The Bell Jar

The Bell Jar Core Collection

This edition of Sylvia Plath's 'The Bell Jar' is part of a public domain collection for Ontario post-secondary institutions.
The text and audio recordings are copyright-free, while front matter is licensed under Creative Commons Attribution 4.0.
The book includes accessibility features for screen readers and is available in multiple formats including PDF and epub.
The project was a collaboration between Ryerson and Brock universities funded by the Government of Ontario's Virtual Learning Strategy.

The Bell J ar The Bell J ar SYLVIA PLATH RYER SON UNIVER SITY TORONT O This wor k (The Bell J arby Sylvia Plath ) is fr ee of known copyright r estrictions. The Li brivox recordings ar e also fr ee of kno wn c opyright restric tions. All other ma terial in the fr ont and back ma tter is lic ense d under a Creative Commons A ttribution ( CC B Y) 4. 0 license unless other wise note d. Cover imag e byMysticsar tdesign onPixaba y This book w as pr oduc ed with Pr essbooks (h ttps:/ /pressbooks.c om) and render ed with Princ e. Series Intr oduction PUBLIC DOMAIN CORE COLLECTION TEAM The Public Domain Cor e Colle ction consists o f over 50 ti tles o f public domain w orks tha t have be en cr eated using Pr essbooks and made a vailable in online, epub, pdf and e ditable f orma ts. Althoug h the primar y audienc e for this c ollection is studen ts and facult y members in the post-se condar y education se ctor in On tario, the titles ar e freely available on the w eb to an yone who w ants to r ead or adapt them f or their o wn use. Titles w ere chosen f or this c ollection base d on the f ollowing criteria: •Relevance to post-se condar y courses ta ught in On tario •Frequenc y of appe arance on sy llabi liste d in the Open S yllabus Project •Propose d usag e in open assignmen ts in c ourses a t Ryerson and Brock univ ersities during the F all 20 21 semester •Inclusion o f underr epresen ted voices (including ti tles b y BIPOC a uthors ) •In the public domain All te xts ar e in the public domain (50 y ears af ter the de ath of the author ) in Canada as o f 2021. If you ar e accessing these te xts fr om another c ountry, please be a ware tha t some o f these w orks ma y not be in the public domain in y our c ountry. Supplemen tary ma terials (introduc tions, ackno wledgemen ts, e tc.) ar e lic ense d under a Creative Commons CC B Y 4.0license. Credit Statemen t Adapta tions o f public domain te xts do not r equire attribution; however, we would appr eciate ackno wledgemen t of the sour ce of the w ork as f ollows: Series I ntroduc tion |1 This w ork has be en adapte d fromThe Bell J ar, a ti tle fr om the eCampus Ontario Public Domain Cor e Colle ction. This work is in the Public Domain. Content from the fr ont and back ma tter is lic ense d under CC B Y 4.0, and should be a ttribute d according to Creative Commons best practices. If you ha ve sugg estions f or addi tional public domain ti tles tha t you w ould lik e to se e in this c ollection, ple ase c omple te this sugg estion f orm. This pr oject is made possi ble wi th funding b y the Go vernmen t of Ontario and the V irtual Le arning S trategy. To learn mor e about the Virtual Le arning S trategy visi t:https:/ /vls.e campuson tario.c a/. 2|The Bell J ar Introduction to the Book PUBLIC DOMAIN CORE COLLECTION TEAM This Public Domain Cor e Colle ction book w as cr eated using the Faber and F aber , 1971 thir d prin ting o f the 1966 e dition ofThe Bell J ar courtesy o fFaded Page. Introduc tion to the Book |3 Accessibility Statement PUBLIC DOMAIN CORE COLLECTION TEAM Accessibility F eatures of the W eb V ersion of this Resour ce The w eb version o fThe Bell J arhas be en optimiz ed for pe ople who use scr een-r eading te chnolog y and includes the f ollowing f eatures: •All content can be na vigated using a k eyboar d, •Links, he adings, and tables use pr oper mar kup, and •All imag es ha ve text descriptions. Other F ormats A vailable In addi tion to the w eb version, this book is a vailable in a number o f file forma ts including dig ital P DF, epub ( for eReaders ) and Li briVox audio r ecordings ( wher e available ). You c andownload these alterna tive forma tsfrom the book’ s home pag e. 4|Accessibility Statemen t Known Ac cessibility Is sues and Ar eas for Impr ovement Ther e are no kno wn ac cessibility issues a t this time. Let us kno w if y ou ar e having pr oblems accessing this boo k. If ac cessibility issues ar e stopping y ou fr om ac cessing the informa tion in this book, ple ase c ontact us a t pressbooks@r yerson.c ato le t us kno w and w e will g et it fixed. If you discover an y other issues, ple ase le t us kno w of those as w ell. Please include the f ollowing inf orma tion: •The loc ation o f the pr oblem b y providing a w eb addr ess or page description •A description o f the pr oblem •The c omputer , software, br owser , and an y assistiv e technolog y you ar e using tha t can help us diagnose and sol ve your issue e.g., W indo ws 10 , Goog le Chr ome ( Version 65. 0.3325.181), NVD A scr een reader This sta temen t was last upda ted on F ebruar y 15, 20 22. Accessibility Statemen t|5 Acknowle dgements PUBLIC DOMAIN CORE COLLECTION TEAM The Public Domain Cor e Colle ction Pr oject would not ha ve be en possi ble wi thout the en thusiastic c ollabor ation be tween staf f, facult y members and studen ts at Ryerson and B rock univ ersities. We came tog ether wi th a shar ed desir e to mak e commonl y use d public domain te xts mor e accessible to instruc tors and studen ts in our insti tutions, On tario and be yond. W e also w anted to enc ourage instruc tors to use the te xts as a basis f or open pe dagogy assignmen ts wi th the aim o f empo wering studen ts to be come knowledge creators r ather than just kno wledge consumers. Core Project Team Ryerson U niversity •Payton Flood, Dig ital Public ation Coor dina tor •Nipuni K uruppu, 4th y ear, Creative Industries studen t •Val Lem, Colle ctions Le ad, F acult y of Arts •Ann Ludbr ook, R esearch Le ad, Cop yright and Scholar ly Engag emen t Librarian •Emma Seston, 4th y ear, New M edia studen t •Sally Wilson, W eb Ser vices Li brarian, Pr oject Lead Brock U niversity •Giulia F orsy the, Associa te Dir ector, Cen tre for Pedagogical 6|Ackno wledgemen ts Innovation •Cal Mur gu, Liaison and I nstruc tional Design Li brarian •Jennif er Thiessen, H ead, Liaison Ser vices This pr oject is made possi ble wi th funding b y the Go vernmen t of Ontario and thr ough eCampus Ontario ’s suppor t of the V irtual Learning S trategy. To le arn mor e about the V irtual Le arning Strategy visi t:https:/ /vls.e campuson tario.c a.” Ackno wledgemen ts|7 Chapter 1

A Summer of Disconnection

The narrator reflects on the eerie atmosphere of a New York summer dominated by the news of the Rosenberg executions.
She describes a profound sense of physical and mental displacement, unable to enjoy her prestigious internship.
The text explores the contrast between the narrator's inner morbid obsessions and the superficial glamour of the fashion world.
The narrator portrays herself as a passive observer of her own life, feeling empty and numb despite her objective successes.
She uses the image of a cadaver's head to illustrate her inability to escape intrusive, disturbing thoughts.

It was a que er, sultr y summer , the summer the y ele ctrocute d the Rosenber gs, and I didn ’t kno w wha t I w as doing in N ew York. I’m stupid about e xecutions. The ide a of being ele ctrocute d mak es me sick, and tha t’s all ther e was to r ead about in the papers—g oggle- eyed he adlines staring up a t me on e very str eet corner and a t the fusty, peanut-smelling mouth o f every sub way. It had nothing to do with me, but I c ouldn ’t help w ondering wha t it would be lik e, being burne d aliv e all along y our ner ves. I thoug ht it must be the w orst thing in the w orld. New York was bad enoug h. B y nine in the morning the fak e, country-wet fr eshness tha t someho w se eped in o vernig ht evapor ated lik e the tail end o f a sw eet dream. Mir age-gr ey at the bottom o f their gr anite canyons, the hot str eets wavered in the sun, the c ar tops siz zled and g littered, and the dr y, tinder y dust ble w into my eyes and do wn m y thr oat. I kept he aring about the R osenber gs o ver the r adio and a t the office till I c ouldn ’t get them out o f my mind. I t was lik e the f irst time I sa w a c adaver. For w eeks af terwards, the c adaver’s head—or what ther e was lef t of it—floated up behind m y eggs and bac on at br eakfast and behind the fac e of Buddy W illard, who w as responsi ble f or m y seeing i t in the f irst plac e, and pr etty soon I f elt as thoug h I w ere carrying tha t cadaver’s head ar ound wi th me on a string, lik e some black, noseless balloon stinking o f vinegar . I kne w some thing w as wr ong wi th me tha t summer , because all I could think about w as the R osenber gs and ho w stupid I ’d be en to buy all those unc omfortable, e xpensiv e clothes, hang ing limp as f ish in m y close t, and ho w all the li ttle suc cesses I ’d tot ted up so happil y at colleg e fizzled to nothing outside the slick marble and pla te-g lass fronts along Madison A venue. I was suppose d to be ha ving the time o f my life. I was suppose d to be the en vy of thousands o f other c olleg e girls Chapter 1 |9 just lik e me all o ver Americ a who w anted nothing mor e than to be tripping about in those same siz e se ven pa tent leather shoes I’d boug ht in B looming dale’s one lunch hour wi th a black pa tent leather belt and black pa tent leather pock et-book to ma tch. And when m y pic ture came out in the magazine the t welve of us w ere working on—drinking mar tinis in a skimp y, imi tation sil ver-lamé bodic e stuck on to a big, fa t cloud o f whi te tulle, on some S tarlight Roof, in the c ompan y of several anon ymous y oung men wi th all- Americ an bone struc tures hir ed or loane d f or the occasion—e verybod y would think I must be ha ving a r eal whir l. Look wha t can happen in this c ountry, the y’d say. A g irl lives in some out-o f-the-w ay town f or nine teen y ears, so poor she c an’t afford a magazine, and then she g ets a scholarship to c olleg e and wins a priz e her e and a priz e ther e and ends up ste ering N ew York like her o wn priv ate car. Only I w asn’t ste ering an ything, not e ven m yself. I just bumpe d from m y hotel to w ork and to par ties and fr om par ties to m y hotel and back to w ork lik e a numb tr olley-bus. I guess I should ha ve been e xcited the w ay most o f the other g irls were, but I c ouldn ’t get myself to r eact. I f elt v ery still and v ery empt y, the w ay the eye of a tornado must f eel, mo ving dull y along in the middle o f the surrounding hullabaloo. Ther e were twelve of us a t the hotel. We had all w on a fashion magazine c ontest, b y wri ting essa ys and stories and poems and fashion blurbs, and as priz es the y ga ve us jobs in N ew York for a mon th, e xpenses paid, and piles and piles o f free bonuses, lik e balle t tick ets and passes to fashion sho ws and hair stylings a t a famous e xpensiv e salon and chanc es to me et suc cessful people in the f ield o f our desir e and ad vice about wha t to do wi th our par ticular c omple xions.

The Amazon Hotel

Twelve winners of a fashion magazine contest are awarded a month of professional opportunities and luxury gifts in New York City.
The narrator stays at the Amazon, a sheltered hotel for wealthy young women who appear profoundly bored by their privileged lifestyles.
Despite achieving a long-sought goal, the protagonist feels a sense of psychological paralysis, unable to fully engage with her surroundings.
She finds a cynical mentor in Doreen, a sharp-tongued girl who views their high-society experiences with amused contempt.

er e were twelve of us a t the hotel. We had all w on a fashion magazine c ontest, b y wri ting essa ys and stories and poems and fashion blurbs, and as priz es the y ga ve us jobs in N ew York for a mon th, e xpenses paid, and piles and piles o f free bonuses, lik e balle t tick ets and passes to fashion sho ws and hair stylings a t a famous e xpensiv e salon and chanc es to me et suc cessful people in the f ield o f our desir e and ad vice about wha t to do wi th our par ticular c omple xions. I still ha ve the mak e-up ki t the y gave me, f itted out f or a person with br own e yes and br own hair: an oblong o f brown masc ara with a tin y brush, and a r ound basin o f blue e ye-shado w just big enoug h to dab the tip o f your f inger in, and thr ee lipsticks r anging fr om r ed to pink, all c ased in the same li ttle g ilt bo x with a mirr or on one side. 10|The Bell J ar I also ha ve a whi te plastic sun-g lasses c ase wi th colour ed shells and sequins and a gr een plastic starf ish se wed on to i t. I realized we kept piling up these pr esen ts be cause i t was as g ood as fr ee advertising f or the f irms in volved, but I c ouldn ’t be c ynical. I got such a kick out o f all those fr ee gifts sho wering on to us. F or a long time af terwards I hid them a way, but la ter, when I w as all rig ht again, I br ought them out, and I still ha ve them ar ound the house. I use the lipsticks no w and then, and last w eek I cut the plastic starf ish o ff the sun-g lasses c ase f or the bab y to pla y with. So ther e were twelve of us a t the hotel, in the same wing on the same f loor in sing le rooms, one af ter the other , and i t reminde d me of my dormi tory at colleg e. It wasn’t a pr oper hotel— I me an a hotel wher e ther e are both men and w omen mix ed about her e and ther e on the same f loor. This hotel—the Amaz on— was for w omen onl y, and the y were mostl y girls m y ag e wi th w ealthy par ents who w anted to be sur e their da ughters w ould be living wher e men c ouldn ’t get at them and deceive them; and the y were all g oing to posh se cretarial schools like Ka ty Gi bbs, wher e the y had to w ear ha ts and stockings and gloves to class, or the y had just gr adua ted from plac es lik e Ka ty Gibbs and w ere secretaries to e xecutiv es and junior e xecutiv es and simpl y hang ing ar ound in N ew York waiting to g et marrie d to some career man or other . These g irls look ed awfull y bor ed to me. I sa w them on the sun- roof, ya wning and pain ting their nails and tr ying to k eep up their Bermuda tans, and the y seeme d bor ed as hell. I talk ed wi th one o f them, and she w as bor ed wi th yach ts and bor ed wi th flying ar ound in aer oplanes and bor ed with skiing in S witzerland a t Christmas and bored with the men in B razil. Girls lik e tha t mak e me sick. I ’m so je alous I c an’t spe ak. Nine teen years, and I hadn ’t be en out o f New Eng land e xcept f or this trip to New York. It was m y first big chanc e, but her e I w as, si tting back and letting i t run thr ough my fingers lik e so much w ater. I guess one o f my troubles w as Dor een. I’d ne ver kno wn a g irl like Dor een bef ore. Dor een c ame fr om a Chapter 1 |11 socie ty girls’ colleg e down South and had brig ht whi te hair standing out in a c otton c andy fluff round her he ad and blue e yes lik e transpar ent aga te marbles, har d and polishe d and just about indestruc tible, and a mouth se t in a sor t of perpe tual sne er. I don ’t mean a nast y sne er, but an amuse d, m ysterious sne er, as if all the people ar ound her w ere pretty sill y and she c ould tell some g ood jokes on them if she w anted to. Doreen sing led me out rig ht away. She made me f eel I w as tha t much sharper than the others, and she r eally was w onderfull y funn y. She use d to si t next to me a t the c onference table, and when the visiting c elebri ties w ere talking she ’d whisper wi tty sar castic remar ks to me under her br eath. Her colleg e was so fashio

Decadence and Disillusionment

Doreen captivates the narrator with her cynical wit and a sophisticated lifestyle characterized by what the narrator calls 'elaborate decadence.'
While the narrator respects her boss Jay Cee for her intelligence and literary connections, Doreen mocks Jay Cee’s appearance and professional discipline.
The narrator finds herself drawn to Doreen’s rebellious attitude, eventually deciding that the traditional mentors in her life have nothing left to teach her.
Betsy, a wholesome girl from Kansas, serves as a conventional foil to Doreen, representing a midwestern purity that the narrator finds herself drifting away from.

sne er, but an amuse d, m ysterious sne er, as if all the people ar ound her w ere pretty sill y and she c ould tell some g ood jokes on them if she w anted to. Doreen sing led me out rig ht away. She made me f eel I w as tha t much sharper than the others, and she r eally was w onderfull y funn y. She use d to si t next to me a t the c onference table, and when the visiting c elebri ties w ere talking she ’d whisper wi tty sar castic remar ks to me under her br eath. Her colleg e was so fashion-c onscious, she said, tha t all the g irls had pock et-book c overs made out o f the same ma terial as their dresses, so e ach time the y chang ed their clothes the y had a matching pock et-book. This kind o f de tail impr esse d me. I t sugg ested a whole lif e of mar vellous, elabor ate de cadenc e tha t attracted me lik e a magne t. The onl y thing Dor een e ver ba wled me out about w as bothering to get my assignmen ts in b y a de adline. “What are you sw eating o ver tha t for?” Dor een loung ed on m y bed in a pe ach silk dr essing-g own, f iling her long, nic otine-y ellow nails with an emer y boar d, while I t yped up the dr aft of an in terview wi th a best-selling no velist. That was another thing—the r est o f us had star ched cotton summer nig hties and quilte d house coats, or ma ybe terr y-to wel robes tha t double d as be achc oats, but Dor een w ore these full- length n ylon and lac e jobs y ou could half se e thr ough, and dr essing- gowns the c olour o f skin, tha t stuck to her b y some kind o f electricity. She had an in teresting, slig htly sw eaty smell tha t reminde d me o f those sc allop y leaves o f sw eet fern y ou br eak o ff and crush be tween your f ingers f or the musk o f them. “You kno w old J ay Ce e won’t give a damn if tha t stor y’s in tomorr ow or M onda y.” Dor een li t a cigar ette and le t the smok e flare slowly from her nostrils so her e yes w ere veiled. “Jay Ce e’s ug ly as 12|The Bell J ar sin,” Dor een w ent on c oolly. “I be t tha t old husband o f hers turns out all the lig hts bef ore he g ets ne ar her or he ’d puk e other wise. ” Jay Ce e was m y boss, and I lik ed her a lot, in spi te of wha t Dor een said. She w asn’t one o f the fashion magazine gushers wi th fak e eyelashes and g iddy jeweller y. Jay Ce e had br ains, so her plug-ug ly looks didn ’t se em to ma tter. She r ead a c ouple o f languag es and knew all the quali ty wri ters in the business. I trie d to imag ine J ay Ce e out o f her stric t office sui t and lunche on-dut y ha t and in be d wi th her fa t husband, but I just couldn ’t do i t. I al ways had a terri bly har d time tr ying to imag ine people in be d tog ether. Jay Ce e wanted to te ach me some thing, all the old ladies I e ver knew w anted to te ach me some thing, but I suddenl y didn ’t think they had an ything to te ach me. I f itted the lid on m y typewriter and click ed it shut. Doreen grinne d. “S mart girl.” Somebod y tappe d at the door . “Who is i t?” I didn ’t bother to g et up. “It’s me, Be tsy. Are you coming to the par ty?” “I guess so. ” I still didn ’t go to the door . They impor ted Be tsy str aight from Kansas wi th her bouncing blonde pon y-tail and S weetheart-of-Sigma-Chi smile. I r emember once the t wo of us w ere called over to the o ffice of some blue- chinne d TV produc er in a pin-stripe sui t to se e if w e had an y ang les he c ould build up f or a pr ogramme, and Be tsy star ted to tell about the male and f emale c orn in Kansas. She g ot so e xcited about tha t damn c orn e ven the pr oduc er had te ars in his e yes, onl y he c ouldn ’t use an y of it, unf ortuna tely, he said. Later on, the Be auty Edi tor persuade d Be tsy to cut her hair and made a c over girl out o f her , and I still se e her fac e no w and then, smiling out o f those “P .Q.’s wif e wears B.H. W ragge” ads. Betsy w as al ways asking me to do things wi th her and the other girls as if she w ere trying to sa ve me in some w ay. She ne ver ask ed Doreen. I n

The Allure of Cynicism

Esther consciously distances herself from the wholesome, successful Betsy, whom Doreen derisively nicknames 'Pollyanna Cowgirl.'
The narrator re-evaluates her relationship with Buddy Willard, concluding that his academic achievements are undermined by a total lack of intuition.
While stuck in New York City traffic, Esther feels a new sense of maturity and cynicism, bolstered by her expensive black shantung sheath dress.
A charismatic man in cowboy boots approaches the girls' taxi, offering an escape from the predictable and 'boring' official social schedule.
Despite hearing a warning in the mocking laughter of the stranger's friends, Esther feels a desperate urge to seize the opportunity for adventure.

