles. By the time I was teaching the novel to older Millennials, a sizable group of students was finding Esther’s academic performance anxiety parallel to their own. Theirs was the first test-test-test generation: scores on an expanded array of standardized tests would affect public K-12 school funding. Esther sweated her grades to maintain her scholarship at an elite private college. My students fretted over feeling responsible if a teacher got terminated because of their school’s test scores. I sensed that Plath’s most famous character was becoming more mainstream.

Mentimeter graphic from my Spring 2024 GenEd class

This year I taught The Bell Jar to General Education students for the first time; most were freshmen and none were Humanities majors. A few had heard of Sylvia Plath, yet none seemed to have read her writing. The course was on the American 1950s and campus life, featuring literature by Plath, John Cheever, Gwendolyn Brooks, Flannery O’Connor, James Baldwin, and Sloan Wilson. We also watched  Fifties family sitcoms and Rebel Without a Cause. For parsing postwar campus life, we did a deep dive into student publications in our University Archives. The weeks on Plath were my first in which students didn’t bring up the writer’s life. They were more interested in Esther’s campus life–finding much of her story highly relevant to their own. For them The Bell Jar was primarily a coming-of-age story, as well as a story about 1950s gender roles for women. Very few students thought it centered on breakdown and recovery–a consensus view from their Millennial predecessors. Mental illness and mental healthcare are everyday things now, and Plath’s protagonist strikes them as more normative than outlier. People are marrying later, and more of my students come from two-career households.

Peyton Howey, Faux Fifties Ad inspired by ‘The Bell Jar.’ 2024.

In their final papers on how their lives would change if they attended college in the 1950s, several students wrote that they couldn’t help but see themselves in Esther Greenwood–whether or not their gender, race, or ethnicity matched hers. My hunch is that these factors have brought about Bell Jar Z.0:

Fear of Failure. Being over-tested surely highlighted the fear of failure my students see in Esther–and sometimes in themselves. When I was in high school in the 1970s, I didn’t have the pressures of getting top grades to qualify for a free state tuition deal. I did feel a responsibility to do well because of my parents’ investment in my college education. But a high GPA wouldn’t save them money. In The Bell Jar, Esther felt the pressures of a practically perfect opportunity: a private school scholarship + a top summer internship in New York. She also bore the burden of her mother’s palpable disappointment in her setbacks.

Isolation and Expectations. Like all my recent students, this year’s GenEd students were isolated during a formative period of their education, separated from their peers and support networks through remote pandemic learning. For GenZ this happened during middle and/or high school. Several students’ papers mentioned how Esther’s isolation as an aspiring young woman and a newcomer to city prompted them to consider how they would be isolated as 1950s college students–as the only members of their demographic in their classes or majors, as first-generation college students, as international students. They can relate to the suffocation of circumstances and social expectations. I was struck by one student’s response that The Bell Jar was fundamentally about loneliness.

Fig Trees, FOMO & Futures. Most of these students saw themselves in Esther’s fig tree analogy: picking the fruit from one branch meant foregoing the others. They could identify with the paralysis of indecision that could leave them with an empty tree and unfulfilled ambitions. While the term FOMO (fear of missing out) was coined a decade ago, it started spreading through social media in 2010–when GenZ was coming of age. Facing more migratory job markets and anticipating more career changes than their predecessors, this generation is moving beyond binary models of career paths as they embrace less binary models of gender roles. Instead of regretting roads not taken, they tend to envision more than one future for themselves.

Unmoored from the facts of (and fixations on) Plath’s life, more GenZ students are beginning to make her novel their own story. Sixty years after its publication, The Bell Jar may be finding the wider audience it has waited for all along. – MB

Student work used by permission.

Plath and the Periodic Table

PrincetonScienceTeacher53
Princeton chemistry professor Hubert Alyea in 1953

I’m teaching The Bell Jar this week in my “Desperate Domesticity” class on the American 1950s. And what strikes me this time around is English major Esther Greenwood’s adventures in physics and chemistry (they culminate Chapter 3). Call it Plath’s periodic fable of women and STEM in the era of “rocket girls” and rocket bras.

BlondePlath1955
Sylvia Plath in 1955

A straight-A student, Esther found her first day of physics class rather ghastly as soon as her professor went to the blackboard: Then he started talking about let A equal acceleration and let T equal time and suddenly he was scribbling letters and numbers and equals signs all over the blackboard and my mind went dead. Wallace Stevens’s enigmatic line Let be be finale of seem in “The Emperor of Ice Cream” was infinitely easier. And so, apparently, was James Joyce’s notoriously difficult Finnegans Wake, the topic Esther would pursue in her honors thesis. Esther studied the STEM hieroglyphics of scorpion-lettered formulas. She mastered the 400-page textbook her professor had produced to explain physics to college girls–a terrifying tome composed of diagrams and more formulas.

