Kevin McGrath's X084 Intro to Lit Sec 002

I have just finished reading Chapters One through Six of Sylvia Plath's "The Bell Jar", and though I enjoy the book, I feel underwhelmed by the story that unfolded in the first six chapters of the book- that is, the dissolution of Esther's relationship with Buddy Willard. As I was reading, I had a completely different prediction of what would come. The first misleading passage was on the first page of Chapter Three, when Plath wrote, "With one exception I've been the same weight for ten years.” Aside from the obvious surprise at her implication that she had the same weight at age 9 as she did at age 19, I immediately assumed that she had weighed differently because she had been pregnant, and Buddy was the father. This belief was confirmed throughout the chapters as Esther continued to think of Buddy as a hypocrite, and kept saying that her discovery of his hypocrisy came with a baby, and happened "the day we saw a baby born." After all this build up, I was somewhat disappointed to discover that I found her problems to be so less dramatic and more circumstantial.However, I still am very confident in my prediction that Esther is going to take her own life by the end of "The Bell Jar." But then again, I feel like anyone with even a casual familiarity with the life of Sylvia Plath would be able to make that observation. Furthermore, even without having ever read “The Bell Jar” before or heard anything of its plot, I am aware of its reputation as a tremendous downer of a book. Based of the information given in the first six chapters, my guess is that Esther will kill herself by either A) throwing herself out of a window (because of her fury at her hotel windows’ inability to open), or B) drowning herself in the bathtub (this seems like the more likely situation, firstly because of Esther’s proclamations of a hot bath’s “purifying” abilities, and secondly because the smothering aspect of drowning feels closer to Plath’s own death by oven asphyxiation).Plath is clearly familiar with the concept of feeling like an outsider. The way that she accurately captures even the most personal of ideas that one experiences in such a situation – such as Esther’s inability to fit in with the people she wants to fit in with and feels more similar to, while feeling dissatisfied and out of place with those that do accept her – are too realistic and believable to be made up or imagined.

I have just finished reading Book Three of “The Wicked Pavilion” by Dawn Powell, and I find Powell’s writing style (in this particular example of it, at least) to be frustrating. I find it easy to get lost within the narrative that seems to jump from perspective to perspective, with its wide array of intersecting characters and events. For example, at the beginning of “Journey Over The Bridge,” the first of the four chapters within Book Three, Dalzell Sloane is recounting details of his old house. But suddenly, the narration begins talking about Ben, using statements like, “Ben remembers…” Now, perhaps it my inattentiveness may be to blame, but as the focus shifted to Ben, I didn’t even realize the switch, and was believing that all of these details should be attributed to Dalzell. Once I realized my error, I was forced to go back and reread all that I had misinterpreted to get a proper understanding of the reading. However, beyond that quibble of mine (that may well be my fault), I find Powell’s writing itself to be rather funny at times, such as when she describes the motorboat tarpaulin in the kitchen as “humorously ribboned as if it were the finest lace canopy,” or when Dalzell refrains from rebutting Ben because, “he knew that the one thing s perfectly frank person cannot take is frankness.”
I am always intrigued by this type of story, where a large cast of characters live coinciding and often overlapping lives, especially when previously existing and possibly familiar characters are put to use, like Powell’s Dennis Orphen (from her previous novel “Turn, Magic Wheel”) and Andy Callingham. This is especially true in movies such as “Magnolia” or Short Cuts.”
Also intriguing to me is the disheartening and morbidly sad idea that a person benefits himself in some way through premature death. Powell’s description of the events surrounding Marius’ passing (and their positive effect on his career as an artist) is reminiscent of the stories of James Dean and, more significantly, Marilyn Monroe. Also, I found Powell’s description of a certain minority of people who attempt to lay claim to their fortunes by piggybacking off of “great names of the past” to be still credible and relevant today in our star chasing society full of Kato Kaelins and stalkerazzi and third-rate entourage members who write memoirs about their relationships with people like Princess Diana and JFK Jr. I thought Powell’s account of all of this in relation to Marius’ death felt accurate and realistic.

Book Two of “The Passing” from “The Complete Fiction of Nella Larsen” is significantly less gripping and enveloping than Book One, with its suspenseful tea party conversation and the introduction of Irene and Clare’s troubles. Reading “The Passing”, I get a feeling of anticipation for something eventful or momentous to occur with our main characters. Clare’s increasing comfort within the home and lives of Irene and her family (and thus the growth of her double lives) feels like it must be leading to something significant. However, I have an unfortunate feeling that such a large and noteworthy occurrence will not occur, and that I will eventually be disappointed by the ending, and therefore “The Passing” in general as well.
I don’t quite know what to make of either of the two lead characters yet. Irene, for starters, has no backbone when dealing with Clare’s disarming personality in person, which I found to be both frustrating and relatable. All of her buildup and rehearsal and defiance in relation to a confrontation with Clare, and the subsequent submissiveness and phoniness when she comes in actual contact with Clare, are understandable reactions. However, they do not make her any more endearing or supportable as a main character. I feel like I don’t know of any defining characteristics or events that make her a character that I would want to root for or look forward to a positive end for. Her mess of a marriage is nothing to speak of either. I wonder, if Irene chose to refuse her opportunity to not try and “pass” as white, then why did she choose to live in a marriage that is no more happy – or honest – than Clare’s?
Speaking of Clare, her personality through Irene’s eyes – easy to hate from afar, but hard to dislike in person – is a familiar type of character. I believe that her willingness to be pitied amongst Irene and her friends & neighbors in Harlem shows just how desperate Clare is to unearth her black roots. Also, her feelings toward her daughter reminded me of Delia’s relationship with her children in “The Old Maid” by Edith Wharton – as if children are a next step in the process of living a certain kind of life, something that is intended to help remove the problems that these two women face. I also wonder if I should take seriously Irene’s premonitions of condescension in her interactions with Clare (i.e., every time a statement by Clare is described by Irene with words like “scoffingly” or “mockery”). As we have covered in class, Irene is not a reliable narrator, and her mixed feelings toward Clare may have influenced these observations.
And lastly, I was confused by the interaction between Irene and Hugh at the N.W.L. dance. It seemed as if Irene had implied to Hugh that Clare was “passing” as white,
but I can’t be sure. Hopefully this can be cleared up in class.