t so e xcited about tha t damn c orn e ven the pr oduc er had te ars in his e yes, onl y he c ouldn ’t use an y of it, unf ortuna tely, he said. Later on, the Be auty Edi tor persuade d Be tsy to cut her hair and made a c over girl out o f her , and I still se e her fac e no w and then, smiling out o f those “P .Q.’s wif e wears B.H. W ragge” ads. Betsy w as al ways asking me to do things wi th her and the other girls as if she w ere trying to sa ve me in some w ay. She ne ver ask ed Doreen. I n priv ate, Dor een called her P ollyanna Co wgirl. “Do y ou w ant to c ome in our c ab?” Be tsy said thr ough the door . Chapter 1 |13 Doreen shook her he ad. “That’s all rig ht, Be tsy,” I said. “I ’m going wi th Dor een.” “Okay.” I could he ar Be tsy padding o ff down the hall. “We’ll just g o till w e get sick o f it,” Dor een told me, stubbing out her cigar ette in the base o f my bedside r eading-lamp, “then w e’ll go out on the to wn. Those par ties the y stag e her e remind me o f the old danc es in the school g ym. W hy do the y always round up Y alies? They’re so stoo-pi t!” Buddy Willard went to Y ale, but no w I thoug ht of it, wha t was wrong wi th him w as tha t he w as stupid. Oh, he ’d manag ed to g et good mar ks all rig ht, and to ha ve an af fair wi th some a wful w aitress on the Cape b y the name o f Glad ys, but he didn ’t have one spe ck of intuition. Dor een had in tuition. E verything she said w as lik e a se cret voice spe aking str aight out o f my own bones. We were stuck in the the atre-hour rush. Our c ab sa t wedged in back o f Betsy’s cab and in fr ont of a cab wi th four o f the other g irls, and nothing mo ved. Doreen look ed terrif ic. She w as w earing a str apless whi te lac e dress zippe d up o ver a snug c orse t affair tha t cur ved her in a t the middle and bulg ed her out again spe ctacular ly abo ve and belo w, and her skin had a br onzy polish under the pale dusting-po wder. She smelle d str ong as a whole perfume stor e. I wore a black shan tung she ath tha t cost me f orty dollars. I t was part of a bu ying spr ee I had wi th some o f my scholarship mone y when I he ard I w as one o f the lucky ones g oing to N ew York. This dress w as cut so que erly I c ouldn ’t wear an y sor t of a br a under it, but tha t didn ’t ma tter much as I w as skinn y as a bo y and bar ely ripple d, and I lik ed feeling almost nak ed on the hot summer nig hts. The ci ty had fade d my tan, thoug h. I look ed yellow as a Chinaman. Ordinaril y, I w ould ha ve be en ner vous about m y dress and m y odd colour , but being wi th Dor een made me f orget my worries. I f elt wise and c ynical as all hell. When the man in the blue lumber shir t and black chinos and toole d leather c owboy boots star ted to str oll o ver to us fr om under the stripe d awning o f the bar wher e he ’d be en e yeing our c ab, I 14|The Bell J ar didn ’t have any illusions. I kne w perf ectly well he ’d come f or Dor een. He thr eaded his w ay out be tween the stoppe d cars and le aned engag ingly on the sill o f our open windo w. “And wha t, ma y I ask, ar e two nic e girls lik e you doing all alone in a cab on a nic e nig ht like this?” He had a big, wide, whi te tooth-paste-ad smile. “We’re on our w ay to a par ty,” I blur ted, sinc e Dor een had g one suddenl y dumb as a post and w as fiddling in a blasé w ay wi th her white lac e pock et-book c over. “That sounds boring, ” the man said. “ Whyn’t you both join me f or a couple o f drinks in tha t bar o ver ther e? I’ve some friends w aiting as w ell.” He nodde d in the dir ection o f several inf ormall y dr esse d men slouching ar ound under the a wning. The y had be en following him with their e yes, and when he g lanced back a t them, the y burst out laughing. The la ughter should ha ve warne d me. I t was a kind o f low, kno w- it-all snick er, but the tr affic sho wed signs o f mo ving again, and I knew tha t if I sa t tight, in t wo seconds I ’d be wishing I ’d tak en this gift of a cha

Melting Into the Shadows

Esther and Doreen impulsively abandon their scheduled magazine group to join a charismatic stranger and his friends at a New York bar.
The narrator’s decision to leave the taxi causes a minor traffic accident, symbolizing her break from the orderly and planned life expected of her.
Esther experiences acute physical self-consciousness and social anxiety when she is paired with a short man, making her feel like a 'side-show' attraction.
In the dark bar, Esther feels her identity dissolving, comparing herself to a photographic negative while Doreen appears radiantly silver.
To mask her lack of experience with alcohol and social norms, Esther orders a plain vodka based solely on the aesthetic of a magazine advertisement.

o ver ther e? I’ve some friends w aiting as w ell.” He nodde d in the dir ection o f several inf ormall y dr esse d men slouching ar ound under the a wning. The y had be en following him with their e yes, and when he g lanced back a t them, the y burst out laughing. The la ughter should ha ve warne d me. I t was a kind o f low, kno w- it-all snick er, but the tr affic sho wed signs o f mo ving again, and I knew tha t if I sa t tight, in t wo seconds I ’d be wishing I ’d tak en this gift of a chanc e to se e some thing o f New York besides wha t the people on the magazine had planne d out f or us so c arefull y. “How about i t, Dor een?” I said. “How about i t, Dor een?” the man said, smiling his big smile. T o this day I c an’t remember wha t he look ed lik e when he w asn’t smiling. I think he must ha ve been smiling the whole time. I t must ha ve been natural for him, smiling lik e tha t. “Well, all rig ht,” Dor een said to me. I opene d the door , and w e steppe d out o f the c ab just as i t was edging ahe ad again and star ted to w alk o ver to the bar . Ther e was a terri ble shriek o f brakes followed by a dull thump- thump. “Hey you!” Our c abby was cr aning out o f his windo w wi th a furious, purple e xpression. “ Wadda ya think y ou’re doin ’?” He had stoppe d the c ab so abruptl y tha t the c ab behind bumpe d Chapter 1 |15 smack in to him, and w e could se e the f our g irls inside w aving and strugg ling and scr ambling up o ff the f loor. The man la ughed and lef t us on the k erb and w ent back and hande d a bill to the driv er in the middle o f a gr eat honking and some yelling, and then w e saw the g irls from the magazine mo ving o ff in a row, one c ab af ter another , like a w edding par ty with nothing but bridesmaids. “Come on, F rankie, ” the man said to one o f his friends in the gr oup, and a shor t, scrun ty fellow de tache d himself and c ame in to the bar with us. He was the t ype o f fellow I c an’t stand. I ’m five feet ten in m y stocking f eet, and when I am wi th little men I stoop o ver a bi t and slouch m y hips, one up and one do wn, so I ’ll look shor ter, and I f eel gawky and morbid as somebod y in a side-sho w. For a minute I had a wild hope w e mig ht pair o ff according to siz e, which w ould line me up wi th the man who had spok en to us in the first plac e, and he cle ared a g ood six f eet, but he w ent ahe ad wi th Doreen and didn ’t give me a se cond look. I trie d to pr etend I didn ’t see Frankie dogg ing along a t my elbow and sa t close b y Dor een a t the table. It was so dar k in the bar I c ould har dly mak e out an ything e xcept Doreen. W ith her whi te hair and whi te dr ess she w as so whi te she looked silver. I think she must ha ve reflected the ne ons o ver the bar . I felt m yself melting in to the shado ws lik e the nega tive of a person I’d ne ver se en bef ore in m y life. “Well, wha t’ll w e have?” the man ask ed with a lar ge smile. “I think I ’ll ha ve an Old-F ashione d,” Dor een said to me. Ordering drinks al ways floored me. I didn ’t kno w whisky fr om gin and ne ver manag ed to g et anything I r eally lik ed the taste o f. Buddy Willard and the other c olleg e bo ys I kne w were usuall y too poor to bu y har d liquor or the y sc orne d drinking altog ether. It’s amazing ho w man y colleg e bo ys don ’t drink or smok e. I se eme d to know them all. The far thest B uddy Willard ever w ent was bu ying us a bot tle o f Dubonne t, which he onl y did be cause he w as tr ying to prove he c ould be æsthe tic in spi te of being a me dical studen t. 16|The Bell J ar “I’ll ha ve a v odka, ” I said. The man look ed at me mor e closel y. “With an ything ?” “Just plain, ” I said. “I al ways ha ve it plain. ” I thoug ht I mig ht mak e a f ool o f myself b y saying I ’d ha ve it with ice or soda or g in or an ything. I ’d seen a v odka ad onc e, just a g lass full o f vodka standing in the middle o f a sno wdrift in a blue lig ht, and the v odka look ed cle ar and pur e

The Mask of Elly Higginbottom

The narrator orders a plain vodka, influenced by a minimalist advertisement, hoping the drink will finally provide the wonderful experience she seeks.
To protect her reputation and distance herself from her Boston roots, the narrator adopts the pseudonym Elly Higginbottom from Chicago.
Lenny Shepherd, a self-proclaimed famous disc jockey, ignores his friend Frankie to focus his intense attention on the glamorous and passive Doreen.
The narrator feels a surge of god-like power and physical strength as the tasteless vodka takes effect, viewing the social scene with detached superiority.
The group dynamic becomes increasingly surreal as Lenny acts like a dog to get fruit from Doreen's glass and Frankie desperately begs for money.

ying to prove he c ould be æsthe tic in spi te of being a me dical studen t. 16|The Bell J ar “I’ll ha ve a v odka, ” I said. The man look ed at me mor e closel y. “With an ything ?” “Just plain, ” I said. “I al ways ha ve it plain. ” I thoug ht I mig ht mak e a f ool o f myself b y saying I ’d ha ve it with ice or soda or g in or an ything. I ’d seen a v odka ad onc e, just a g lass full o f vodka standing in the middle o f a sno wdrift in a blue lig ht, and the v odka look ed cle ar and pur e as w ater, so I thoug ht having v odka plain must be all rig ht. My dream w as some da y ordering a drink and finding out i t taste d wonderful. The w aiter c ame up then, and the man or dered drinks f or the f our of us. H e look ed so a t home in tha t citified bar in his r anch outf it I thoug ht he mig ht well be somebod y famous. Doreen w asn’t saying a w ord, she onl y toyed wi th her c ork plac e- mat and e ventuall y lit a cigar ette, but the man didn ’t seem to mind. He kept staring a t her the w ay pe ople star e at the gr eat whi te macaw in the z oo, w aiting f or it to sa y some thing human. The drinks arriv ed, and mine look ed cle ar and pur e, just lik e the vodka ad. “What do y ou do ?” I ask ed the man, to br eak the silenc e shooting up ar ound me on all sides, thick as jung le gr ass. “I me an wha t do y ou do her e in N ew York?” Slowly and wi th wha t seeme d a gr eat effort, the man dr agged his eyes away from Dor een’s shoulder . “I’m a disc jock ey,” he said. “ You prob’ly must ha ve heard of me. The name ’s Lenn y Shepher d.” “I kno w you,” Dor een said suddenl y. “I’m glad about tha t, hone y,” the man said, and burst out la ughing. “That’ll come in hand y. I’m famous as hell. ” Then Lenn y Shepher d gave Frankie a long look. “Say, wher e do y ou c ome fr om?” Frankie ask ed, sitting up wi th a jerk. “What’s your name ?” “This her e’s Dor een.” Lenn y slid his hand ar ound Dor een’s bar e arm and ga ve her a sque eze. What surprise d me w as tha t Dor een didn ’t let on she notic ed wha t he w as doing. She just sa t ther e, dusky as a ble ache d blonde negr ess in her whi te dr ess and sippe d dain tily at her drink. Chapter 1 |17 “My name ’s Elly Higginbot tom, ” I said. “I c ome fr om Chic ago.” After that I felt saf er. I didn ’t want anything I said or did tha t nig ht to be associa ted with me and m y real name and c oming fr om Boston. “Well, Ell y, wha t do y ou sa y we danc e some ?” The thoug ht of dancing wi th tha t little run t in his or ange sue de elevator shoes and ming y T-shir t and dr oopy blue spor ts coat made me la ugh. If ther e’s an ything I look do wn on, i t’s a man in a blue outfit. Black or gr ey, or br own, e ven. B lue just mak es me la ugh. “I’m not in the mood, ” I said c oldly, turning m y back on him and hitching m y chair o ver ne arer to Dor een and Lenn y. Those t wo look ed as if the y’d kno wn e ach other f or years b y no w. Doreen w as spooning up the hunks o f frui t at the bot tom o f her glass wi th a spindl y silver spoon, and Lenn y was grun ting e ach time she lif ted the spoon to her mouth, and snapping and pr etending to be a dog or some thing, and tr ying to g et the frui t off the spoon. Doreen g iggled and k ept spooning up the frui t. I began to think v odka w as m y drink a t last. I t didn ’t taste lik e anything, but i t went str aight down in to m y stomach lik e a sw ord- swallower’s sw ord and made me f eel po werful and g od-lik e. “I be tter g o no w,” Frankie said, standing up. I couldn ’t see him v ery cle arly, the plac e was so dim, but f or the first time I he ard wha t a hig h, sill y voice he had. N obod y paid him any notic e. “Hey, Lenn y, you o we me some thing. R emember , Lenn y, you o we me some thing, don ’t you, Lenn y?” I thoug ht it odd F rankie should be r eminding Lenn y he o wed him some thing in fr ont of us, and w e being perf ect strangers, but F rankie stood ther e saying the same thing o ver and o ver un til Lenn y dug into

The Ranch in New York

Lenny pays a ten-dollar debt to Frankie before escorting Doreen and the narrator to his apartment.
The narrator reflects on her voyeuristic need to observe people in crucial situations like accidents or street fights.
Lenny's New York residence is a surreal Western-themed ranch replica complete with pine walls and taxidermy.
The host plays back recordings of himself acting as a disc jockey, showcasing his vanity and expensive equipment.
Doreen expresses a sense of unease and asks the narrator to stay close for protection against Lenny's advances.

e said, standing up. I couldn ’t see him v ery cle arly, the plac e was so dim, but f or the first time I he ard wha t a hig h, sill y voice he had. N obod y paid him any notic e. “Hey, Lenn y, you o we me some thing. R emember , Lenn y, you o we me some thing, don ’t you, Lenn y?” I thoug ht it odd F rankie should be r eminding Lenn y he o wed him some thing in fr ont of us, and w e being perf ect strangers, but F rankie stood ther e saying the same thing o ver and o ver un til Lenn y dug into his pock et and pulle d out a big r oll of green bills and pe eled one off and hande d it to F rankie. I think i t was ten dollars. “Shut up and scr am.” For a minute I thoug ht Lenn y was talking to me as w ell, but then I heard Dor een sa y “I w on’t come unless Ell y comes” . I had to hand i t to her the w ay she pick ed up m y fak e name. “Oh, Ell y’ll c ome, w on’t you, Ell y?” Lenn y said, g iving me a wink. 18|The Bell J ar “Sure I’ll come, ” I said. F rankie had wilte d away into the nig ht, so I thoug ht I’d string along wi th Dor een. I w anted to se e as much as I could. I liked looking on a t other pe ople in crucial si tuations. I f ther e was a road ac ciden t or a str eet fight or a bab y pickle d in a labor atory jar for me to look a t, I’d stop and look so har d I ne ver forgot it. I certainl y learne d a lot o f things I ne ver w ould ha ve learne d other wise this w ay, and e ven when the y surprise d me or made me sick I ne ver le t on, but pr etende d tha t’s the w ay I kne w things w ere all the time. Chapter 1 |19 Chapter 2 I wouldn ’t have misse d Lenn y’s plac e for an ything. It was built e xactly like the inside o f a r anch, onl y in the middle of a N ew York apar tmen t house. H e’d had a f ew par titions knock ed down to mak e the plac e broaden out, he said, and then had them pine-panel the w alls and f it up a spe cial pine-panelle d bar in the shape o f a horseshoe. I think the f loor w as pine-panelle d, too. Great whi te be arskins la y about underf oot, and the onl y furni ture was a lot o f low be ds covered wi th Indian rugs. I nste ad o f pic tures hung up on the w alls, he had an tlers and buf falo horns and a stuf fed rabbi t head. Lenn y jutted a thumb a t the me ek little gr ey muz zle and stiff jackr abbi t ears. “Ran o ver tha t in L as Vegas. ” He walked away acr oss the r oom, his c owboy boots e choing lik e pistol shots. “ Acoustics, ” he said, and gr ew smaller and smaller un til he vanishe d thr ough a door in the distanc e. All a t onc e music star ted to c ome out o f the air on e very side. Then i t stoppe d, and w e heard Lenn y’s voice say “This is y our t welve o’clock disc jock, Lenn y Shepher d, wi th a r ound-up o f the tops in pops. Number T en in the w agon tr ain this w eek is none other than that little yaller -hair ed gal y ou be en he arin’ so much about la tely … the one an ’ only Sunflower!” I was born in Kansas, I w as br ed in Kansas, And when I marr y I’ll be w ed in Kansas… “What a card!” Dor een said. “I sn’t he a c ard?” “You be t,” I said. “Listen, Ell y, do me a fa vour.” She se eme d to think Ell y was who I really was by no w. “Sure,” I said. “Stick ar ound, will y ou? I w ouldn ’t ha ve a chanc e if he trie d anything funn y. Did y ou se e tha t muscle ?” Dor een g iggled. Lenn y poppe d out o f the back r oom. “I g ot twenty grand’s worth 20|Chapter 2 of recording e quipmen t in ther e.” He amble d over to the bar and se t out thr ee glasses and a sil ver ic e-buck et and a big pi tcher and began to mix drinks fr om se veral dif ferent bot tles. …to a true-blue gal who pr omise d she w ould w ait— She’s the sunf lower of the S unflower State. “Terrif ic, huh ?” Lenn y came o ver, balancing thr ee glasses. B ig drops stood out on them lik e sw eat, and the ic e-cubes jing led as he passe d them r ound. Then the music t wanged to a stop, and w e heard Lenn y’s voice announcing the ne xt number . “Nothing lik e listening to y ourself talk. Sa y,” Lenn y’s eye l

The Shrinking Observer

The narrator experiences a profound sense of isolation while watching the increasingly intimate and erratic behavior of Lenny and Doreen.
A sense of detachment is illustrated through the metaphor of a traveler moving rapidly away from a bright, exciting city.
The social atmosphere turns volatile when a jitterbug dance escalates into a violent and sexually charged physical confrontation.
Overwhelmed by the chaos and her own feelings of insignificance, the narrator flees the apartment into the night air.

and a big pi tcher and began to mix drinks fr om se veral dif ferent bot tles. …to a true-blue gal who pr omise d she w ould w ait— She’s the sunf lower of the S unflower State. “Terrif ic, huh ?” Lenn y came o ver, balancing thr ee glasses. B ig drops stood out on them lik e sw eat, and the ic e-cubes jing led as he passe d them r ound. Then the music t wanged to a stop, and w e heard Lenn y’s voice announcing the ne xt number . “Nothing lik e listening to y ourself talk. Sa y,” Lenn y’s eye ling ered on me, “F rankie v amoose d, you oug ht to ha ve somebod y, I’ll call up one o f the f ellers. ” “That’s oka y,” I said. “ You don ’t ha ve to do tha t.” I didn ’t want to come str aight out and ask f or somebod y several siz es lar ger than Frankie. Lenn y look ed relieved. “Just so ’s you don ’t mind. I w ouldn ’t want to do wr ong b y a friend o f Dor een’s.” He ga ve Dor een a big whi te smile. “ Would I, hone ybun ?” He held out a hand to Dor een, and wi thout a w ord the y both started to ji tterbug, still hang ing on to their g lasses. I sat cross-legg ed on one o f the be ds and trie d to look de vout and impassiv e lik e some businessmen I onc e saw watching an Alg erian belly-danc er, but as soon as I le aned back against the w all under the stuf fed rabbi t, the be d star ted to r oll out in to the r oom, so I sa t down on a be arskin on the f loor and le aned back against the be d inste ad. My drink w as w et and depr essing. Each time I took another sip it taste d mor e and mor e like de ad w ater. Around the middle o f the glass ther e was pain ted a pink lasso wi th yellow polka dots. I dr ank to about an inch belo w the lasso and w aited a bi t, and when I w ent to tak e another sip, the drink w as up to lasso-le vel again. Out o f the air Lenn y’s ghost v oice boome d, “Wye oh wy e did I e ver leave Wyoming ?” The t wo of them didn ’t even stop ji tterbugg ing during the intervals. I f elt m yself shrinking to a small black dot against all those Chapter 2 |21 red and whi te rugs and tha t pine-panelling. I f elt lik e a hole in the ground. Ther e is some thing demor alizing about w atching t wo pe ople g et more and mor e crazy about e ach other , espe cially when y ou ar e the only extra person in the r oom. It’s like watching P aris fr om an e xpress c aboose he ading in the opposi te dir ection—e very second the ci ty gets smaller and smaller , only you feel it’s really you g etting smaller and smaller and lonelier and lonelier , rushing a way from all those lig hts and tha t excitemen t at about a million miles an hour . Every so o ften Lenn y and Dor een w ould bang in to each other and kiss and then swing back to tak e a long drink and close in on e ach other again. I thoug ht I mig ht just lie do wn on the be arskin and g o to sle ep un til Dor een felt ready to g o back to the hotel. Then Lenn y gave a terri ble r oar. I sa t up. Dor een w as hang ing on to Lenn y’s left earlobe wi th her te eth. “Legg o, you bi tch!” Lenn y stoope d, and Dor een w ent flying up on to his shoulder , and her g lass saile d out o f her hand in a long, wide ar c and f etche d up against the pine-panelling wi th a sill y tinkle. Lenn y was still r oaring and whir ling r ound so fast I c ouldn ’t see Dor een’s fac e. I notic ed, in the r outine w ay you notic e the c olour o f somebod y’s eyes, tha t Dor een’s breasts had poppe d out o f her dr ess and w ere swing ing out slig htly lik e full br own melons as she cir cled bell y- down on Lenn y’s shoulder , thr ashing her legs in the air and screeching, and then the y both star ted to la ugh and slo w up, and Lenn y was tr ying to bi te Dor een’s hip thr ough her skir t when I let myself out the door bef ore an ything mor e could happen and manag ed to g et do wnstairs b y leaning wi th both hands on the banister and half sliding the whole w ay. I didn ’t realize Lenn y’s plac e had be en air -condi tione d un til I wavered out on to the pa vemen t. The tr opic al, stale he

