The Bell Jar by Sylvia Plath

From Goodreads:

This extraordinary work chronicles the crack-up of Esther Greenwood: brilliant, beautiful, enormously talented, successful - but slowly going under, and maybe for the last time. Step by careful step, Sylvia Plath takes us with Esther through a painful month in New York as a contest-winning junior editor on a magazine, her increasingly strained relationships with her mother and the boy she dated in college, and eventually, devastatingly, into the madness itself. The reader is drawn into her breakdown with such intensity that her insanity becomes completely real and even rational, as probable and accessible an experience as going to the movies. Such deep penetration into the dark and harrowing corners of the psyche is rare in any novel. It points to the fact that The Bell Jar is a largely autobiographical work about Plath's own summer of 1953, when she was a guest editor at Mademoiselle and went through a breakdown. It reveals so much about the sources of Sylvia Plath's own tragedy that its publication was considered a landmark in literature. 

To be perfectly honest I fully expected to loathe this book.  It sounds so horribly depressing and I much prefer sunshine and rainbows.

And then I read it in one day (almost to the neglect of my children) and LOVED it.

Esther's descent into madness, to me, didn't feel dark or depressing or horrific. The way she tells her story feels a bit like someone telling you about their recent vacation. It's sort of a personal narrative with feelings and whatnot but without the darkness and dramatics you would expect from someone falling into serious mental illness.

What I really loved, though, is that Plath brought her poetry into her writing. She is probably mostly remembered for this novel, but she was first and foremost a poet and it shines through in her prose. There were a few bits I read over and over just because I loved the wording or the imagery. One of my favorites:

Marco hooked an arm around my waist and jerked me up against his dazzling white suit. Then he said, "Pretend you are drowning."

I shut my eyes, and the music broke over me like a rainstorm.

I LOVE that.

Well played, Sylvia Plath. Well played.