 

Esther aced that physics class, showing that women had more to offer the atomic age than nuclear families. But she would rather launch a book than join the Space Age rocket girls. And she wants a vibrant life in which she can shoot off in all directions myself, like the colored arrows from a Fourth of July rocket.

periodictablechalkboardSo Esther devised a plan to just audit the chemistry class. The same professor used the periodic table of elements in which all the perfectly good words like gold and silver and cobalt and aluminum were shortened to ugly abbreviations with different decimal numbers after them. The materiality of these elements was, for her, the materiality of language.

She wrote villanelles and sonnets during her chemistry lectures, foregoing milliliters and milligrams for the metrical and rhythmic formulas of poetry–mirroring Plath’s own apprenticeship to poetic form. If Esther Greenwood felt STEMrolled by the physical sciences, Plath knew that poetry also had essential elements. 

I’ll close with a periodic table of poetry that Plath used in some of her college publications: Shakespearean sonnet structure. Here’s the first quatrain of her 1954 poem “Doom of Exiles,” which demonstrates how the strictures of poetic form offered Plath a looser confinement than scientific tables. (I’ve italicized the stressed syllables.) Each unit is a poetic foot, and each line conforms to the 5-foot pattern. But individual words can stretch across these units, and all lines need not have 5 beats. Even formal poets are free to break the rules:

Now we, | retur | ning  from | the vaul | ted  domes
Of our | colos | sal  sleep, | come home | to find
A tall | metro | polis | of  cat | acombs
Erec | ted  down | the gang | ways  of | our mind.

If nuclear physics splits the atom, formal poetry fits individual words to patterns. See if you can re-join the words I’ve split here.

–MB

SOURCES:
Sylvia Plath, The Bell Jar. 1963. New York: HarperPerennial, 2006.
Sylvia Plath, Collected Poems. New York: 1981. HarperPerennial, 1992.
Photograph of Hubert Alyea from LIFE.com

 

Parody Pedagogy: Plath as Style

Young Plath at her TypewriterHere’s my lead-in to a piece on Plath parodies for Plath Profiles #7. It’s a collaboration with students from my 2013 course on ‘Plath and Her Cultural Afterlife at 50’ (timed to coincide with the 50th anniversary of her death). In it, you’ll find wonderful parodies of these Plath poems:

“The Burnt-Out Spa”; “The Arrival of the Bee Box”; “Daddy”; “The Jailer”; “Cut” and “Lady Lazarus.”

Enjoy! You can access the full piece here (click PDF).

I tell my modern and contemporary poetry students that writing a parody is the most intimate form of literary analysis. You inhabit the poem in a different way—like living in an apartment long enough to find your roommate’s habits and quirks as familiar as the furniture. You may not know your roommate’s deep, dark secrets.parodywordmap But you know what she has for breakfast and what kind of deodorant she uses. Writing a parody is like fitting into someone else’s clothes and taking on her style, her flair. It’s better than karaoke because you bring the artist’s signature moves to the song, but get to improvise the words. Successful parodies blend intimacy and performance—the same effects we find so engaging in Sylvia Plath’s best known poems.

What does it mean to parody a writer that many readers find intimate already—and some find overly so? I find that parody pedagogy can spring Plath from her confessional crypt, spiriting her away from the biographical binds of her critical and media reception. Writing Plath parodies gives students an artful understanding of the intensities she brings to her page; they are devices and distillations, not death-drives and Daddy dilemmas. My students relished these aspects of Plath’s signature style: an energetic and flamboyant persona; an eye for detail and texture; embellished diction; rich sound devices; warped romance and domesticity; twisted humor. Parody pedagogy offers Plath’s poetry and prose as material to perform—not objects to interpret or symptoms to diagnose.

My students and I hope our Plath playlist inspires more teachers and students to engage this stylish writer through parody.  -MB

Revisiting Plath and Her Cultural Afterlife at 50

ElizabethWinderMB2This academic year I offered fall courses to coincide with the 50th anniversary of Sylvia Plath’s death and her novel, The Bell Jar. (My last Plath course coincided with the U.S. publication of Unabridged Journals, an experience I wrote about in an article for the journal Pedagogy.) In “Sylvia Plath and Her Cultural Afterlife,” students explored her poems, fiction, and journals in conjunction with her media image, including Christine Jeffs’s film Sylvia (in which a pre-Bond Daniel Craig plays Ted Hughes). The web gave us ready access to ongoing critical and popular conversations about Plath, especially the online journal Plath Profiles and Sylvia Plath Info Blog.

A highlight was our October visit from Elizabeth Winder, author of the most poetic book about Plath this anniversary year—Pain, Parties, Work. My students were drawn to the book’s artful reconstructions of Plath’s material world of fashion and femininity in the summer of 1953, the year of her Mademoiselle internship. Afterward, Elizabeth and I discussed our sense that the current generation of college students may very well be Plath’s ideal readers. Their understanding of sexuality and gender identity often yields a Plath more contemporary than conflicted, more mainstream than extreme. The men defended her from sensation journalism as ardently as the women did. And the women saw the collegiate Plath as someone like them. Teaching an entire course on Plath brings a level of intensity to the classroom that most subjects just don’t. It also fuels students’ creativity. Plath proves a most powerful Muse, disquieting as that may be. –MB