Isolation in the City

Esther flees Lenny’s apartment during a rowdy encounter and chooses to walk over forty blocks back to her hotel in the oppressive heat.
Back at the hotel, she is struck by her own reflection in the elevator mirror, feeling significantly aged and worn down.
She experiences a profound psychological detachment where the bustling city outside her window feels silent, flat, and entirely inaccessible.
The sight of the UN building and the city lights fails to move her, as she feels an internal silence that drowns out the world's noise.
She cynically considers her social obligations, specifically the meddling of Buddy Willard’s mother and the domestic life expected of her.

on Lenn y’s shoulder , thr ashing her legs in the air and screeching, and then the y both star ted to la ugh and slo w up, and Lenn y was tr ying to bi te Dor een’s hip thr ough her skir t when I let myself out the door bef ore an ything mor e could happen and manag ed to g et do wnstairs b y leaning wi th both hands on the banister and half sliding the whole w ay. I didn ’t realize Lenn y’s plac e had be en air -condi tione d un til I wavered out on to the pa vemen t. The tr opic al, stale he at the sidewalks had be en sucking up all da y hit me in the fac e like a last insult. I didn ’t kno w wher e in the w orld I w as. For a minute I en tertaine d the ide a of taking a c ab to the par ty 22|The Bell J ar after all, but de cided against i t because the danc e mig ht be o ver by no w, and I didn ’t feel lik e ending up in an empt y barn o f a ballr oom str ewn wi th c onfetti and cigar ette-but ts and crumple d cocktail napkins. I walked carefull y to the ne arest str eet corner , brushing the w all of the buildings on m y lef t with the tip o f one f inger to ste ady myself. I look ed at the str eet sign. Then I took m y New York str eet map out o f my pock et-book. I w as exactly forty-thr ee blocks b y five blocks a way from m y hotel. Walking has ne ver faz ed me. I just se t out in the rig ht dir ection, counting the blocks under m y breath, and when I w alked into the lobb y of the hotel I w as perf ectly sober and m y feet onl y slig htly swollen, but tha t was m y own fa ult be cause I hadn ’t bother ed to wear an y stockings. The lobb y was empt y except f or a nig ht cler k dozing in his li t booth among the k ey-rings and the silen t telephones. I slid in to the self -service ele vator and pushe d the but ton f or m y floor. The doors f olde d shut lik e a noiseless ac cordion. Then m y ears w ent funn y, and I notic ed a big, smudg y-eyed Chinese w oman staring idiotic ally into m y fac e. It was onl y me, o f course. I w as appalle d to se e ho w wrinkle d and use d-up I look ed. Ther e wasn’t a soul in the hall. I le t myself in to m y room. I t was full of smok e. At first I thoug ht the smok e had ma terializ ed out o f thin air as a sor t of judg emen t, but then I r emember ed it was Dor een’s smok e and pushe d the but ton tha t opene d the windo w vent. The y had the windo ws f ixed so y ou c ouldn ’t really open them and le an out, and f or some r eason this made me furious. By standing a t the lef t side o f the windo w and la ying m y che ek to the w oodwork, I c ould se e do wntown to wher e the UN balanc ed itself in the dar k, lik e a w eird, gr een, Mar tian hone ycomb. I c ould see the mo ving r ed and whi te lig hts along the driv e and the lig hts of the bridg es whose names I didn ’t kno w. The silenc e depr esse d me. I t wasn’t the silenc e of silenc e. It was my own silenc e. I kne w perf ectly well the c ars w ere making a noise, and the pe ople Chapter 2 |23 in them and behind the li t windo ws o f the buildings w ere making a noise, and the riv er w as making a noise, but I c ouldn ’t he ar a thing. The ci ty hung in m y windo w, flat as a poster , glittering and blinking, but i t mig ht just as w ell not ha ve been ther e at all, f or all the g ood i t did me. The china-whi te be dside telephone c ould ha ve conne cted me up with things, but ther e it sat, dumb as a de ath’s head. I trie d to think of people I ’d given m y phone number to, so I c ould mak e a list o f all the possi ble c alls I mig ht be about to r eceive, but all I c ould think o f was tha t I’d given m y phone number to B uddy Willard’s mother so she c ould g ive it to a simultane ous in terpr eter she kne w at the UN . I let out a small, dr y laugh. I could imag ine the sor t of simultane ous in terpr eter Mrs W illard would in troduc e me to when all the time she w anted me to marr y Buddy, who w as taking the cur e for TB some wher e in upper N ew York State. B uddy’s mother had e ven arr anged for me to be g iven

Rituals of Purification

Esther reflects on the stifling expectations of Mrs. Willard, who hoped Esther would work at a TB sanatorium to be near her son Buddy.
Faced with existential dread and social exhaustion, the protagonist turns to a scalding hot bath as her primary method of emotional recovery.
She describes the bath as a secular baptism, imagining that the 'dirt' of her recent social experiences in New York is being washed away.
The process of immersion allows her to feel 'pure' again, mentally dissolving the people and events that have troubled her during her trip.
Her hard-won sense of peace and purity is abruptly interrupted when a drunken Doreen returns to the hotel, knocking and calling out for her.

ig ht be about to r eceive, but all I c ould think o f was tha t I’d given m y phone number to B uddy Willard’s mother so she c ould g ive it to a simultane ous in terpr eter she kne w at the UN . I let out a small, dr y laugh. I could imag ine the sor t of simultane ous in terpr eter Mrs W illard would in troduc e me to when all the time she w anted me to marr y Buddy, who w as taking the cur e for TB some wher e in upper N ew York State. B uddy’s mother had e ven arr anged for me to be g iven a job as a w aitress a t the TB sana torium tha t summer so B uddy wouldn ’t be lonel y. She and B uddy couldn ’t understand wh y I chose to go to N ew York City inste ad. The mirr or over m y bur eau seeme d slig htly warpe d and much too silver. The fac e in i t look ed lik e the r eflection in a ball o f den tist’s mercury. I thoug ht of crawling in be tween the be d-she ets and trying to sle ep, but tha t appe aled to me about as much as stuf fing a dirty, scrawled-over le tter in to a fr esh, cle an en velope. I de cided to take a hot ba th. Ther e must be qui te a f ew things a hot ba th w on’t cur e, but I don’t kno w man y of them. W hene ver I’m sad I ’m going to die, or so nervous I c an’t sle ep, or in lo ve with somebod y I w on’t be se eing f or a week, I slump do wn just so far and then I sa y: “I’ll go tak e a hot bath.” I me ditate in the ba th. The w ater ne eds to be v ery hot, so hot y ou can bar ely stand put ting y our f oot in i t. Then y ou lo wer yourself, inch b y inch, till the w ater’s up to y our ne ck. I remember the c eilings o ver every bathtub I ’ve str etche d out in. I remember the te xture of the c eilings and the cr acks and the c olours 24|The Bell J ar and the damp spots and the lig ht fixtur es. I r emember the tubs, too: the an tique grif fin-legg ed tubs, and the modern c offin-shape d tubs, and the fanc y pink marble tubs o verlooking indoor lil y ponds, and I remember the shapes and siz es of the w ater taps and the dif ferent sorts of soap-holders. I never feel so much m yself as when I ’m in a hot ba th. I lay in tha t tub on the se venteenth floor o f this hotel f or-women- only, hig h up o ver the jaz z and push o f New York, for ne ar on to an hour , and I f elt m yself gr owing pur e again. I don ’t belie ve in baptism or the w aters o f Jordan or an ything lik e tha t, but I guess I f eel about a hot ba th the w ay those r eligious pe ople f eel about hol y water. I said to m yself: “Dor een is dissol ving, Lenn y Shepher d is dissol ving, F rankie is dissol ving, N ew York is dissol ving, the y are all dissol ving a way and none o f them ma tter an y mor e. I don ’t kno w them, I ha ve ne ver kno wn them and I am v ery pur e. All tha t liquor and those sticky kisses I sa w and the dir t tha t settled on m y skin on the w ay back is turning in to some thing pur e.” The long er I la y ther e in the cle ar hot w ater the pur er I f elt, and when I steppe d out a t last and wr appe d myself in one o f the big, so ft, white, hotel ba th-to wels I f elt pur e and sw eet as a ne w bab y. I don ’t kno w ho w long I had be en asle ep when I he ard the knocking. I didn ’t pa y an y attention a t first, be cause the person knocking k ept sa ying “Ell y, Elly, Elly, let me in ”, and I didn ’t kno w any Ell y. Then another kind o f knock sounde d over the f irst dull, bumping knock —a sharp tap-tap, and another , much crisper v oice said “Miss Gr eenwood, y our friend w ants you,” and I kne w it was Doreen. I swung to m y feet and balanc ed diz zily for a minute in the middle of the dar k room. I f elt angr y wi th Dor een for w aking me up. All I stood a chanc e of getting out o f tha t sad nig ht was a g ood sle ep, and she had to w ake me up and spoil i t. I thoug ht if I pr etende d to be asle ep the knocking mig ht go away and le ave me in pe ace, but I waited, and i t didn ’t. “Elly, Elly, Elly,” the f irst v oice mumble d, while the other v oice Chapter 2 |25 went on hissing “Miss Gr eenwood,

A Lurid Third Interval

Esther is awakened in the middle of the night by a drunken Doreen and a stern night maid, leading to a surreal sense of timelessness.
The physical presence of the hardworking night maid makes Esther feel judged, prompting a desire to distance herself from Doreen’s behavior.
After Doreen vomits and passes out on the hallway carpet, Esther chooses to leave her there rather than bring the mess into her own room.
This moment of disgust leads Esther to make a internal decision to abandon her association with Doreen and align herself with the 'innocent' Betsy.
The following morning, the hallway is empty and clean, leaving only a faint stain as evidence of the night's sordid events.

swung to m y feet and balanc ed diz zily for a minute in the middle of the dar k room. I f elt angr y wi th Dor een for w aking me up. All I stood a chanc e of getting out o f tha t sad nig ht was a g ood sle ep, and she had to w ake me up and spoil i t. I thoug ht if I pr etende d to be asle ep the knocking mig ht go away and le ave me in pe ace, but I waited, and i t didn ’t. “Elly, Elly, Elly,” the f irst v oice mumble d, while the other v oice Chapter 2 |25 went on hissing “Miss Gr eenwood, Miss Gr eenwood, Miss Greenwood,” as if I had a spli t personali ty or some thing. I opene d the door and blink ed out in to the brig ht hall. I had the impr ession i t wasn’t nig ht and i t wasn’t da y, but some lurid thir d interval tha t had suddenl y slippe d be tween them and w ould ne ver end. Doreen w as slumpe d against the door -jamb. W hen I c ame out, she topple d into m y arms. I c ouldn ’t see her fac e because her he ad w as hang ing do wn on her chest and her stif f blonde hair f ell fr om i ts dark roots lik e a hula fring e. I recogniz ed the shor t, squa t, moustache d woman in the black uniform as the nig ht maid who ir oned day-dr esses and par ty-frocks in a cr owded cubicle on our f loor. I couldn ’t understand ho w she came to kno w Dor een or wh y she should w ant to help Dor een w ake me up inste ad of leading her quie tly back to her o wn r oom. Seeing Dor een suppor ted in m y arms and silen t except f or a f ew wet hic cups, the w oman str ode a way do wn the hall to her cubicle with its ancien t Singer se wing-machine and whi te ir oning-boar d. I wanted to run af ter her and tell her I had nothing to do wi th Doreen, be cause she look ed stern and har d-working and mor al as an old-st yle European immigr ant and r eminde d me o f my Austrian grandmother . “Lemme lie do wn, lemme lie do wn,” Dor een w as mut tering. “Lemme lie do wn, lemme lie do wn.” I felt if I c arrie d Dor een acr oss the thr eshold in to m y room and helpe d her on to m y bed I w ould ne ver get rid o f her again. Her bod y was w arm and so ft as a pile o f pillo ws against m y arm wher e she le aned her w eight, and her f eet, in their hig h, spik ed heels, dr agged foolishl y. She w as much too he avy for me to budg e down the long hall. I decided the onl y thing to do w as to dump her on the c arpe t and shut and lock m y door and g o back to be d. W hen Dor een w oke up she w ouldn ’t remember wha t had happene d and w ould think she must ha ve passe d out in fr ont of my door while I slept, and she would g et up o f her o wn ac cord and g o sensi bly back to her r oom. 26|The Bell J ar I star ted to lo wer Dor een g ently on to the gr een hall c arpe t, but she ga ve a lo w moan and pi tche d forward out o f my arms. A je t of brown v omit flew from her mouth and spr ead in a lar ge puddle a t my feet. Suddenl y Dor een gr ew even he avier. Her he ad dr oope d forward into the puddle, the wisps o f her blonde hair dabbling in i t like tree roots in a bog, and I r ealized she w as asle ep. I dr ew back. I f elt half - asleep m yself. I made a de cision about Dor een tha t nig ht. I de cided I w ould watch her and listen to wha t she said, but de ep do wn I w ould ha ve nothing a t all to do wi th her . Deep do wn, I w ould be lo yal to Be tsy and her innoc ent friends. I t was Be tsy I r esemble d at heart. Quie tly, I steppe d back in to m y room and shut the door . On second thoug hts, I didn ’t lock i t. I c ouldn ’t qui te bring m yself to do that. When I w oke up in the dull, sunless he at the ne xt morning, I dresse d and splashe d my fac e wi th cold w ater and put on some lipstick and opene d the door slo wly. I think I still e xpected to se e Doreen’s bod y lying ther e in the pool o f vomit like an ug ly, concr ete testimon y to m y own dir ty nature. Ther e was nobod y in the hall. The c arpe t stretche d from one end of the hall to the other , cle an and e ternall y verdant except f or a faint, irr egular dar k stain be

The Ladies' Day Banquet

The narrator wakes with a sense of internal shame, expecting to see physical evidence of the previous night's debauchery in the hallway.
A lavish luncheon hosted by Ladies' Day magazine serves as a backdrop for the narrator's revelation about her deep, uninhibited love for rich and expensive food.
The narrator contrasts her current access to high-end dining with her modest background of eating cheeseburgers at Howard Johnson's.
While other women at the magazine diet and order light salads, the narrator indulges in the most expensive dishes available on expense accounts.
The visit to the magazine's test kitchens reveals the artifice of food media, where ice cream is propped up with toothpicks for photography.

to do that. When I w oke up in the dull, sunless he at the ne xt morning, I dresse d and splashe d my fac e wi th cold w ater and put on some lipstick and opene d the door slo wly. I think I still e xpected to se e Doreen’s bod y lying ther e in the pool o f vomit like an ug ly, concr ete testimon y to m y own dir ty nature. Ther e was nobod y in the hall. The c arpe t stretche d from one end of the hall to the other , cle an and e ternall y verdant except f or a faint, irr egular dar k stain bef ore my door as if somebod y had b y acciden t spille d a g lass o f water ther e, but dabbe d it dry again. Chapter 2 |27 Chapter 3 Arrayed on the L adies’ D ay banque t table w ere yellow-green avocado pe ar hal ves stuf fed wi th cr abme at and ma yonnaise, and platters o f rare roast be ef and c old chick en, and e very so o ften a cut-g lass bo wl he aped wi th black c aviar. I hadn ’t had time to e at any breakfast a t the hotel c afeteria tha t morning, e xcept f or a cup of over-stewed coffee so bi tter i t made m y nose cur l, and I w as starving. Before I c ame to N ew York I’d ne ver e aten out in a pr oper restaurant. I don ’t count Howard Johnson ’s, wher e I onl y had F rench fries and che esebur gers and v anilla fr appes wi th pe ople lik e Buddy Willard. I’m not sur e wh y it is, but I lo ve food mor e than just about anything else. N o ma tter ho w much I e at, I ne ver put on w eight. With one e xception I ’ve been the same w eight for ten y ears. My favourite dishes ar e full o f but ter and che ese and sour cr eam. In New York we had so man y free lunche ons wi th pe ople on the magazine and v arious visi ting c elebri ties I de velope d the habi t of running m y eye do wn those hug e, hand written menus, wher e a tiny side-dish o f peas costs f ifty or sixt y cents, un til I’d pick ed the richest, most e xpensiv e dishes and or dered a string o f them. We were always tak en out on e xpense ac counts, so I ne ver felt guilt y. I made a poin t of eating so fast I ne ver kept the other pe ople waiting who g ener ally ordered onl y chef’ s salad and gr apefrui t juic e because the y were trying to r educe. Almost e verybod y I me t in N ew York was tr ying to r educe. “I want to w elcome the pr ettiest, smar test bunch o f young ladies our staf f has y et had the g ood luck to me et,” the plump, bald master - of-ceremonies whe ezed into his lapel micr ophone. “ This banque t is just a small sample o f the hospi tality our F ood T esting Ki tchens her e on L adies’ D ay would lik e to o ffer in appr eciation f or your visi t.” A delic ate, lad ylike spa tter o f appla use, and w e all sa t down a t the enormous linen-dr aped table. 28|Chapter 3 Ther e were ele ven o f us g irls from the magazine, tog ether wi th most o f our super vising e ditors, and the whole staf f of the L adies’ Day Food T esting Ki tchens in h ygienic whi te smocks, ne at hair -nets and f lawless mak e-up o f a unif orm pe ach-pie c olour . Ther e were onl y ele ven o f us, be cause Dor een w as missing. The y had se t her plac e ne xt to mine f or some r eason, and the chair stayed empt y. I sa ved her plac e-card for her —a pock et mirr or wi th “Dor een” pain ted along the top o f it in lac y script and a wr eath of frosted daisies ar ound the e dge, framing the sil ver hole wher e her face would sho w. Doreen w as spending the da y wi th Lenn y Shepher d. She spen t most o f her fr ee time wi th Lenn y Shepher d no w. In the hour bef ore our lunche on a t Ladies’ D ay—the big w omen ’s magazine tha t features lush double-pag e spr eads o f technic olour meals, wi th a dif ferent theme and loc ale e ach mon th—we had be en shown ar ound the endless g lossy ki tchens and se en ho w dif ficult i t is to photogr aph apple pie à la mode under brig ht lights be cause the ic e-cr eam k eeps melting and has to be pr oppe d up fr om behind with toothpicks and chang ed every time i t star ts looking too sopp y. The sig ht of all the f ood stack ed in t

The Art of Social Arrogance

The narrator describes the deceptive and artificial methods used to photograph food for Ladies’ Day magazine spreads.
She recalls how her grandmother’s constant reminders of food costs made eating at home feel like a financial burden.
Her grandfather, a head waiter, fostered her expensive tastes by introducing her to delicacies like caviar and vichyssoise.
She discovers that social blunders can be perceived as original or witty if performed with enough confidence and arrogance.

