Roy Porter writes that ‘women have come to dominate the cultural stereotyping of mental disorder’, with countless texts reinforcing this notion, including Sylvia Plath’s The Bell Jar and Elizabeth Wurtzel’s Prozac Nation. Whether in the form of movies, plays, poems, novels or memoirs, the variety of art which this topic has inspired demonstrates that stereotypes are of no use: no two experiences are the same. The aforementioned texts present two startlingly different approaches to unipolar depression: one declaring itself a memoir and the other labelled as semiautobiographical prose.
In Wurtzel’s opening paragraph, she electrocutes the reader into attention claiming ‘I feel like a defective model, like I came off the assembly line flat-out fucked and my parents should have taken me back for repairs before the warranty ran out.’ (p. 1). Plath’s approach is infinitely more subdued, arguably more crafted, seeming to portray the effect of the feeling of depression by using a detached tone. At times, this does make it difficult for readers to connect with Esther, Plath’s protagonist. N.B. Anybody considering commenting declaring that one needs to have experienced depression to appreciate Esther, let’s not, okay? It’s presumptuous and the typical response of somebody with no intelligent defence to present for The Bell Jar: you will just offend people. Disclaimers made, one of the most important things to me when I read a book is that I care what happens to a character, and personally, I just did not care about Esther. I also disliked the arrogance of Wurtzel at times, but could only commend her bravado in not toning herself down for the text.
Wurtzel herself is fascinated with troubled female writers, including Plath and Anne Sexton. The Bell Jar now functions ‘metonymically as a symbol of young women’s depression’, a view expressed by Janet Badia, one with which I completely agree. When reading Prozac Nation it is impossible to overlook the influence of Plath’s work on Wurtzel, making it interesting when Wurtzel asserts that her work was intended ‘to be completely true to the experience of depression – to the thing itself, and not […] translating it’ (p. 316). This suggests a consciousness of the vast wealth of other material on the subject and most importantly, their potential shortcomings. For me, Prozac Nation was a more engaging text, at times hideous with its aggressive, almost hyperbolic prose, but even this revulsion was better than the inertia of The Bell Jar.
If you’ve read both, you’ll agree that each has its place within the literature of the field, but I’m just curious as to which approach struck the most chords?
Plath, Sylvia, The Bell Jar (London: Faber and Faber Limited, 1966)
Wurtzel, Elizabeth, Prozac Nation: Young & Depressed in America, a memoir (London: Quartet Books Limited, 2005)
Gill, Jo, The Cambridge Introduction to Sylvia Plath (Cambridge: CUP, 2008)
Porter Roy, Madness: A Brief History (Oxford: OUP, 2003)
1 comment:
Interesting post! Let the debate begin...
I've read both books and enjoyed them very much; they're both very effective in terms of what they communicate.
However, I must say that, for me, The Bell Jar wins hands down, both in terms of originality and insight. Plath's literary conveyance of depersonalisation is unrivalled, and there's a subtle sadness that seems to seep from the book's pages without being referred to directly. It seems organically embedded in the text.
Wurtzel's book is very different. As you say, she doesn't come across well, but I agree that this adds weight to the authenticity of her experience. She talks about not wanting to 'mediate' her words, and she definitely achieves that. It is a raw and honest work.
I think that the books communicate two very different experiences. Not only that, but the cultural conditions under which these women experienced depression were very different. The fact that Plath couldn't 'act out' in the way Wurtzel did means that her prose is wonderfully stifled, and this allows it to paradoxically scream out from the pages in a way that defies language. Wurtzel's outbursts (both narratively and in terms of word choice) communicate her depression more directly, but result in the novel being far less nuanced and beautiful.
Should a book about depression be nuanced and beautiful? I guess this is partly the question you're grappling with.
But, what can I say. I'm a sucker for Plath.
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