a t Ladies’ D ay—the big w omen ’s magazine tha t features lush double-pag e spr eads o f technic olour meals, wi th a dif ferent theme and loc ale e ach mon th—we had be en shown ar ound the endless g lossy ki tchens and se en ho w dif ficult i t is to photogr aph apple pie à la mode under brig ht lights be cause the ic e-cr eam k eeps melting and has to be pr oppe d up fr om behind with toothpicks and chang ed every time i t star ts looking too sopp y. The sig ht of all the f ood stack ed in those ki tchens made me diz zy. It’s not tha t we hadn ’t enoug h to e at at home, i t’s just tha t my grandmother al ways c ooked econom y join ts and e conom y me at- loafs and had the habi t of saying, the minute y ou lif ted the f irst forkful to y our mouth, “I hope y ou en joy tha t, it cost f orty-one c ents a pound, ” which al ways made me f eel I w as someho w eating pennies inste ad of Sunda y roast. While w e were standing up behind our chairs listening to the welcome spe ech, I had bo wed m y he ad and se cretly eyed the position o f the bo wls o f caviar. One bo wl w as se t str ategically between me and Dor een’s empt y chair . I figured the g irl acr oss fr om me c ouldn ’t reach i t because o f the moun tainous c entrepiece of marzipan frui t, and Be tsy, on m y rig ht, would be too nic e to ask me to shar e it with her if I just k ept i t out o f the w ay at my elbow by my bread-and-but ter pla te. Besides, Chapter 3 |29 another bo wl of caviar sa t a li ttle w ay to the rig ht of the g irl next to Betsy, and she c ould e at tha t. My grandfa ther and I had a standing jok e. He was the he ad w aiter at a c ountry club ne ar m y home to wn, and e very Sunda y m y grandmother dr ove in to bring him home f or his M onda y off. My brother and I alterna ted going wi th her , and m y grandfa ther al ways served Sunda y supper to m y grandmother and whiche ver of us w as along as if w e were regular club guests. H e loved introducing me to special ti tbits, and b y the ag e of nine I had de velope d a passiona te taste f or cold vich yssoise and c aviar and ancho vy paste. The jok e was tha t at my wedding m y grandfa ther w ould se e I had all the c aviar I c ould e at. It was a jok e be cause I ne ver in tende d to g et marrie d, and e ven if I did, m y gr andfa ther c ouldn ’t ha ve afforded enoug h caviar unless he r obbe d the c ountry club ki tchen and c arrie d it off in a sui tcase. Under c over of the clinking o f water g oble ts and sil verware and bone china, I pa ved my pla te wi th chick en slic es. Then I c overed the chick en slic es wi th caviar thickl y as if I w ere spr eading pe anut- butter on a pie ce of bread. Then I pick ed up the chick en slic es in m y fingers one b y one, r olled them so the c aviar w ouldn ’t ooz e off and ate them. I’d disc overed, af ter a lot o f extreme appr ehension about wha t spoons to use, tha t if y ou do some thing inc orrect at table wi th a certain arr oganc e, as if y ou kne w perf ectly well you w ere doing i t proper ly, you c an g et away wi th it and nobod y will think y ou ar e bad-manner ed or poor ly brought up. The y will think y ou ar e orig inal and v ery witty. I learne d this trick the da y Jay Ce e took me to lunch wi th a famous poet. He wore a horri ble, lump y, spe ckled brown t weed jack et and grey pan ts and a r ed-and-blue che cked open-thr oated jerse y in a very formal r estaurant full o f fountains and chandeliers, wher e all the other men w ere dr esse d in dar k sui ts and immacula te whi te shirts. This poe t ate his salad wi th his f ingers, le af by leaf, while talking to me about the an tithesis o f nature and ar t. I c ouldn ’t tak e my eyes 30|The Bell J ar off the pale, stubb y whi te fingers tr avelling back and f orth fr om the poet’s salad bo wl to the poe t’s mouth wi th one dripping le ttuce leaf after another . Nobod y giggled or whisper ed rude r emar ks. The poe t made e ating salad wi th your f ingers se em to be the onl y natural

Dropping Out of the Race

The narrator finds herself captivated by a poet who flouts etiquette by eating salad with his fingers, suggesting a preference for natural behavior over rigid artifice.
While indulging in luxury foods, the narrator reflects on her childhood memories of eating avocados with her grandfather, revealing a sense of homesickness and emotional isolation.
The description of Hilda’s homemade mink scarf highlights a divide between the creative, pragmatic world of fashion and the narrator’s own stifled literary ambitions.
After a harsh professional critique, the narrator acknowledges a deep internal crisis, feeling she is finally succumbing to the pressure of years of academic and social competition.

dar k sui ts and immacula te whi te shirts. This poe t ate his salad wi th his f ingers, le af by leaf, while talking to me about the an tithesis o f nature and ar t. I c ouldn ’t tak e my eyes 30|The Bell J ar off the pale, stubb y whi te fingers tr avelling back and f orth fr om the poet’s salad bo wl to the poe t’s mouth wi th one dripping le ttuce leaf after another . Nobod y giggled or whisper ed rude r emar ks. The poe t made e ating salad wi th your f ingers se em to be the onl y natural and sensi ble thing to do. None o f our magazine e ditors or the L adies’ D ay staf f members sat anywher e ne ar me, and Be tsy se eme d sw eet and friendl y, she didn ’t even se em to lik e caviar, so I gr ew mor e and mor e confiden t. When I f inishe d my first pla te of cold chick en and c aviar, I laid out another . Then I tackle d the a vocado and cr abme at salad. Avocados ar e my favourite frui t. Every Sunda y my grandfa ther used to bring me an a vocado pe ar hidden a t the bot tom o f his brief case under six soile d shir ts and the S unda y comics. H e taught me ho w to e at avocados b y melting gr ape jell y and F rench dr essing together in a sa ucepan and f illing the cup o f the pe ar wi th the garne t sauce. I f elt homesick f or tha t sauce. The cr abme at taste d bland in c omparison. “How w as the fur sho w?” I ask ed Be tsy, when I w as no long er worrie d about c ompe tition o ver m y caviar. I scr aped the last f ew salty black eggs fr om the dish wi th m y soup spoon and lick ed it clean. “It was w onderful, ” Betsy smile d. “They sho wed us ho w to mak e an all-purpose ne ckerchief out o f mink tails and a g old chain, the sort of chain y ou c an g et an e xact copy of at Woolworth’s for a dollar nine ty-eig ht, and H ilda nippe d do wn to the wholesale fur warehouses rig ht afterwards and boug ht a bunch o f mink tails a t a big disc ount and dr oppe d in a t Woolworth’s and then sti tche d the whole thing tog ether c oming up on the bus. ” I peered over at Hilda, who sa t on the other side o f Betsy. Sure enoug h, she w as w earing an e xpensiv e-looking sc arf o f furr y tails fastene d on one side b y a dang ling g ilt chain. I never really understood H ilda. She w as six f eet tall, wi th hug e, slanted, gr een e yes and thick r ed lips and a v acant, Sla vic expression. She made ha ts. She w as appr enticed to the F ashion Editor, which se t her apar t from the mor e literary ones among us Chapter 3 |31 like Dor een and Be tsy and I m yself, who all wr ote c olumns, e ven if some o f them w ere onl y about he alth and be auty. I don ’t kno w if Hilda c ould r ead, but she made star tling ha ts. She w ent to a spe cial school f or making ha ts in N ew York and e very day she w ore a ne w hat to w ork, construc ted by her o wn hands out o f bits of straw or fur or ri bbon or v eiling in subtle, bizarr e shades. “That’s amazing, ” I said. “ Amazing. ” I misse d Dor een. She w ould have murmur ed some f ine, sc alding r emar k about H ilda’s miraculous furpie ce to che er me up. I felt very low. I had be en unmask ed onl y tha t morning b y Jay Ce e herself, and I f elt no w tha t all the unc omfortable suspicions I had about m yself w ere coming true, and I c ouldn ’t hide the truth much long er. After nine teen years o f running af ter g ood mar ks and priz es and gr ants of one sor t and another , I w as le tting up, slo wing do wn, dropping cle an out o f the r ace. “Why didn ’t you c ome along to the fur sho w wi th us?” Be tsy asked. I had the impr ession she w as repeating herself, and tha t she ’d asked me the same question a minute ag o, onl y I couldn ’t have been listening. “Did y ou g o off with Dor een?” “No,” I said, “I w anted to g o to the fur sho w, but J ay Ce e called up and made me c ome in to the o ffice.” Tha t wasn’t qui te true about wanting to g o to the sho w, but I trie d to c onvince myself no w tha t it was true, so I c ould be r eally wounde d about wha t Jay Ce e had done. I tol

Torn Between Two Paths

Esther lies to her friend Betsy, claiming she was forced to work when she actually stayed in bed to avoid both professional and social obligations.
She reflects on her inability to commit to either a conventional, successful life or a rebellious one, leaving her feeling profoundly sad and exhausted.
The absolute silence of her hotel room becomes physically oppressive until it is broken by a sharp, demanding phone call from her boss, Jay Cee.
Jay Cee reprimands Esther for her lack of initiative and orders her to the office for a talk regarding her work and future.
The emotional weight of the confrontation and her inner turmoil causes Esther to break down in tears during a later meal with Betsy.

th us?” Be tsy asked. I had the impr ession she w as repeating herself, and tha t she ’d asked me the same question a minute ag o, onl y I couldn ’t have been listening. “Did y ou g o off with Dor een?” “No,” I said, “I w anted to g o to the fur sho w, but J ay Ce e called up and made me c ome in to the o ffice.” Tha t wasn’t qui te true about wanting to g o to the sho w, but I trie d to c onvince myself no w tha t it was true, so I c ould be r eally wounde d about wha t Jay Ce e had done. I told Be tsy ho w I had be en lying in be d tha t morning planning to go to the fur sho w. What I didn ’t tell her w as tha t Dor een had come in to m y room e arlier and said, “ What do y ou w ant to g o to tha t assy sho w for, Lenn y and I ar e going to Cone y Island, so wh y don ’t you c ome along ? Lenn y can g et you a nic e fellow, the da y’s shot to hell an yhow wi th tha t lunche on and then the f ilm pr emièr e in the afternoon, so nobod y’ll miss us. ” For a minute I w as tempte d. The sho w certainl y did se em stupid. I have never cared for furs. W hat I de cided to do in the end w as to lie in be d as long as I w anted to and then g o to Cen tral Park and spend the da y lying in the gr ass, the long est gr ass I c ould f ind in tha t bald, duck -ponde d wilderness. 32|The Bell J ar I told Dor een I w ould not g o to the sho w or the lunche on or the film pr emièr e, but tha t I would not g o to Cone y Island ei ther, I would stay in be d. Af ter Dor een lef t, I w onder ed wh y I c ouldn ’t go the whole w ay doing wha t I should an y mor e. This made me sad and tired. Then I w onder ed wh y I couldn ’t go the whole w ay doing wha t I shouldn ’t, the w ay Dor een did, and this made me e ven sadder and more tired. I didn ’t kno w wha t time i t was, but I ’d he ard the g irls bustling and calling in the hall and g etting r eady for the fur sho w, and then I ’d heard the hall g o still, and as I la y on m y back in be d staring up a t the blank, whi te ceiling the stillness se eme d to gr ow bigg er and bigg er until I f elt m y eardrums w ould burst wi th it. Then the phone r ang. I star ed at the phone f or a minute. The r eceiver shook a bi t in i ts bone-c olour ed cradle, so I c ould tell i t was really ring ing. I thoug ht I mig ht have given m y phone number to somebod y at a danc e or a par ty and then f orgotten cle an, about i t. I lif ted the r eceiver and spok e in a husky , receptiv e voice. “Hello?” “Jay Ce e her e,” Jay Ce e rappe d out wi th brutal pr ompti tude. “I wonder ed if y ou happene d to be planning to c ome in to the o ffice toda y?” I sank do wn in to the she ets. I c ouldn ’t understand wh y Jay Ce e thoug ht I’d be c oming in to the o ffice. W e had these mime ographe d sche dule c ards so w e could k eep tr ack o f all our ac tivities, and w e spen t a lot o f mornings and af ternoons a way from the o ffice going to af fairs in to wn. Of c ourse, some o f the af fairs w ere optional. Ther e was qui te a pa use. Then I said me ekly, “I thoug ht I w as going to the fur sho w.” Of c ourse I hadn ’t thoug ht any such thing, but I c ouldn ’t figure out wha t else to sa y. “I told her I thoug ht I w as going to the fur sho w,” I said to Be tsy. “But she told me to c ome in to the o ffice, she w anted to ha ve a li ttle talk wi th me, and ther e was some w ork to do. ” “Oh-oh!” Be tsy said sympa thetically. She must ha ve seen the te ars that ploppe d do wn in to m y desser t dish o f meringue and br andy ice-cr eam, be cause she pushe d over her o wn un touche d desser t Chapter 3 |33 and I star ted absen tly on tha t when I ’d finishe d my own. I f elt a bi t awkw ard about the te ars, but the y were real enoug h. Jay Ce e had said some terri ble things to me. When I made m y wan en trance into the o ffice at about ten o ’clock, Jay Ce e stood up and c ame r ound her desk to shut the door , and I sat in the swiv el chair in fr ont of my typewriter table facing her , and she sa t in the swiv el chair behin

The Cracks in Ambition

Esther Greenwood meets with her editor, Jay Cee, who confronts her about her apparent lack of interest and drive in her internship.
Despite a lifetime of academic excellence and prestige, Esther feels unable to maintain the persona of the high-achieving student she once was.
When asked about her future plans, Esther experiences a moment of profound realization as she admits she no longer knows what she wants.
This admission of uncertainty feels like a shocking, undeniable truth that replaces her previously rehearsed scripts for success.
The conversation moves to Esther's heritage and her father's German roots, highlighting her struggle to connect with his language and legacy.

be cause she pushe d over her o wn un touche d desser t Chapter 3 |33 and I star ted absen tly on tha t when I ’d finishe d my own. I f elt a bi t awkw ard about the te ars, but the y were real enoug h. Jay Ce e had said some terri ble things to me. When I made m y wan en trance into the o ffice at about ten o ’clock, Jay Ce e stood up and c ame r ound her desk to shut the door , and I sat in the swiv el chair in fr ont of my typewriter table facing her , and she sa t in the swiv el chair behind her desk facing me, wi th the windo w full o f pot ted plan ts, shelf af ter shelf o f them, spring ing up at her back lik e a tr opic al gar den. “Doesn ’t your w ork interest y ou, Esther?” “Oh, i t does, i t does, ” I said. “I t interests me v ery much. ” I felt lik e yelling the w ords, as if tha t mig ht mak e them mor e convincing, but I controlled myself. All m y life I’d told m yself stud ying and r eading and wri ting and working lik e mad w as wha t I w anted to do, and i t actuall y seeme d to be true, I did e verything w ell enoug h and g ot all A ’s, and b y the time I made i t to c olleg e nobod y could stop me. I was colleg e corresponden t for the to wn Gaz ette and e ditor o f the li terary magazine and se cretary of Honour Boar d, which de als with ac ademic and social o ffences and punishmen ts—a popular office, and I had a w ell-kno wn w oman poe t and pr ofessor on the facult y championing me f or gr adua te school a t the bigg est univ ersities in the e ast, and pr omises o f full scholarships all the w ay, and no w I w as appr enticed to the best e ditor on an y intelle ctual fashion magazine, and wha t did I do but balk and balk lik e a dull c art horse ? “I’m very interested in e verything. ” The w ords fell wi th a hollo w flatness on to J ay Ce e’s desk, lik e so man y wooden nick els. “I’m glad o f tha t,” Jay Ce e said a bi t waspishl y. “You c an le arn a lot in this mon th on the magazine, y ou kno w, if y ou just r oll up y our shirt-cuf fs. The g irl who w as her e bef ore you didn ’t bother wi th an y of the fashion sho w stuf f. She w ent str aight from this o ffice, on to Time. ” “My!” I said, in the same sepulchr al tone. “ That was quick!” 34|The Bell J ar “Of course, y ou ha ve another y ear at colleg e yet,” Jay Ce e went on a little mor e mildl y. “What do y ou ha ve in mind af ter y ou gr adua te?” What I al ways thoug ht I had in mind w as g etting some big scholarship to gr adua te school or a gr ant to stud y all o ver Europe, and then I thoug ht I’d be a pr ofessor and wri te books o f poems or write books o f poems and be an e ditor o f some sor t. Usuall y I had these plans on the tip o f my tongue. “I don ’t really kno w,” I he ard myself sa y. I felt a de ep shock, he aring myself sa y tha t, be cause the minute I said i t, I kne w it was true. It sounde d true, and I r ecogniz ed it, the w ay you recogniz e some nondescript person tha t’s been hang ing ar ound y our door f or ag es and then suddenl y comes up and in troduc es himself as y our r eal father and looks e xactly lik e you, so y ou kno w he r eally is y our father, and the person y ou thoug ht all y our lif e was your fa ther is a sham. “I don ’t really kno w.” “You’ll ne ver g et an ywher e lik e tha t.” Jay Ce e pa used. “What languag es do y ou ha ve?” “Oh, I c an read a bi t of French, I guess, and I ’ve always w anted to le arn German. ” I’d be en telling pe ople I ’d always w anted to le arn German f or about f ive years. My mother spok e German during her childhood in Americ a and was stone d for it during the F irst W orld W ar b y the childr en a t school. M y German-spe aking fa ther, dead sinc e I w as nine, c ame from some manic-depr essiv e hamle t in the black he art of Prussia. My young er br other w as a t tha t momen t on the Experimen t in Interna tional Living in Ber lin and spe aking German lik e a na tive. What I didn ’t sa y was tha t each time I pick ed up a German dictionar y or a German book, the v

Ambition and Intellectual Friction

Esther describes a deep-seated psychological block against learning German, despite her family's heritage and the professional necessity of the language.
Her mentor Jay Cee warns that a career in publishing requires mastery of several languages to distinguish her from the flood of other applicants.
The protagonist feels trapped by a demanding academic schedule that prioritizes advanced literary themes over the practical skills needed for her career.
While Esther excelled in Botany because of its tangible and visual nature, she experiences a complete mental paralysis in her Physics course.
The contrast between Esther's academic success and her internal sense of failure highlights her growing anxiety about the future and her own capabilities.

ther spok e German during her childhood in Americ a and was stone d for it during the F irst W orld W ar b y the childr en a t school. M y German-spe aking fa ther, dead sinc e I w as nine, c ame from some manic-depr essiv e hamle t in the black he art of Prussia. My young er br other w as a t tha t momen t on the Experimen t in Interna tional Living in Ber lin and spe aking German lik e a na tive. What I didn ’t sa y was tha t each time I pick ed up a German dictionar y or a German book, the v ery sig ht of those dense, black, barbe d-wir e letters made m y mind shut lik e a clam. “I’ve always thoug ht I’d lik e to g o in to publishing. ” I trie d to recover a thr ead tha t mig ht lead me back to m y old, brig ht salesmanship. “I guess wha t I’ll do is appl y at some publishing house. ” “You oug ht to r ead French and German, ” Jay Ce e said mer cilessl y, Chapter 3 |35 “and pr obabl y se veral other languag es as w ell, S panish and Italian—be tter still, Russian. H undr eds o f girls flood in to N ew York every June thinking the y’ll be e ditors. Y ou ne ed to o ffer some thing more than the run-o f-the-mill person. Y ou be tter le arn some languag es.” I hadn ’t the he art to tell J ay Ce e ther e wasn’t one scr ap o f spac e on m y senior y ear sche dule to le arn languag es in. I w as taking one o f those honours pr ogrammes tha t teaches y ou to think independen tly, and e xcept f or a c ourse in T olsto y and Dostoe vsky and a seminar in ad vanced poe try-composi tion, I w ould spend m y whole time wri ting on some obscur e theme in the w orks of James Joyce. I hadn ’t pick ed out m y theme y et, be cause I hadn ’t got round to reading F innegan ’s Wake, but m y pr ofessor w as v ery excited about m y thesis and had pr omise d to g ive me some le ads on imag es about t wins. “I’ll se e wha t I c an do, ” I told J ay Ce e. “I pr obabl y mig ht just f it in one o f those double-barr elled, ac celerated courses in elemen tary German the y’ve rigg ed up. ” I thoug ht at the time I mig ht actuall y do this. I had a w ay of persuading m y Class De an to le t me do irr egular things. She r egar ded me as a sor t of interesting e xperimen t. At colleg e I had to tak e a r equired course in ph ysics and chemistr y. I had alr eady tak en a c ourse in botan y and done v ery well. I ne ver answ ered one test question wr ong the whole y ear, and for a while I to yed with the ide a of being a botanist and stud ying the wild gr asses in Afric a or the South Americ an rain f orests, be cause you c an win big gr ants to stud y off-beat things lik e tha t in que er areas much mor e easily than winning gr ants to stud y art in I taly or English in Eng land, ther e’s not so much c ompe tition. Botan y was fine, be cause I lo ved cut ting up le aves and put ting them under the micr oscope and dr awing diagr ams o f bread mould and the odd, he art-shape d leaf in the se x cycle o f the f ern, i t seeme d so real to me. The da y I w ent into ph ysics class i t was de ath. A shor t dar k man wi th a hig h, lisping v oice, name d Mr Manzi, stood in fr ont of the class in a tig ht blue sui t holding a li ttle w ooden 36|The Bell J ar ball. H e put the ball on a ste ep gr ooved slide and le t it run do wn to the bot tom. Then he star ted talking about le t a e qual ac celeration and le t t e qual time and suddenl y he w as scri bbling le tters and numbers and e quals signs all o ver the blackboar d and m y mind w ent dead. I took the ph ysics book back to m y dormi tory. It was a hug e book on por ous mime ographe d paper —four hundr ed pag es long wi th no drawings or photogr aphs, onl y diagr ams and f ormulas—be tween brick -red cardboar d covers. This book w as wri tten b y Mr Manzi to explain ph ysics to c olleg e girls, and if i t worked on us he w ould tr y to ha ve it publishe d. Well, I studie d those f ormulas, I w ent to class and w atche d balls roll do wn slides and listene d to bells ring and b y the end o f the semester most o f t

The Deception of Success

Despite her hatred for the subject's reduction of nature to abstract formulas, the narrator achieves a straight A in her physics course.
Mr. Manzi, her instructor, uses her success as evidence to silence other students who complain that his course is too difficult.
Driven by a panic-stricken dread of chemistry's ugly abbreviations and decimal numbers, the narrator concocts a plan to avoid taking the course for a grade.
She successfully convinces the faculty that she wishes to audit chemistry for the 'sheer beauty' of the subject while focusing her credits on Shakespeare.
The administration ironically interprets her attempt to escape academic pressure as a sign of profound intellectual maturity.

m y dormi tory. It was a hug e book on por ous mime ographe d paper —four hundr ed pag es long wi th no drawings or photogr aphs, onl y diagr ams and f ormulas—be tween brick -red cardboar d covers. This book w as wri tten b y Mr Manzi to explain ph ysics to c olleg e girls, and if i t worked on us he w ould tr y to ha ve it publishe d. Well, I studie d those f ormulas, I w ent to class and w atche d balls roll do wn slides and listene d to bells ring and b y the end o f the semester most o f the other g irls had faile d and I had a str aight A. I heard Mr Manzi sa ying to a bunch o f the g irls who w ere complaining that the c ourse w as too har d, “N o, it can’t be too har d, be cause one girl got a str aight A.” “Who is i t? Tell us, ” the y said, but he shook his head and didn ’t say an ything and ga ve me a sw eet little c onspiring smile. That’s wha t gave me the ide a of esc aping the ne xt semester o f chemistr y. I ma y have made a str aight A in ph ysics, but I w as panic- struck. P hysics made me sick the whole time I le arne d it. W hat I couldn ’t stand w as this shrinking e verything in to le tters and numbers. I nste ad o f leaf shapes and enlar ged diagr ams o f the holes the le aves br eathe thr ough and fascina ting w ords lik e carotene and xanthoph yll on the blackboar d, ther e were these hide ous, cr ampe d, scorpion-le ttered formulas in Mr Manzi’ s spe cial r ed chalk. I kne w chemistr y would be w orse, be cause I ’d seen a big char t of the nine ty-odd elemen ts hung up in the chemistr y lab, and all the perfectly good w ords lik e gold and sil ver and c obalt and aluminium were shor tene d to ug ly abbr eviations wi th dif ferent de cimal numbers af ter them. I f I had to str ain m y brain wi th an y mor e of tha t stuff I w ould g o mad. I w ould fail outrig ht. It was onl y by a horri ble effort of will tha t I had dr agged myself thr ough the f irst half o f the year. Chapter 3 |37 So I w ent to m y Class De an wi th a cle ver plan. My plan w as tha t I ne eded the time to tak e a c ourse in Shak espe are, sinc e I w as, af ter all, an Eng lish major . She kne w and I knew perf ectly well I w ould g et a str aight A again in the chemistr y course, so wha t was the poin t of my taking the e xams, wh y couldn ’t I just g o to the classes and look on and tak e it all in and f orget about marks or cr edits? It was a c ase o f honour among honour able pe ople, and the c ontent me ant mor e than the f orm, and mar ks w ere really a bit silly anyway, weren’t the y, when y ou kne w you’d always get an A? My plan w as str engthene d by the fac t tha t the c olleg e had just droppe d the se cond y ear of required scienc e for the classes af ter me an yway, so m y class w as the last to suf fer under the old ruling. Mr Manzi w as in perf ect agr eemen t wi th m y plan. I think i t flattered him tha t I en joyed his classes so much I w ould tak e them for no ma terialistic r eason lik e credit and an A, but f or the she er beauty of chemistr y itself. I thoug ht it was qui te ing enious o f me to sugg est si tting in on the chemistr y course e ven af ter I ’d chang ed over to Shak espe are. It was qui te an unne cessar y gestur e and made it seem I simpl y couldn ’t bear to g ive chemistr y up. Of c ourse, I w ould ne ver ha ve suc ceeded wi th this scheme if I hadn ’t made tha t A in the f irst plac e. And if m y Class De an had known ho w sc ared and depr esse d I w as, and ho w I seriousl y contempla ted desper ate r eme dies such as g etting a doc tor’s certificate tha t I w as unf it to stud y chemistr y, the f ormulas made me diz zy and so on, I ’m sur e she w ouldn ’t have listene d to me f or a minute, but w ould ha ve made me tak e the c ourse r egar dless. As it happene d, the F acult y Boar d passe d my pe tition, and m y Class De an told me la ter tha t several of the pr ofessors w ere touche d by it. The y took i t as a r eal step in in telle ctual ma turity. I had to la ugh when I thoug ht abou

Poetry and Scientific Deception

The narrator recounts her successful petition to bypass chemistry requirements, which her professors ironically lauded as a sign of intellectual maturity.
She attended every lecture only to ignore the science, writing poetry while her professor misinterpreted her focus as fascination with his experiments.
Reflecting on this deception later, she feels a profound sense of guilt and pity for her professor's genuine kindness and passion.
Her editor, Jay Cee, provides a glimpse into the cutthroat and ego-driven world of professional publishing through her social navigation of famous writers.
Despite her odd appearance, the narrator finds a deep, quiet respect for Jay Cee’s wisdom and professional mastery.

r eme dies such as g etting a doc tor’s certificate tha t I w as unf it to stud y chemistr y, the f ormulas made me diz zy and so on, I ’m sur e she w ouldn ’t have listene d to me f or a minute, but w ould ha ve made me tak e the c ourse r egar dless. As it happene d, the F acult y Boar d passe d my pe tition, and m y Class De an told me la ter tha t several of the pr ofessors w ere touche d by it. The y took i t as a r eal step in in telle ctual ma turity. I had to la ugh when I thoug ht about the r est o f tha t year. I w ent to the chemistr y class f ive times a w eek and didn ’t miss a sing le one. Mr Manzi stood a t the bot tom o f the big, rick ety old amphi theatre, making blue f lames and r ed flares and clouds o f yellow stuf f by pouring the c ontents of one test-tube in to another , and I shut his voice out o f my ears b y pretending i t was onl y a mosqui to in the 38|The Bell J ar distanc e and sa t back en joying the brig ht lights and the c olour ed fires and wr ote pag e after pag e of villanelles and sonne ts. Mr Manzi w ould g lance at me no w and then and se e me wri ting, and send up a sw eet little appr eciative smile. I guess he thoug ht I was wri ting do wn all those f ormulas not f or exam time, lik e the other g irls, but be cause his pr esen tation fascina ted me so much I couldn ’t help i t. Chapter 3 |39 Chapter 4 I don ’t kno w just wh y my suc cessful e vasion o f chemistr y should have floated into m y mind ther e in J ay Ce e’s office. All the time she talk ed to me, I sa w Mr Manzi standing on thin air in back o f Jay Ce e’s head, lik e some thing c onjured up out o f a ha t, holding his li ttle w ooden ball and the test-tube tha t billo wed a gr eat cloud o f yellow smok e the da y bef ore Easter v acation and smelt o f rotten eggs and made all the g irls and Mr Manzi la ugh. I felt sorr y for Mr Manzi. I f elt lik e going do wn to him on m y hands and kne es and apolog izing f or being such an a wful liar . Jay Ce e hande d me a pile o f stor y manuscripts and spok e to me much mor e kindl y. I spen t the r est o f the morning r eading the stories and t yping out wha t I thoug ht of them on the pink I nteroffice Memo she ets and sending them in to the o ffice of Betsy’s editor to be read by Betsy the ne xt da y. Jay Ce e interrupte d me no w and then to tell me some thing pr actical or a bi t of gossip. Jay Ce e was going to lunch tha t noon wi th two famous wri ters, a man and a lad y. The man had just sold six shor t stories to the New Yorker and six to J ay Ce e. This surprise d me, as I didn ’t kno w magazines boug ht stories in lots o f six, and I w as stagg ered by the thoug ht of the amoun t of mone y six stories w ould pr obabl y bring in. Jay Ce e said she had to be v ery careful a t this lunch, be cause the lady wri ter wr ote stories too, but she had ne ver had an y in the N ew Yorker and J ay Ce e had onl y tak en one fr om her in f ive years. J ay Cee had to f latter the mor e famous man a t the same time as she w as careful not to hur t the less famous lad y. When the cherubs in J ay Ce e’s French w all-clock w aved their wings up and do wn and put their li ttle g ilt trumpe ts to their lips and ping ed out t welve notes one af ter the other , Jay Ce e told me I ’d done enoug h work for the da y, and to g o off to the L adies’ D ay tour and banque t and to the f ilm pr emièr e, and she w ould se e me brig ht and early tomorr ow. 40|Chapter 4 Then she slippe d a sui t jack et over her lilac blouse, pinne d a ha t of imi tation lilacs on the top o f her he ad, po wdered her nose brief ly and adjuste d her thick spe ctacles. She look ed terri ble, but v ery wise. As she lef t the o ffice, she pa tted my shoulder wi th one lilac-g loved hand. “Don ’t let the wick ed city get you do wn.” I sat quie tly in m y swiv el chair f or a f ew minutes and thoug ht about J ay Ce e. I trie d to imag ine wha t it would be lik e if I w ere Ee Gee, the famous e ditor, in an o ffice full o f pot

Mothers, Mentors, and Finger-Bowls

The protagonist reflects on her editor, Jay Cee, wishing for a maternal mentor who could guide her through her burgeoning career.
The narrative reveals the protagonist's strained relationship with her own mother, who prioritizes practical skills like shorthand due to a fear of poverty.
A flashback introduces Philomena Guinea, a wealthy novelist of melodramatic fiction whose scholarship funded the protagonist's education.
The text highlights a significant social gap through an anecdote where the protagonist mistakenly ate the contents of a finger-bowl during a formal lunch.
The protagonist uses the contrast between her humble background and her current surroundings to measure how far she has traveled socially.

lac blouse, pinne d a ha t of imi tation lilacs on the top o f her he ad, po wdered her nose brief ly and adjuste d her thick spe ctacles. She look ed terri ble, but v ery wise. As she lef t the o ffice, she pa tted my shoulder wi th one lilac-g loved hand. “Don ’t let the wick ed city get you do wn.” I sat quie tly in m y swiv el chair f or a f ew minutes and thoug ht about J ay Ce e. I trie d to imag ine wha t it would be lik e if I w ere Ee Gee, the famous e ditor, in an o ffice full o f pot ted rubber plan ts and Afric an viole ts m y secretary had to w ater e ach morning. I wishe d I had a mother lik e Jay Ce e. Then I ’d kno w wha t to do. My own mother w asn’t much help. M y mother had ta ught shor thand and t yping to suppor t us e ver sinc e my father die d, and secretly she ha ted it and ha ted him f or dying and le aving no mone y because he didn ’t trust lif e insur ance salesmen. She w as al ways on to me to le arn shor thand af ter c olleg e, so I ’d have a pr actical skill as well as a c olleg e degr ee. “E ven the apostles w ere ten t-mak ers,” she ’d say. “They had to liv e, just the w ay we do. ” I dabble d my fingers in the bo wl o f warm w ater a L adies’ D ay waitress se t down in plac e of my two empt y ice-cr eam dishes. Then I wipe d each f inger carefull y wi th m y linen napkin which w as still quite cle an. Then I f olde d the linen napkin and laid i t between m y lips and br ought my lips do wn on i t precisel y. When I put the napkin back on the table a fuz zy pink lip-shape bloome d rig ht in the middle of it like a tin y heart. I thoug ht wha t a long w ay I had c ome. The f irst time I sa w a f inger-bowl w as a t the home o f my benefac tress. I t was the custom a t my colleg e, the li ttle fr eckled lad y in the Scholarships Of fice told me, to wri te to the person whose scholarship y ou had, if the y were still aliv e, and thank them f or it. I had the scholarship o f Philomena Guine a, a w ealthy novelist who went to m y colleg e in the e arly nine teen-hundr eds and had her f irst novel made in to a silen t film wi th Be tte Davis as w ell as a r adio serial that was still running, and i t turne d out she w as aliv e and liv ed in a large mansion not far fr om m y grandfa ther’ s country club. Chapter 4 |41 So I wr ote P hilomena Guine a a long le tter in c oal-black ink on grey paper wi th the name o f the c olleg e embosse d on i t in r ed. I wrote wha t the le aves look ed like in a utumn when I bic ycled out in to the hills, and ho w wonderful i t was to liv e on a c ampus inste ad o f commuting b y bus to a ci ty colleg e and ha ving to liv e at home, and how all kno wledge was opening up bef ore me and per haps one da y I would be able to wri te gr eat books the w ay she did. I had r ead one o f Mrs Guine a’s books in the to wn li brary—the colleg e library didn ’t stock them f or some r eason—and i t was cramme d from beg inning to end wi th long, suspenseful questions: “Would E velyn disc ern tha t Glad ys kne w R oger in her past? wonder ed Hector f everishl y” and “H ow could Donald marr y her when he le arne d of the child Elsie, hidden a way with Mrs R ollmop on the se clude d country farm ? Griselda demande d of her ble ak, moonli t pillo w.” These books e arne d Philomena Guine a, who la ter told me she had be en very stupid a t colleg e, millions and millions o f dollars. Mrs Guine a answ ered my letter and in vited me to lunch a t her home. Tha t was wher e I sa w my first f inger-bowl. The w ater had a f ew cherr y blossoms f loating in i t, and I thoug ht it must be some cle ar sor t of Japanese af ter-dinner soup and a te every bit of it, including the crisp li ttle blossoms. Mrs Guine a never said an ything, and i t was onl y much la ter, when I told a debutan te I knew at colleg e about the dinner , tha t I le arne d wha t I had done. When w e came out o f the sunnil y-lit interior o f the L adies’ D ay offices, the str eets were grey and fuming wi th rain. I t wasn’t t

The Sickness of Artifice

Esther reflects on a past social blunder where she mistakenly ate decorative cherry blossoms from a finger bowl.
A torrential and oppressive rainstorm forces Esther into a crowded taxi, destroying her hopes for a solitary afternoon.
While watching a Technicolor film, Esther feels a deep sense of alienation and disgust toward its artificial characters and predictable plot.
A sudden and violent physical illness overcomes Esther during the movie, which she suspects may be caused by the film's vapidity or tainted caviar.

l. The w ater had a f ew cherr y blossoms f loating in i t, and I thoug ht it must be some cle ar sor t of Japanese af ter-dinner soup and a te every bit of it, including the crisp li ttle blossoms. Mrs Guine a never said an ything, and i t was onl y much la ter, when I told a debutan te I knew at colleg e about the dinner , tha t I le arne d wha t I had done. When w e came out o f the sunnil y-lit interior o f the L adies’ D ay offices, the str eets were grey and fuming wi th rain. I t wasn’t the nic e kind o f rain tha t rinses y ou cle an, but the sor t of rain I imag ine the y must ha ve in B razil. I t flew str aight down fr om the sky in dr ops the size of coffee saucers and hi t the hot side walks wi th a hiss tha t sen t clouds o f stream wri thing up fr om the g leaming, dar k concr ete. My secret hope o f spending the af ternoon alone in Cen tral Park died in the g lass egg-be ater o f Ladies’ D ay’s revolving doors. I f ound myself spe wed out thr ough the w arm r ain and in to the dim, throbbing c ave of a c ab, tog ether wi th Be tsy and H ilda and Emil y 42|The Bell J ar Ann Of fenbach, a prim li ttle g irl with a bun o f red hair and a husband and thr ee childr en in T eaneck, N ew Jerse y. The mo vie w as very poor . It starr ed a nic e blonde g irl who look ed like June All yson but w as really somebod y else, and a se xy black - haired girl who look ed lik e Elizabe th Taylor but w as also somebod y else, and t wo big, br oad-shoulder ed bonehe ads wi th names lik e Rick and Gil. It was a f ootball r omanc e and i t was in te chnic olour . I hate te chnic olour . Everybod y in a te chnic olour mo vie se ems to feel oblig ed to w ear a lurid ne w costume in e ach ne w sc ene and to stand ar ound lik e a clothes-horse wi th a lot o f very green tr ees or very yellow whe at or v ery blue oc ean rolling a way for miles and miles in e very dir ection. Most o f the ac tion in this pic ture took plac e in the f ootball stands, with the t wo girls waving and che ering in smar t sui ts wi th or ange chrysan themums the siz e of cabbag es on their lapels, or in a ballr oom, wher e the g irls sw oope d acr oss the f loor wi th their da tes, in dr esses lik e some thing out o f Gone W ith the W ind, and then sneaked off into the po wder-room to sa y nast y intense things to each other . Finally I could se e the nic e girl was going to end up wi th the nic e football her o and the se xy g irl was going to end up wi th nobod y, because the man name d Gil had onl y wanted a mistr ess and not a wife all along and w as no w packing o ff to E urope on a sing le tick et. At about this poin t I began to f eel pe culiar . I look ed round me a t all the r ows o f rapt li ttle he ads wi th the same sil ver glow on them a t the fr ont and the same black shado w on them a t the back, and the y looked like nothing mor e or less than a lot o f stupid moon-br ains. I felt in terri ble dang er of puking. I didn ’t kno w whe ther i t was the awful mo vie g iving me a stomach-ache or all tha t caviar I had e aten. “I’m going back to the hotel, ” I whisper ed to Be tsy thr ough the half-dar k. Betsy w as staring a t the scr een wi th de adly concentration. “Don ’t you feel good?” she whisper ed, bar ely mo ving her lips. “No,” I said. “I f eel lik e hell. ” Chapter 4 |43 “So do I, I ’ll come back wi th you.” We slippe d out o f our se ats and said Ex cuse me Ex cuse me Ex cuse me do wn the length o f our r ow, while the pe ople grumble d and hisse d and shif ted their r ain boots and umbr ellas to le t us pass, and I steppe d on as man y feet as I c ould be cause i t took m y mind o ff this enormous desir e to puk e tha t was ballooning up in fr ont of me so fast I c ouldn ’t see round i t. The r emains o f a tepid r ain w ere still sif ting do wn when w e steppe d out in to the str eet. Betsy look ed a frig ht. The bloom w as gone fr om her che eks and her dr ained fac e floated in fr ont of me, gr een and sw eating. W e fell into one o f

Sickness and Shared Misery

Esther and Betsy suffer a violent bout of food poisoning, resulting in a desperate and nauseating journey back to their hotel.
The two women attempt to conceal their vomiting from the taxi driver by pretending to pick items up off the floor while humming.
The narrator reflects that the raw intimacy of shared illness has the power to forge immediate and deep friendships.
Upon reaching the hotel, Esther's condition deteriorates into a chilling physical collapse on the bathroom floor.

and shif ted their r ain boots and umbr ellas to le t us pass, and I steppe d on as man y feet as I c ould be cause i t took m y mind o ff this enormous desir e to puk e tha t was ballooning up in fr ont of me so fast I c ouldn ’t see round i t. The r emains o f a tepid r ain w ere still sif ting do wn when w e steppe d out in to the str eet. Betsy look ed a frig ht. The bloom w as gone fr om her che eks and her dr ained fac e floated in fr ont of me, gr een and sw eating. W e fell into one o f those y ellow che ckered cabs tha t are always w aiting a t the k erb when y ou ar e trying to de cide whe ther or not y ou w ant a taxi, and b y the time w e reache d the hotel I had puk ed onc e and Betsy had puk ed twice. The c ab driv er took the c orners wi th such momen tum tha t we were thr own tog ether f irst on one side o f the back se at and then on the other . Each time one o f us f elt sick, she w ould le an o ver quie tly as if she had dr oppe d some thing and w as picking i t up o ff the f loor, and the other one w ould hum a li ttle and pr etend to be looking out the windo w. The c ab driv er se eme d to kno w wha t we were doing, e ven so. “Hey,” he pr oteste d, driving thr ough a lig ht tha t had just turne d red, “y ou c an’t do tha t in m y cab, y ou be tter g et out and do i t in the street.” But w e didn ’t say anything, and I guess he f igured we were almost at the hotel so he didn ’t mak e us g et out un til w e pulle d up in fr ont of the main en trance. We didn ’t dar e wait to add up the far e. W e stuf fed a pile o f silver into the c abby’s hand and dr oppe d a c ouple o f kle enexes to c over the mess on the f loor, and r an in thr ough the lobb y and on to the empt y ele vator. Luckil y for us, i t was a quie t time o f day. Betsy w as sick again in the ele vator and I held her he ad, and then I w as sick and she held mine. Usuall y after a g ood puk e you feel be tter rig ht away. We hugg ed 44|The Bell J ar each other and then said g ood-b ye and w ent off to opposi te ends o f the hall to lie do wn in our o wn r ooms. Ther e is nothing lik e puking with somebod y to mak e you in to old friends. But the minute I ’d shut the door behind me and undr esse d and dragged myself on to the be d, I f elt w orse than e ver. I felt I just had to go to the toile t. I strugg led into m y whi te ba throbe wi th the blue cornf lowers on i t and stagg ered do wn to the ba throom. Betsy w as alr eady ther e. I c ould he ar her gr oaning behind the door , so I hurrie d on ar ound the c orner to the ba throom in the ne xt wing. I thoug ht I w ould die, i t was so far . I sat on the toile t and le aned m y he ad o ver the e dge of the washbo wl and I thoug ht I w as losing m y guts and m y dinner both. The sickness r olled thr ough me in gr eat waves. Af ter e ach w ave it would fade a way and le ave me limp as a w et leaf and shiv ering all over and then I w ould f eel it rising up in me again, and the g littering white tor ture-chamber tiles under m y feet and o ver m y head and on all four sides close d in and sque ezed me to pie ces. I don ’t kno w ho w long I k ept a t it. I le t the c old w ater in the bowl g o on running loudl y wi th the stopper out, so an ybod y who came b y would think I w as w ashing m y clothes, and then when I f elt reasonabl y saf e I str etche d out on the f loor and la y qui te still. It didn ’t se em to be summer an y mor e. I c ould f eel the win ter shaking m y bones and bang ing m y teeth tog ether, and the big whi te hotel to wel I had dr agged do wn wi th me la y under m y head numb as a sno wdrift. I thoug ht it very bad manners f or an ybod y to pound on a bathroom door the w ay some person w as pounding. The y could just go around the c orner and f ind another ba throom the w ay I had done and le ave me in pe ace. But the person k ept bang ing and ple ading with me to le t them in and I thoug ht I diml y recogniz ed the v oice. It sounde d a bi t like Emil y Ann Of fenbach. “Just a

The Mass Poisoning

The narrator suffers through a violent illness alone in a bathroom before collapsing in the hotel hallway.
From her position on the floor, she experiences a disoriented perspective of the world, focusing on a stranger's cracked leather shoe.
A hotel nurse and a doctor intervene, revealing that nearly a dozen other women in her group have also been poisoned.
The nurse provides a grimly vivid description of the collective sickness, noting the girls are 'sick as dogs and cryin’ for ma.'
After receiving a medical injection, the narrator experiences a sense of relief and drifts into a deep sleep.

er, and the big whi te hotel to wel I had dr agged do wn wi th me la y under m y head numb as a sno wdrift. I thoug ht it very bad manners f or an ybod y to pound on a bathroom door the w ay some person w as pounding. The y could just go around the c orner and f ind another ba throom the w ay I had done and le ave me in pe ace. But the person k ept bang ing and ple ading with me to le t them in and I thoug ht I diml y recogniz ed the v oice. It sounde d a bi t like Emil y Ann Of fenbach. “Just a minute, ” I said then. M y words bung led out thick as molasses. I pulle d myself tog ether and slo wly rose and f lushe d the toile t for the ten th time and sloppe d the bo wl cle an and r olled up the to wel Chapter 4 |45 so the v omit stains didn ’t sho w very cle arly and unlock ed the door and steppe d out in to the hall. I kne w it would be fa tal if I look ed at Emil y Ann or an ybod y else so I fixed my eyes glassil y on a windo w tha t swam a t the end o f the hall and put one f oot in fr ont of the other . The ne xt thing I had a vie w of was somebod y’s shoe. It was a stout shoe o f cracked black le ather and qui te old, wi th tiny air holes in a sc allope d pa ttern o ver the toe and a dull polish, and i t was poin ted at me. I t seeme d to be plac ed on a har d green surfac e tha t was hur ting m y rig ht che ekbone. I kept v ery still, w aiting f or a clue tha t would g ive me some notion of wha t to do. A li ttle to the lef t of the shoe I sa w a v ague he ap o f blue c ornf lowers on a whi te gr ound and this made me w ant to cr y. It was the sle eve of my own ba throbe I w as looking a t, and m y lef t hand la y pale as a c od at the end o f it. “She ’s all rig ht now.” The v oice came fr om a c ool, r ational r egion far abo ve my he ad. For a minute I didn ’t think ther e was an ything str ange about i t, and then I thoug ht it was str ange. It was a man ’s voice, and no men w ere allowed to be in our hotel a t any time o f the nig ht or da y. “How man y others ar e ther e?” the v oice went on. I listene d with in terest. The f loor se eme d wonderfull y solid. I t was comforting to kno w I had fallen and c ould fall no far ther. “Eleven, I think, ” a w oman ’s voice answ ered. I f igured she must belong to the black shoe. “I think ther e’s ele ven mor e of ‘um, but one’s missin ’ so ther e’s one y ten. ” “Well, y ou g et this one to be d and I ’ll tak e care of the r est.” I heard a hollo w boomp boomp in m y rig ht ear tha t grew fain ter and fain ter. Then a door opene d in the distanc e, and ther e were voices and gr oans, and the door shut again. Two hands slid under m y armpi ts and the w oman ’s voice said, “Come, c ome, lo vey, we’ll mak e it yet,” and I f elt m yself being half lifted, and slo wly the doors began to mo ve by, one b y one, un til w e came to an open door and w ent in. The she et on m y bed was folde d back, and the w oman helpe d me 46|The Bell J ar lie do wn and c overed me up to the chin and r ested for a minute in the be dside armchair , fanning herself wi th one plump, pink hand. She w ore gilt-rimme d spe ctacles and a whi te nurse ’s cap. “Who ar e you?” I ask ed in a fain t voice. “I’m the hotel nurse. ” “What’s the ma tter wi th me ?” “Poisone d,” she said brief ly. “Poisone d, the whole lot o f you. I never se en an ythin’ like it. Sick her e, sick ther e, wha tever ha ve you young ladies be en stuf fin’ yoursel ves wi th?” “Is everybod y else sick too ?” I ask ed with some hope. “The whole o f your lot, ” she af firme d with relish. “S ick as dogs and cryin’ for ma. ” The r oom ho vered ar ound me wi th gr eat gentleness, as if the chairs and the tables and the w alls w ere wi thholding their w eight out o f sympa thy for m y sudden fr ailty. “The doc tor’s given y ou an in jection, ” the nurse said fr om the door way. “You’ll sle ep no w.” And the door took her plac e like a she et of blank paper , and then a larger she et of paper took the plac e of the door , and I drif ted towa

The Purifying Poison

The narrator recovers from a severe bout of food poisoning, feeling a deep physical frailty and a quiet, somnolent connection to her surroundings.
Doreen provides uncharacteristic care and tenderness, bringing chicken broth and staying by the narrator's side throughout the recovery.
The source of the mass illness is identified as ptomaine-laden crabmeat served during a Ladies' Day luncheon.
The magazine quickly sends expensive gifts to the sick girls as a calculated attempt to avoid legal action and potential lawsuits.
Despite the physical agony, the narrator experiences a spiritual epiphany, feeling entirely purged and ready to start a new life.

f your lot, ” she af firme d with relish. “S ick as dogs and cryin’ for ma. ” The r oom ho vered ar ound me wi th gr eat gentleness, as if the chairs and the tables and the w alls w ere wi thholding their w eight out o f sympa thy for m y sudden fr ailty. “The doc tor’s given y ou an in jection, ” the nurse said fr om the door way. “You’ll sle ep no w.” And the door took her plac e like a she et of blank paper , and then a larger she et of paper took the plac e of the door , and I drif ted toward it and smile d myself to sle ep. Somebod y was standing b y my pillo w wi th a whi te cup. “Drink this, ” the y said. I shook m y head. The pillo w cr ackle d like a w ad of straw. “Drink this and y ou’ll feel be tter.” A thick whi te china cup w as lo wered under m y nose. I n the w an light tha t mig ht have be en e vening and mig ht have be en da wn I contempla ted the cle ar amber liquid. P ads o f but ter f loated on the surfac e and a fain t chick eny aroma fume d up to m y nostrils. My eyes mo ved ten tatively to the skir t behind the cup. “Be tsy,” I said. “Betsy nothing, i t’s me. ” I raised my eyes then, and sa w Dor een’s head silhoue tted against the paling windo w, her blonde hair li t at the tips fr om behind lik e a halo o f gold. H er fac e was in shado w, so I c ouldn ’t mak e out her expression, but I f elt a sor t of exper t tenderness f lowing fr om the Chapter 4 |47 ends o f her f ingers. She mig ht have be en Be tsy or m y mother or a fern-sc ented nurse. I ben t my he ad and took a sip o f the br oth. I thoug ht my mouth must be made o f sand. I took another sip and then another and another un til the cup w as empt y. I felt pur ged and hol y and r eady for a ne w life. Doreen se t the cup on the windo w-sill and lo wered herself in to the armchair . I notic ed tha t she made no mo ve to tak e out a cigar ette, and as she w as a chain-smok er this surprise d me. “Well, y ou almost die d,” she said f inally. “I guess i t was all tha t caviar.” “Caviar nothing! I t was the cr abme at. The y did tests on i t and i t was chock -full o f ptomaine. ” I had a vision o f the c elestiall y whi te ki tchens on L adies’ D ay stretching in to inf inity. I sa w avocado pe ar af ter a vocado pe ar being stuffed wi th cr abme at and ma yonnaise and photogr aphe d under brillian t lights. I sa w the delic ate, pink -mot tled cla w-meat poking seductively thr ough its blank et of ma yonnaise and the bland y ellow pear cup wi th its rim o f alliga tor-green cr adling the whole mess. Poison. “Who did tests?” I thoug ht the doc tor mig ht ha ve pumpe d somebod y’s stomach and then anal yzed wha t he f ound in his hotel labor atory. “Those dodos on L adies’ D ay. As soon as y ou all star ted keeling over lik e ninepins somebod y called into the o ffice and the o ffice called acr oss to L adies’ D ay and the y did tests on e verything lef t over fr om the big lunch. H a!” “Ha!” I e choe d hollo wly. It was good to ha ve Dor een back. “They sen t presen ts,” she adde d. “They’re in a big c arton out in the hall.” “How did the y get her e so fast?” “Special e xpress deliv ery, wha t do y ou think? The y can’t afford to ha ve the lot o f you running ar ound sa ying y ou g ot poisone d at Ladies’ D ay. You could sue them f or every penn y the y own if y ou just knew some smar t law man. ” 48|The Bell J ar “What are the pr esen ts?” I began to f eel if i t was a g ood enoug h presen t I wouldn ’t mind about wha t happene d, be cause I f elt so pur e as a r esult. “Nobod y’s opene d the bo x yet, the y’re all out f lat. I’m suppose d to be c arting soup in to everybod y, seeing as I ’m the onl y one on m y feet, but I br ought you yours f irst.” “See wha t the pr esen t is,” I begg ed. Then I r emember ed and said, “I’ve a pr esen t for you as w ell.” Doreen w ent out in to the hall. I c ould he ar her rustling ar ound for a minute and then the sound o f paper te aring. F inally she c ame back c arrying a thick book wi th a g lossy c over

Interesting Names and New Dates

Esther and Doreen recover from their food poisoning, exchanging personal gifts while the rest of the group remains incapacitated.
The girls receive copies of a short story collection from their hosts, which Doreen suggests is intended to keep them busy while sick.
A man named Constantin, an interpreter connected to Mrs. Willard, calls Esther early in the morning to invite her out.
Esther muses on her habit of 'collecting' men with unique names, citing previous acquaintances named Socrates and Attila.
Reflecting on Mrs. Willard's social networking, Esther cynically realizes she is part of a reciprocal hospitality trade.

e as a r esult. “Nobod y’s opene d the bo x yet, the y’re all out f lat. I’m suppose d to be c arting soup in to everybod y, seeing as I ’m the onl y one on m y feet, but I br ought you yours f irst.” “See wha t the pr esen t is,” I begg ed. Then I r emember ed and said, “I’ve a pr esen t for you as w ell.” Doreen w ent out in to the hall. I c ould he ar her rustling ar ound for a minute and then the sound o f paper te aring. F inally she c ame back c arrying a thick book wi th a g lossy c over and pe ople ’s names printed all o ver it. “The Thir ty Best Shor t Stories o f the Y ear.” She dr oppe d the book in m y lap. “ Ther e’s ele ven mor e of them out ther e in tha t bo x. I suppose the y thoug ht it’d give you some thing to r ead while y ou were sick. ” She pa used. “Where’s mine ?” I fished in m y pock et-book and hande d Dor een the mirr or wi th her name and the daisies on i t. Dor een look ed at me and I look ed at her and w e both burst out la ughing. “You c an ha ve my soup if y ou w ant,” she said. “ They put t welve soups on the tr ay by mistak e and Lenn y and I stuf fed do wn so man y hotdogs while w e were waiting f or the r ain to stop I c ouldn ’t eat another mouthful. ” “Bring i t in,” I said. “I ’m star ving. ” Chapter 4 |49 Chapter 5 At seven the ne xt morning the telephone r ang. Slowly I sw am up fr om the bot tom o f a black sle ep. I alr eady had a telegr am fr om J ay Ce e stuck in m y mirr or, telling me not to bother to come in to w ork but to r est f or a da y and g et comple tely well, and how sorr y she w as about the bad cr abme at, so I c ouldn ’t imag ine who w ould be c alling. I reache d out and hi tche d the r eceiver on to m y pillo w so the mouthpie ce rested on m y collarbone and the e arpie ce lay on m y shoulder . “Hello?” A man ’s voice said, “I s tha t Miss Esther Gr eenwood?” I thoug ht I detected a slig ht foreign ac cent. “It certainl y is,” I said. “This is Constan tin Some thing-or -Other .” I couldn ’t mak e out the last name, but i t was full o f S’s and K’ s. I didn ’t kno w an y Constan tin, but I hadn ’t the he art to sa y so. Then I r emember ed Mrs W illard and her simultane ous interpr eter. “Of course, o f course!” I crie d, sitting up and clutching the phone to me wi th both hands. I’d ne ver ha ve given Mrs W illard credit for in troducing me to a man name d Constan tin. I collected men wi th in teresting names. I alr eady kne w a Socr ates. He was tall and ug ly and in telle ctual and the son o f some big Gr eek movie pr oduc er in H ollywood, but also a Ca tholic, which ruine d it for both o f us. I n addi tion to Socr ates I kne w a W hite Russian name d Attila a t the Boston School o f Business Administr ation. Graduall y I r ealized tha t Constan tin w as tr ying to arr ange a meeting f or us la ter in the da y. “Would y ou lik e to se e the UN this af ternoon ?” “I can alr eady see the UN ,” I told him, wi th a li ttle h ysteric al giggle. 50|Chapter 5 He seeme d nonplusse d. “I can se e it from m y windo w.” I thoug ht per haps m y Eng lish w as a touch too fast f or him. Ther e was a silenc e. Then he said, “Ma ybe y ou w ould lik e a bi te to e at afterwards.” I detected the v ocabular y of Mrs W illard and m y he art sank. Mrs Willard always in vited you for a bi te to e at. I r emember ed tha t this man had be en a guest a t Mrs W illard’s house when he f irst c ame to Americ a—Mrs W illard had one o f these arr angemen ts wher e you open y our house to f oreigners and then when y ou g o abr oad the y open their houses to y ou. I now sa w qui te cle arly tha t Mrs W illard had simpl y traded her open house in Russia f or m y bite to e at in N ew York. “Yes, I w ould lik e a bi te to e at,” I said stif fly. “What time will y ou come ?” “I’ll call for you in m y car about t wo. It’s the Amaz on, isn ’t it?” “Yes.” “Ah, I kno w wher e tha t is.” For a momen t I thoug ht his tone w as laden wi th spe cial me aning, and then I f igured tha t probabl y some o f

Hypocrisy and Hotel Etiquette

Esther reluctantly agrees to a date with a UN interpreter, immediately imagining his flaws and her own future disdain for him.
She reflects on her hidden resentment toward Buddy Willard, whom she once idolized but now views as a hypocrite.
Because Buddy is ill with tuberculosis, Esther feels burdened by the social obligation to humor him until he recovers.
Her confusion over the etiquette of tipping hotel staff highlights her general sense of alienation and social incompetence in New York.
Esther’s internal monologue reveals a deep-seated cynicism regarding romantic relationships and the transactional nature of social interactions.

and then when y ou g o abr oad the y open their houses to y ou. I now sa w qui te cle arly tha t Mrs W illard had simpl y traded her open house in Russia f or m y bite to e at in N ew York. “Yes, I w ould lik e a bi te to e at,” I said stif fly. “What time will y ou come ?” “I’ll call for you in m y car about t wo. It’s the Amaz on, isn ’t it?” “Yes.” “Ah, I kno w wher e tha t is.” For a momen t I thoug ht his tone w as laden wi th spe cial me aning, and then I f igured tha t probabl y some o f the g irls at the Amaz on were secretaries a t the UN and ma ybe he had tak en one o f them out at one time. I le t him hang up f irst, and then I hung up and la y back in the pillo ws, f eeling grim. Ther e I w ent again, building up a g lamor ous pic ture of a man who would lo ve me passiona tely the minute he me t me, and all out o f a few pr osy nothings. A dut y tour o f the UN and a post-UN sand wich! I trie d to jack up m y mor ale. Probabl y Mrs W illard’s simultane ous in terpr eter w ould be shor t and ug ly and I w ould c ome to look do wn on him in the end the w ay I look ed do wn on B uddy Willard. This thoug ht gave me a c ertain satisfac tion. Be cause I did look do wn on B uddy W illard, and althoug h everybod y still thoug ht I w ould marr y him when he c ame out o f the TB plac e, I kne w I w ould ne ver marr y him if he w ere the last man on e arth. Buddy Willard was a h ypocri te. Chapter 5 |51 Of c ourse, I didn ’t kno w he w as a h ypocri te at first. I thoug ht he w as the most w onderful bo y I’d ever se en. I ’d ador ed him fr om a distanc e for five years bef ore he e ven look ed at me, and then there was a be autiful time when I still ador ed him and he star ted looking a t me, and then just as he w as looking a t me mor e and mor e I disc overed qui te by acciden t wha t an a wful h ypocri te he w as, and now he w anted me to marr y him and I ha ted his guts. The w orst par t of it was I c ouldn ’t come str aight out and tell him what I thoug ht of him, be cause he c aught TB bef ore I could do tha t, and no w I had to humour him along till he g ot w ell again and c ould take the un varnishe d truth. I decided not to g o do wn to the c afeteria f or br eakfast. I t would only me an g etting dr esse d, and wha t was the poin t of getting dresse d if y ou w ere sta ying in be d for the morning ? I c ould ha ve called do wn and ask ed for a br eakfast tr ay in m y room, I guess, but then I w ould ha ve to tip the person who br ought it up and I ne ver knew ho w much to tip. I ’d had some v ery unse ttling e xperienc es trying to tip pe ople in N ew York. When I f irst arriv ed at the Amaz on a d warfish, bald man in a bellhop ’s unif orm c arrie d m y sui tcase up in the ele vator and unlock ed my room f or me. Of c ourse I rushe d imme diately to the windo w and look ed out to se e wha t the vie w w as. Af ter a while I was aware of this bellhop turning on the hot and c old taps in my washbo wl and sa ying “ This is the hot and this is the c old” and switching on the r adio and telling me the names o f all the N ew York stations and I began to g et une asy, so I k ept m y back to him and said firmly, “Thank y ou for bring ing up m y sui tcase.” “Thank y ou thank y ou thank y ou. H a!” he said in a v ery nast y insinua ting tone, and bef ore I c ould whe el round to se e wha t had come o ver him he w as gone, shut ting the door behind him wi th a rude slam. Later, when I told Dor een about his curious beha viour , she said, “You ninn y, he w anted his tip. ” I ask ed ho w much I should ha ve given and she said a quar ter a t least and thir ty-five cents if the sui tcase w as too he avy. Now I c ould 52|The Bell J ar have carrie d tha t sui tcase to m y room perf ectly well by myself, onl y the bellhop se eme d so e ager to do i t tha t I le t him. I thoug ht tha t sort of ser vice came along wi th wha t you paid f or your hotel r oom. I hate handing o ver mone y to pe ople f or doing wha t I could just as easily

Social Missteps and Fig Tree Fables

Esther reflects on her inability to navigate New York's tipping culture, which makes her feel nervous and socially inept.
A traumatic encounter with an angry taxi driver highlights her vulnerability and lack of street smarts in the city.
While recovering, Esther reads a story about a Jewish man and a nun whose relationship at a fig tree is ruined by outside observers.
She identifies with the story's tragic shift, comparing it to her own disillusionment with Buddy Willard after witnessing a medical procedure together.

d, “You ninn y, he w anted his tip. ” I ask ed ho w much I should ha ve given and she said a quar ter a t least and thir ty-five cents if the sui tcase w as too he avy. Now I c ould 52|The Bell J ar have carrie d tha t sui tcase to m y room perf ectly well by myself, onl y the bellhop se eme d so e ager to do i t tha t I le t him. I thoug ht tha t sort of ser vice came along wi th wha t you paid f or your hotel r oom. I hate handing o ver mone y to pe ople f or doing wha t I could just as easily do m yself, i t mak es me ner vous. Doreen said ten per c ent was wha t you should tip a person, but I someho w ne ver had the rig ht chang e and I ’d ha ve felt a wfull y sill y giving somebod y half a dollar and sa ying, “F ifteen c ents of this is a tip for you, ple ase g ive me thir ty-five cents back. ” The f irst time I took a taxi in N ew York I tippe d the driv er ten cents. The far e was a dollar , so I thoug ht ten c ents was exactly rig ht and ga ve the driv er m y dime wi th a li ttle flourish and a smile. B ut he onl y held i t in the palm o f his hand and star ed and star ed at it, and when I steppe d out o f the c ab, hoping I had not hande d him a Canadian dime b y mistak e, he star ted yelling, “L ady I g otta liv e like you and e verybod y else, ” in a loud v oice which sc ared me so much I broke into a run. Luckil y he w as stoppe d at a tr affic lig ht or I think he w ould ha ve driv en along beside me y elling in tha t embarr assing way. When I ask ed Dor een about this she said the tipping per centage might well ha ve risen fr om ten to f ifteen per c ent sinc e she w as last in N ew York. Ei ther tha t, or tha t par ticular c ab-driv er w as an out and out louse. I reache d for the book the pe ople fr om L adies’ D ay had sen t. When I opene d it a c ard fell out. The fr ont of the c ard sho wed a poodle in a f lowered be djack et sitting in a poodle bask et with a sad face, and the inside o f the c ard sho wed the poodle l ying do wn in the bask et with a li ttle smile, sound asle ep under an embr oider ed sampler tha t said, “ You’ll get well best wi th lots and lots o f rest”. At the bot tom o f the c ard somebod y had wri tten, “ Get well quick! fr om all of your g ood friends a t Ladies’ D ay” in la vender ink. I flippe d thr ough one stor y after another un til finally I c ame to a story about a f ig-tr ee. This f ig-tr ee grew on a gr een la wn be tween the house o f a Jewish man and a c onvent, and the J ewish man and a be autiful dar k nun Chapter 5 |53 kept me eting a t the tr ee to pick the ripe f igs, un til one da y the y saw an egg ha tching in a bir d’s nest on a br anch o f the tr ee, and as the y watche d the li ttle bir d pe ck its way out o f the egg, the y touche d the backs o f their hands tog ether, and then the nun didn ’t come out to pick f igs wi th the J ewish man an y mor e but a me an-fac ed Ca tholic kitchen-maid c ame to pick them inste ad and c ounted up the f igs the man pick ed after the y were both thr ough to be sur e he hadn ’t picked an y mor e than she had, and the man w as furious. I thoug ht it was a lo vely stor y, espe cially the par t about the f ig- tree in win ter under the sno w and then the f ig-tr ee in spring wi th all the gr een frui t. I felt sorr y when I c ame to the last pag e. I w anted to cr awl in be tween those black lines o f prin t the w ay you cr awl through a f ence, and g o to sle ep under tha t beautiful big gr een fig- tree. It seeme d to me B uddy Willard and I w ere lik e tha t Jewish man and tha t nun, althoug h of course w e weren’t Jewish or Ca tholic but Unitarian. W e had me t tog ether under our o wn imag inary fig-tr ee, and wha t we had se en w asn’t a bir d coming out o f an egg but a bab y coming out o f a w oman, and then some thing a wful happene d and we went our separ ate w ays. As I la y ther e in m y whi te hotel be d feeling lonel y and w eak, I thoug ht of Buddy Willard lying e ven lonelier and w eaker than I w as up in tha t san

Dust and Poetry

Esther reflects on her loneliness in a New York hotel while Buddy Willard suffers from tuberculosis in an Adirondack sanatorium.
She recalls a past conversation where Buddy dismissively defined a poem as nothing more than a piece of dust.
Esther develops imaginary retorts to Buddy's scientific arrogance, arguing that humans and the cadavers he dissects are just as much dust as poetry is.
She explores the power dynamic in their relationship, noting how she struggled to maintain her own perspective against his 'scientific' proofs.
The narrative shifts back to the origins of their courtship, sparked by Buddy's unexpected visit and invitation to the Yale Junior Prom.

d I w ere lik e tha t Jewish man and tha t nun, althoug h of course w e weren’t Jewish or Ca tholic but Unitarian. W e had me t tog ether under our o wn imag inary fig-tr ee, and wha t we had se en w asn’t a bir d coming out o f an egg but a bab y coming out o f a w oman, and then some thing a wful happene d and we went our separ ate w ays. As I la y ther e in m y whi te hotel be d feeling lonel y and w eak, I thoug ht of Buddy Willard lying e ven lonelier and w eaker than I w as up in tha t sana torium in the Adir ondacks, and I f elt lik e a he el of the worst sor t. In his le tters B uddy kept telling me ho w he w as reading poems b y a poe t who w as also a doc tor and ho w he ’d found out about some famous de ad Russian shor t stor y wri ter who had be en a doctor too, so ma ybe doc tors and wri ters c ould g et along f ine af ter all. Now this w as a v ery dif ferent tune fr om wha t Buddy Willard had been sing ing all the t wo years w e were getting to kno w each other . I remember the da y he smile d at me and said, “Do y ou kno w wha t a poem is, Esther?” “No, wha t?” I said. “A pie ce of dust. ” And he look ed so pr oud o f having thoug ht of this 54|The Bell J ar that I just star ed at his blond hair and his blue e yes and his whi te teeth—he had v ery long, str ong whi te te eth—and said “I guess so. ” It was onl y in the middle o f New York a whole y ear la ter tha t I finally thoug ht of an answ er to tha t remar k. I spen t a lot o f time ha ving imag inary conversations wi th Buddy Willard. H e was a c ouple o f years older than I w as and v ery scien tific, so he c ould al ways pr ove things. W hen I w as wi th him I had to w ork to k eep m y head abo ve water. These c onversations I had in m y mind usuall y repeated the beginnings o f conversations I ’d really had wi th B uddy, onl y the y finishe d wi th me answ ering him back qui te sharpl y, inste ad o f just sitting ar ound and sa ying “I guess so ”. Now, lying on m y back in be d, I imag ined Buddy saying, “Do y ou know wha t a poem is, Esther?” “No, wha t?” I w ould sa y. “A pie ce of dust. ” Then just as he w as smiling and star ting to look pr oud, I w ould sa y, “So ar e the c adavers y ou cut up. So ar e the pe ople y ou think y ou’re curing. The y’re dust as dust as dust. I r eckon a g ood poem lasts a whole lot long er than a hundr ed of those pe ople put tog ether.” And o f course B uddy wouldn ’t ha ve an y answ er to tha t, be cause what I said w as true. P eople w ere made o f nothing so much as dust, and I c ouldn ’t see tha t doc toring all tha t dust w as a bi t better than writing poems pe ople w ould r emember and r epeat to themsel ves when the y were unhapp y or sick and c ouldn ’t sle ep. My trouble w as I took e verything B uddy Willard told me as the honest-to-God truth. I r emember the f irst nig ht he kisse d me. I t was af ter the Y ale Junior Pr om. It was str ange, the w ay Buddy had in vited me to tha t Prom. He poppe d into m y house out o f the blue one Christmas v acation, wearing a thick whi te tur tlene ck sw eater and looking so handsome I could har dly stop staring and said, “I mig ht drop o ver to se e you at colleg e some da y, all rig ht?” I was flabber gaste d. I onl y saw Buddy at chur ch on S unda ys when we were both home fr om c olleg e, and then a t a distanc e, and I Chapter 5 |55 couldn ’t figure wha t had put i t into his he ad to run o ver and se e me—he had run the t wo miles be tween our houses f or cr oss- country practice, he said. Of c ourse, our mothers w ere good friends. The y had g one to school tog ether and then both marrie d their pr ofessors and se ttled down in the same to wn, but B uddy was al ways off on a scholarship at prep school in the fall or e arning mone y by fighting blister rust in M ontana in the summer , so our mothers being old school chums really didn ’t ma tter a bi t. After this sudden visi t I didn ’t he ar a w ord from B uddy un til one fine Sa turday morning in e arly Mar ch

Buddy’s Unexpected Visit

While studying for a history exam, Esther is surprised by an unannounced visit from her family friend Buddy Willard.
Esther reflects on her dismal dating life, noting that she often ends up with unattractive matches set up by college seniors.
The excitement of Buddy's visit is undercut when he reveals he is actually in town for a formal dance with another girl, Joan Gilling.
Esther describes Joan as a physically imposing and overly successful peer whose presence makes her feel deeply insecure.
Overwhelmed by envy regarding Buddy’s social life at Yale, Esther resolves to lower her expectations of him.

practice, he said. Of c ourse, our mothers w ere good friends. The y had g one to school tog ether and then both marrie d their pr ofessors and se ttled down in the same to wn, but B uddy was al ways off on a scholarship at prep school in the fall or e arning mone y by fighting blister rust in M ontana in the summer , so our mothers being old school chums really didn ’t ma tter a bi t. After this sudden visi t I didn ’t he ar a w ord from B uddy un til one fine Sa turday morning in e arly Mar ch. I w as up in m y room a t colleg e, stud ying about P eter the H ermi t and W alter the P enniless for m y histor y exam on the crusades the c oming M onda y when the hall phone r ang. Usuall y pe ople ar e suppose d to tak e turns answ ering the hall phone, but as I w as the onl y freshman on a f loor wi th all seniors they made me answ er it most o f the time. I w aited a minute to se e if anybod y would be at me to i t. Then I f igured everybod y was pr obabl y out pla ying squash or a way on w eek-ends, so I answ ered it myself. “Is tha t you, Esther?” the g irl on w atch do wnstairs said, and when I said “ Yes,” she said, “ Ther e’s a man to se e you.” I was surprise d to he ar this, be cause o f all the blind da tes I ’d had tha t year not one c alled me up again f or a se cond da te. I just didn ’t have any luck. I ha ted coming do wnstairs sw eaty-hande d and curious e very Saturday nig ht and ha ving some senior in troduc e me to her a unt’s best friend’ s son and f inding some pale, mushr oom y fellow wi th pr otruding e ars or buck te eth or a bad leg. I didn ’t think I deser ved it. After all, I w asn’t cripple d in an y way, I just studie d too hard, I didn ’t kno w when to stop. Well, I c ombe d my hair and put on some mor e lipstick and took my histor y book —so I c ould sa y I w as on m y way to the li brary if i t turne d out to be somebod y awful—and w ent down, and ther e was Buddy Willard leaning against the mail table in a khaki zipper jack et and blue dungar ees and fr ayed grey sne akers and grinning up a t me. “I just c ame o ver to sa y hello, ” he said. 56|The Bell J ar I thoug ht it odd he should c ome all the w ay up fr om Y ale e ven hitch-hiking, as he did, to sa ve mone y, just to sa y hello. “Hello,” I said. “Le t’s go out and si t on the por ch.” I wanted to g o out on the por ch be cause the g irl on w atch w as a nose y senior and e yeing me curiousl y. She ob viousl y thoug ht Buddy had made a big mistak e. We sat side b y side in t wo wick er rocking-chairs. The sunlig ht was clean and windless and almost hot. “I can’t sta y mor e than a f ew minutes, ” Buddy said. “Oh, c ome on, sta y for lunch, ” I said. “Oh, I c an’t do tha t. I’m up her e for the Sophomor e Pr om wi th Joan.” I felt lik e a priz e idiot. “How is J oan?” I ask ed coldly. Joan Gilling c ame fr om our home to wn and w ent to our chur ch and w as a y ear ahe ad o f me a t colleg e. She w as a big wheel—pr esiden t of her class and a ph ysics major and the c olleg e hock ey champion. She al ways made me f eel squirm y with her star ey pebble-c olour ed eyes and her g leaming tombstone te eth and her breathy voice. She w as big as a horse, too. I began to think B uddy had pr etty poor taste. “Oh J oan,” he said. “She ask ed me up to this danc e two mon ths ahead o f time and her mother ask ed my mother if I w ould tak e her , so wha t could I do ?” “Well, wh y did y ou sa y you’d tak e her if y ou didn ’t want to?” I ask ed meanly. “Oh, I lik e Joan. She ne ver cares whe ther y ou spend an y mone y on her or not and she en joys doing things out-o f-doors. The last time she c ame do wn to Y ale f or house w eek-end w e went on a bic ycle trip to East R ock and she ’s the onl y girl I ha ven’t had to push up hills. Joan’s all rig ht.” I went cold wi th en vy. I had ne ver be en to Y ale, and Y ale w as the plac e all the seniors in m y house lik ed to g o best on w eek- ends. I de cided to e xpect nothing fr om B uddy Willard. If you e

The Yale Junior Prom

Buddy praises a girl named Joan for her low-maintenance nature, sparking deep envy in Esther regarding Joan's experiences at Yale.
Buddy delivers a formal invitation to the Yale Junior Prom, an event that instantly elevates Esther's social status at her college.
The prestige of the invitation causes the seniors in Esther's house to treat her with newfound respect and spontaneous kindness.
The actual weekend at Yale fails to meet Esther's romantic expectations, leaving her feeling hollow and physically uncomfortable.
The night ends with a dry, uninspiring kiss behind a chemistry lab that Buddy describes as 'terrific' despite Esther's indifference.

e Joan. She ne ver cares whe ther y ou spend an y mone y on her or not and she en joys doing things out-o f-doors. The last time she c ame do wn to Y ale f or house w eek-end w e went on a bic ycle trip to East R ock and she ’s the onl y girl I ha ven’t had to push up hills. Joan’s all rig ht.” I went cold wi th en vy. I had ne ver be en to Y ale, and Y ale w as the plac e all the seniors in m y house lik ed to g o best on w eek- ends. I de cided to e xpect nothing fr om B uddy Willard. If you e xpect nothing fr om somebod y you ar e never disappoin ted. Chapter 5 |57 “You be tter g o and f ind J oan then, ” I said in a ma tter-of-fact voice. “I’ve a da te coming an y minute and he w on’t lik e seeing me si tting around wi th you.” “A da te?” Buddy look ed surprise d. “Who is i t?” “It’s two,” I said, “P eter the H ermi t and W alter the P enniless. ” Buddy didn ’t say anything, so I said, “ Those ar e their nicknames. ” Then I adde d, “They’re from D artmouth. ” I guess B uddy ne ver r ead much histor y, be cause his mouth stiffened. He swung up fr om the wick er rocking-chair and ga ve it a sharp li ttle unne cessar y push. Then he dr oppe d a pale blue en velope with a Y ale cr est in to m y lap. “Here’s a le tter I me ant to le ave for you if y ou w eren’t in. Ther e’s a question in i t you c an answ er by mail. I don ’t feel lik e asking y ou about i t right now.” After B uddy had g one I opene d the le tter. It was a le tter in viting me to the Y ale Junior Pr om. I was so surprise d I le t out a c ouple o f yips and r an in to the house shouting, “I ’m going I ’m going I ’m going. ” After the brig ht whi te sun on the por ch it look ed pitch-dar k in ther e, and I c ouldn ’t mak e out a thing. I f ound m yself hugg ing the senior on w atch. W hen she he ard I was going to the Y ale Junior Pr om she tr eated me wi th amaz emen t and r espe ct. Oddly enoug h, things chang ed in the house af ter tha t. The seniors on m y floor star ted spe aking to me and e very no w and then one of them w ould answ er the phone qui te spon tane ously and nobod y made an y mor e nast y loud r emar ks outside m y door about pe ople wasting their g olden c olleg e days wi th their noses stuck in a book. Well all during the Junior Pr om B uddy treated me lik e a friend or a cousin. We danc ed about a mile apar t the whole time, un til during “ Auld Lang S yne” he suddenl y rested his chin on the top o f my he ad as if he w ere very tir ed. Then in the c old, black, thr ee o’clock wind w e walked very slo wly the f ive miles back to the house wher e I w as sleeping in the living-r oom on a c ouch tha t was too shor t because 58|The Bell J ar it onl y cost f ifty cents a nig ht inste ad of two dollars lik e most o f the other plac es wi th pr oper be ds. I felt dull and f lat and full o f sha ttered visions. I had imag ined Buddy would fall in lo ve wi th me tha t week-end and tha t I w ouldn ’t ha ve to w orry about wha t I w as doing on an y more Saturday nig hts the r est o f the y ear. Just as w e appr oache d the house wher e I w as sta ying B uddy said, “Le t’s go up to the chemistr y lab.” I was ag hast. “ The chemistr y lab ?” “Yes.” Buddy reache d for m y hand. “ Ther e’s a be autiful vie w up there behind the chemistr y lab. ” And sur e enoug h, ther e was a sor t of hill y plac e behind the chemistr y lab fr om which y ou could se e the lig hts of a couple o f the houses in N ew Haven. I stood pr etending to admir e them while B uddy got a g ood f ooting on the r ough soil. W hile he kisse d me I k ept m y eyes open and trie d to memoriz e the spacing o f the house lig hts so I w ould ne ver forget them. Finally Buddy steppe d back. “ Wow!” he said. “Wow wha t?” I said, surprise d. It had be en a dr y, uninspiring li ttle kiss, and I r emember thinking i t was too bad both our mouths w ere so chappe d from w alking f ive miles in tha t cold wind. “Wow, it mak es me f eel terrif ic to kiss y ou.” I modestl y didn ’t say anything. “I g

Medical Realities and Romantic Illusions

Esther reflects on her uninspiring romantic interactions with Buddy Willard, which contrast sharply with his self-assured perception of their relationship.
Upon visiting Buddy at medical school, Esther is confronted with the stark and grotesque realities of death through the dissection of cadavers.
The couple views a series of preserved fetuses in bottles, an experience that Esther navigates with a self-conscious sense of pride in her own composure.
The clinical environment is further emphasized by a lecture on fatal diseases and the preparation to witness a live birth, stripping away the romantic mystery of life.

od f ooting on the r ough soil. W hile he kisse d me I k ept m y eyes open and trie d to memoriz e the spacing o f the house lig hts so I w ould ne ver forget them. Finally Buddy steppe d back. “ Wow!” he said. “Wow wha t?” I said, surprise d. It had be en a dr y, uninspiring li ttle kiss, and I r emember thinking i t was too bad both our mouths w ere so chappe d from w alking f ive miles in tha t cold wind. “Wow, it mak es me f eel terrif ic to kiss y ou.” I modestl y didn ’t say anything. “I guess y ou g o out wi th a lot o f boys,” Buddy said then. “Well, I guess I do. ” I thoug ht I must ha ve gone out wi th a dif ferent boy for every week in the y ear. “Well, I ha ve to stud y a lot. ” “So do I, ” I put in hastil y. “I ha ve to k eep m y scholarship af ter all. ” “Still, I think I c ould manag e to se e you e very thir d week-end. ” “That’s nic e.” I was almost fain ting and d ying to g et back to c olleg e and tell e verybod y. Buddy kisse d me again in fr ont of the house steps, and the ne xt fall, when his scholarship to M edical School c ame thr ough, I w ent Chapter 5 |59 there to se e him inste ad of to Y ale and i t was ther e I found out ho w he had f oole d me all those y ears and wha t a h ypocri te he w as. I found out on the da y we saw the bab y born. 60|The Bell J ar Chapter 6 I had k ept begg ing B uddy to sho w me some r eally in teresting hospi tal sig hts, so one F riday I cut all m y classes and c ame do wn f or a long w eek-end and he ga ve me the w orks. I star ted out b y dressing in a whi te coat and si tting on a tall stool in a r oom wi th four c adavers, while B uddy and his friends cut them up. These c adavers w ere so unhuman-looking the y didn ’t bother me a bit. The y had stif f, leather y, purple-black skin and the y smelt lik e old pickle jars. After tha t, Buddy took me out in to a hall wher e the y had some big g lass bot tles full o f babies tha t had die d bef ore the y were born. The bab y in the f irst bot tle had a lar ge whi te he ad ben t over a tin y curled-up bod y the siz e of a fr og. The bab y in the ne xt bot tle w as bigger and the bab y ne xt to tha t one w as bigg er still and the bab y in the last bot tle w as the siz e of a normal bab y and he se eme d to be looking a t me and smiling a li ttle pigg y smile. I was qui te pr oud o f the c alm w ay I star ed at all these gruesome things. The onl y time I jumpe d was when I le aned my elbow on Buddy’s cadaver’s stomach to w atch him disse ct a lung. Af ter a minute or t wo I f elt this burning sensa tion in m y elbow and i t occurr ed to me the c adaver mig ht just be half aliv e sinc e it was still warm, so I le apt o ff my stool wi th a small e xclama tion. Then B uddy explaine d the burning w as onl y from the pickling f luid, and I sa t back in m y old posi tion. In the hour bef ore lunch B uddy took me to a le cture on sickle c ell anaemia and some other depr essing dise ases, wher e the y whe eled sick pe ople out on to the pla tform and ask ed them questions and then whe eled them o ff and sho wed colour ed slides. One slide I r emember sho wed a be autiful la ughing g irl with a black mole on her che ek. “ Twenty days af ter tha t mole appe ared the girl was de ad,” the doc tor said, and e verybod y went very quie t for a Chapter 6 |61 minute and then the bell r ang, so I ne ver really found out wha t the mole w as or wh y the g irl died. In the af ternoon w e went to se e a bab y born. First w e found a linen close t in the hospi tal corridor wher e Buddy took out a whi te mask f or me to w ear and some ga uze. A tall fa t me dical studen t, big as S idne y Gr eenstr eet, loung ed nearby, watching B uddy wind the ga uze round and r ound m y he ad until m y hair w as comple tely covered and onl y my eyes pe ered out over the whi te mask. The me dical studen t gave an unple asan t little snick er. “At least your mother lo ves you,” he said. I was so busy thinking ho w very fat he w as and ho w unf ortuna te it must b

Childbirth and Clinical Detachment

Esther observes a childbirth under the guidance of Buddy, feeling alienated by the clinical environment and the judgmental attitudes of medical students.
The medical setting is described as dehumanizing, with delivery equipment appearing more like instruments of torture than tools for healing.
A medical student suggests that the reality of birth should be hidden from women to prevent them from rejecting motherhood entirely.
Esther critiques the use of drugs that erase a mother's memory of pain, viewing it as a systemic deception that forces women into repetitive cycles of labor.
The physical process of delivery is depicted with a focus on the grotesque, emphasizing the woman’s loss of identity and humanity during the procedure.

hospi tal corridor wher e Buddy took out a whi te mask f or me to w ear and some ga uze. A tall fa t me dical studen t, big as S idne y Gr eenstr eet, loung ed nearby, watching B uddy wind the ga uze round and r ound m y he ad until m y hair w as comple tely covered and onl y my eyes pe ered out over the whi te mask. The me dical studen t gave an unple asan t little snick er. “At least your mother lo ves you,” he said. I was so busy thinking ho w very fat he w as and ho w unf ortuna te it must be f or a man and espe cially a y oung man to be fa t, be cause what woman c ould stand le aning o ver tha t big stomach to kiss him, that I didn ’t imme diately realize wha t this studen t had said to me was an insult. B y the time I f igured he must c onsider himself qui te a fine f ellow and had thoug ht up a cut ting r emar k about ho w onl y a mother lo ves a fa t man, he w as gone. Buddy was examining a que er w ooden pla que on the w all wi th a row of holes in i t, star ting fr om a hole about the siz e of a sil ver dollar and ending wi th one the siz e of a dinner -plate. “Fine, f ine,” he said to me. “ Ther e’s somebod y about to ha ve a bab y this minute. ” At the door o f the deliv ery room stood a thin, stoop-shoulder ed medical studen t Buddy kne w. “Hello, W ill,” Buddy said. “ Who’s on the job ?” “I am, ” Will said g loomil y, and I notic ed little dr ops o f sw eat beading his hig h pale f orehead. “I am, and i t’s my first.” Buddy told me W ill was a thir d-year man and had to deliv er eig ht babies bef ore he c ould gr adua te. Then w e notic ed a bustle a t the far end o f the hall and some men in lime-gr een c oats and skull-c aps and a f ew nurses c ame mo ving towards us in a r agged pr ocession whe eling a tr olley wi th a big white lump on i t. “You oug htn’t to se e this, ” Will mut tered in m y ear. “You’ll ne ver 62|The Bell J ar want to ha ve a bab y if y ou do. The y oug htn’t to le t women w atch. I t’ll be the end o f the human r ace.” Buddy and I la ughed, and then B uddy shook W ill’s hand and w e all went into the r oom. I was so struck b y the sig ht of the table wher e the y were lifting the w oman I didn ’t say a w ord. It look ed lik e some a wful tor ture table, wi th these me tal stirrups sticking up in mid-air a t one end and all sor ts of instrumen ts and wir es and tubes I c ouldn ’t mak e out proper ly at the other . Buddy and I stood tog ether b y the windo w, a few feet away from the w oman, wher e we had a perf ect vie w. The w oman ’s stomach stuck up so hig h I c ouldn ’t se e her fac e or the upper par t of her bod y at all. She se eme d to ha ve nothing but an enormous spider -fat stomach and t wo little ug ly spindl y legs proppe d in the hig h stirrups, and all the time the bab y was being born she ne ver stoppe d making this unhuman whooing noise. Later B uddy told me the w oman w as on a drug tha t would mak e her f orget she ’d had an y pain and tha t when she sw ore and gr oane d she r eally didn ’t kno w wha t she w as doing be cause she w as in a kind of twilig ht sleep. I thoug ht it sounde d just lik e the sor t of drug a man w ould in vent. Here was a w oman in terri ble pain, ob viousl y feeling e very bit of it or she w ouldn ’t groan lik e tha t, and she w ould g o str aight home and start another bab y, because the drug w ould mak e her f orget how bad the pain had be en, when all the time, in some se cret par t of her, tha t long, blind, door less and windo wless c orridor o f pain w as waiting to open up and shut her in again. The he ad doc tor, who w as super vising W ill, k ept sa ying to the woman, “Push do wn, Mrs T omolillo, push do wn, tha t’s a g ood g irl, push do wn,” and f inally thr ough the spli t, sha ven plac e between her legs, lurid wi th disinf ectant, I sa w a dar k fuz zy thing appe ar. “The bab y’s head,” Buddy whisper ed under c over of the w oman ’s groans. But the bab y’s he ad stuck f or some r eason, and the doc tor told Will he ’d ha ve to mak

The Delivery and the Room

Esther witnesses a visceral and graphic childbirth, observing the clinical detachment of the medical staff as they manage the mother's labor.
The reality of the delivery, involving an episiotomy and a sedated mother, shatters Esther's romanticized vision of a radiant and conscious birth experience.
In a social performance for Buddy, Esther claims the experience was 'wonderful' while privately questioning the ethics of erasing a mother's memory of the event.
Buddy treats poetry as a curriculum to be mastered rather than an art to be felt, highlighting the intellectual divide between his clinical worldview and Esther's literary one.
The encounter shifts from the intellectual to the physical when Buddy abruptly asks Esther if she has ever seen a man in an intimate or anatomical context.

n w as waiting to open up and shut her in again. The he ad doc tor, who w as super vising W ill, k ept sa ying to the woman, “Push do wn, Mrs T omolillo, push do wn, tha t’s a g ood g irl, push do wn,” and f inally thr ough the spli t, sha ven plac e between her legs, lurid wi th disinf ectant, I sa w a dar k fuz zy thing appe ar. “The bab y’s head,” Buddy whisper ed under c over of the w oman ’s groans. But the bab y’s he ad stuck f or some r eason, and the doc tor told Will he ’d ha ve to mak e a cut. I he ard the scissors close on the Chapter 6 |63 woman ’s skin lik e cloth and the blood began to run do wn—a f ierce, bright red. Then all a t onc e the bab y seeme d to pop out in to W ill’s hands, the c olour o f a blue plum and f loured wi th whi te stuf f and streaked wi th blood, and W ill kept sa ying, “I ’m going to dr op it, I’m going to dr op it, I’m going to dr op it,” in a terrif ied voice. “No, you’re not, ” the doc tor said, and took the bab y out o f Will’s hands and star ted massag ing i t, and the blue c olour w ent away and the bab y star ted to cr y in a lorn, cr oaky v oice and I c ould se e it was a boy. The f irst thing tha t bab y did w as pe e in the doc tor’s fac e. I told Buddy later I didn ’t see ho w tha t was possi ble, but he said i t was quite possi ble, thoug h unusual, to se e some thing lik e tha t happen. As soon as the bab y was born the pe ople in the r oom divide d up into two gr oups, the nurses t ying a me tal dog-tag on the bab y’s wrist and sw abbing i ts eyes wi th cotton on the end o f a stick and wrapping i t up and put ting i t in a c anvas-side d cot, while the doc tor and W ill star ted sewing up the w oman ’s cut wi th a ne edle and a long thread. I think somebod y said, “I t’s a bo y, Mrs T omolillo, ” but the w oman didn ’t answ er or r aise her he ad. “Well, ho w was it?” B uddy ask ed with a sa tisfied expression as w e walked acr oss the gr een quadr angle to his r oom. “Wonderful, ” I said. “I c ould se e some thing lik e tha t every day.” I didn ’t feel up to asking him if ther e were an y other w ays to have babies. F or some r eason the most impor tant thing to me w as actuall y seeing the bab y come out o f you y ourself and making sur e it was yours. I thoug ht if y ou had to ha ve all tha t pain an yway you might just as w ell sta y awake. I had al ways imag ined myself hi tching up on to m y elbows on the deliv ery table af ter i t was all o ver—de ad whi te, o f course, wi th no mak e-up and fr om the a wful or deal, but smiling and r adian t, with m y hair do wn to m y waist, and r eaching out f or m y first li ttle squirm y child and sa ying i ts name, wha tever it was. “Why was it all c overed wi th flour?” I ask ed then, to k eep the 64|The Bell J ar conversation g oing, and B uddy told me about the w axy stuf f tha t guar ded the bab y’s skin. When w e were back in B uddy’s room, which r eminde d me o f nothing so much as a monk’ s cell, wi th its bar e walls and bar e bed and bar e floor and the desk loade d wi th Gr ay’s Ana tomy and other thick gruesome books, B uddy lit a c andle and unc orked a bottle o f Dubonne t. Then w e lay do wn side b y side on the be d and Buddy sippe d his wine while I r ead aloud “ some wher e I ha ve ne ver travelled” and other poems fr om a book I ’d brought. Buddy said he f igured ther e must be some thing in poe try if a girl like me spen t all her da ys over it, so e ach time w e me t I read him some poe try and e xplaine d to him wha t I found in i t. It was Buddy’s ide a. H e always arr anged our w eek-ends so w e’d ne ver regret wasting our time in an y way. Buddy’s father w as a te acher , and I think B uddy could ha ve been a te acher as w ell, he w as al ways trying to e xplain things to me and in troduc e me to ne w kno wledge. Suddenl y, after I f inishe d a poem, he said, “Esther , have you e ver seen a man ?” The w ay he said i t I kne w he didn ’t me an a r egular man or a man in gener al, I kne w he me ant a man

The Illusion of Purity

Buddy Willard awkwardly exposes himself to Esther as a form of sexual education, but the sight leaves her feeling depressed and detached.
Esther reflects on the social conditioning from her family that painted Buddy as a paragon of cleanliness and moral integrity.
The prospect of undressing in front of Buddy triggers Esther's anxiety regarding the invasive and evaluative posture pictures taken at her college.
Esther is shocked to discover that Buddy's perceived innocence was a facade, as he admits to having had a prior sexual affair.

t I found in i t. It was Buddy’s ide a. H e always arr anged our w eek-ends so w e’d ne ver regret wasting our time in an y way. Buddy’s father w as a te acher , and I think B uddy could ha ve been a te acher as w ell, he w as al ways trying to e xplain things to me and in troduc e me to ne w kno wledge. Suddenl y, after I f inishe d a poem, he said, “Esther , have you e ver seen a man ?” The w ay he said i t I kne w he didn ’t me an a r egular man or a man in gener al, I kne w he me ant a man nak ed. “No,” I said. “ Only sta tues. ” “Well, don ’t you think y ou w ould lik e to se e me ?” I didn ’t kno w wha t to sa y. My mother and m y grandmother had started hin ting ar ound to me a lot la tely about wha t a fine, cle an bo y Buddy Willard was, c oming fr om such a f ine, cle an famil y, and ho w everybod y at chur ch thoug ht he w as a model person, so kind to his parents and to older pe ople, as w ell as so a thletic and so handsome and so in tellig ent. All I’d he ard about, r eally, was ho w fine and cle an B uddy was and how he w as the kind o f person a g irl should sta y fine and cle an for. So I didn ’t really see the harm in an ything B uddy would think up to do. “Well, all rig ht, I guess so, ” I said. I star ed at Buddy while he unzippe d his chino pan ts and took Chapter 6 |65 them o ff and laid them on a chair and then took o ff his underpan ts that were made o f some thing lik e nylon f ishne t. “They’re cool,” he e xplaine d, “and m y mother sa ys the y wash easily.” Then he just stood ther e in fr ont of me and I k ept on staring a t him. The onl y thing I c ould think o f was tur key ne ck and tur key gizzards and I f elt very depr esse d. Buddy seeme d hur t I didn ’t say anything. “I think y ou oug ht to g et used to me lik e this, ” he said. “N ow let me se e you.” But undr essing in fr ont of Buddy suddenl y appe aled to me about as much as ha ving m y Postur e Pic ture tak en a t colleg e, wher e you have to stand nak ed in fr ont of a c amer a, kno wing all the time tha t a pic ture of you star k nak ed, both full vie w and side vie w, is g oing into the c olleg e gym f iles to be mar ked A B C or D depending on ho w straight you ar e. “Oh, some other time, ” I said. “All rig ht.” Buddy got dr esse d again. Then w e kisse d and hugg ed a while and I f elt a li ttle be tter. I dr ank the r est o f the Dubonne t and sa t cross-legg ed at the end o f Buddy’s bed and ask ed for a c omb. I began to c omb m y hair do wn o ver m y face so B uddy couldn ’t see it. Suddenl y I said, “H ave you ever had an affair wi th an yone, B uddy?” I don ’t kno w wha t made me sa y it, the w ords just poppe d out o f my mouth. I ne ver thoug ht for one minute tha t Buddy Willard would have an af fair wi th an yone. I e xpected him to sa y, “No, I ha ve be en saving m yself f or when I g et marrie d to somebod y pur e and a vir gin like you”. But Buddy didn ’t say anything, he just turne d pink. “Well, ha ve you?” “What do y ou me an, an af fair?” B uddy ask ed then in a hollo w voice. “You kno w, have you e ver g one to be d wi th an yone?” I k ept rhythmic ally combing the hair do wn o ver the side o f my fac e nearest to B uddy, and I c ould f eel the li ttle ele ctric f ilamen ts 66|The Bell J ar cling ing to m y hot che eks and I w anted to shout, “S top, stop, don ’t tell me, don ’t say anything. ” But I didn ’t, I just k ept still. “Well, y es, I ha ve,” Buddy said f inally. I almost f ell o ver. From the f irst nig ht Buddy Willard kisse d me and said I must g o out wi th a lot o f boys, he made me f eel I w as much more sexy and e xperienc ed than he w as and tha t everything he did like hugg ing and kissing and pe tting w as simpl y wha t I made him feel lik e doing out o f the blue, he c ouldn ’t help i t and didn ’t kno w how it came about. Now I sa w he had onl y be en pr etending all this time to be so innoc ent. “Tell me about i t.” I combe d my hair slo wly over and o ver, feeling the te eth of the c omb dig

Buddy's Hypocritical Innocence

Buddy Willard admits to a summer affair with a waitress, exposing his previous performance of innocence as a deceptive facade.
The protagonist is repulsed by the hypocrisy of Buddy's behavior, as he had previously made her feel self-conscious and 'sexy' while acting pure.
The revelation that the affair happened roughly thirty times causes the protagonist to emotionally 'freeze up' and distance herself from Buddy.
The protagonist finds she cannot accept the social double standards that permit men's sexual history while demanding purity from women.
Mrs. Willard’s traditionalist views on gender roles further alienate the protagonist, who views the Willard family dynamic as stifling.
Ultimately, the protagonist decides to leave Buddy because of his lack of honesty and the dishonesty inherent in his judgmental nature.

illard kisse d me and said I must g o out wi th a lot o f boys, he made me f eel I w as much more sexy and e xperienc ed than he w as and tha t everything he did like hugg ing and kissing and pe tting w as simpl y wha t I made him feel lik e doing out o f the blue, he c ouldn ’t help i t and didn ’t kno w how it came about. Now I sa w he had onl y be en pr etending all this time to be so innoc ent. “Tell me about i t.” I combe d my hair slo wly over and o ver, feeling the te eth of the c omb dig in to m y che ek at every str oke. “Who w as it?” Buddy seeme d relieved I w asn’t angr y. He even se eme d relieved to have somebod y to tell about ho w he w as se duced. Of c ourse, somebod y had se duced Buddy, Buddy hadn ’t star ted it and i t wasn’t really his fa ult. I t was this w aitress a t the hotel he w orked at as a busbo y the last summer on Cape Cod. B uddy had notic ed her staring a t him que erly and sho ving her br easts up against him in the c onfusion o f the ki tchen, so f inally one da y he asked her wha t the tr ouble w as and she look ed him str aight in the eye and said, “I w ant you.” “Served up wi th parsle y?” B uddy had la ughed innoc ently. “No,” she had said. “Some nig ht.” And tha t’s how Buddy had lost his pur eness and his vir ginity. At first I thoug ht he must ha ve slept wi th the w aitress onl y the once, but when I ask ed ho w man y times, just to mak e sur e, he said he c ouldn ’t remember but a c ouple o f times a w eek for the r est o f the summer . I multiplie d thr ee by ten and g ot thir ty, which se eme d beyond all r eason. After tha t some thing in me just fr oze up. Back a t colleg e I star ted asking a senior her e and a senior ther e what the y would do if a bo y the y kne w suddenl y told them he ’d slept thirty times wi th some slut ty waitress one summer , smack in the Chapter 6 |67 middle o f kno wing them. B ut these seniors said most bo ys w ere like that and y ou c ouldn ’t honestl y accuse them o f anything un til you were at least pinne d or engag ed to be marrie d. Actuall y, it wasn’t the ide a of Buddy sle eping wi th somebod y tha t bother ed me. I me an I’d read about all sor ts of people sle eping wi th each other , and if i t had be en an y other bo y I w ould mer ely ha ve asked him the most in teresting de tails, and ma ybe g one out and slept wi th somebod y myself just to e ven things up, and then thoug ht no mor e about i t. What I couldn ’t stand w as Buddy’s pretending I w as so se xy and he was so pur e, when all the time he ’d be en ha ving an af fair wi th tha t tarty waitress and must ha ve felt lik e laughing in m y fac e. “What does y our mother think about this w aitress?” I ask ed Buddy that week-end. Buddy was amazing ly close to his mother . He was al ways quoting what she said about the r elationship be tween a man and a w oman, and I kne w Mrs W illard was a r eal fana tic about vir ginity for men and w omen both. W hen I f irst w ent to her house f or supper she ga ve me a que er, shrewd, se arching look, and I kne w she w as tr ying to tell whether I w as a vir gin or not. Just as I thoug ht, Buddy was embarr asse d. “M other ask ed me about Glad ys,” he admi tted. “Well, wha t did y ou sa y?” “I said Glad ys w as fr ee, whi te and t wenty-one. ” Now I kne w Buddy would ne ver talk to his mother as rudel y as that for m y sak e. He was al ways sa ying ho w his mother said, “ What a man w ants is a ma te and wha t a w oman w ants is inf inite se curity,” and, “ What a man is is an arr ow in to the futur e and wha t a w oman is is the plac e the arr ow shoots o ff from,” until it made me tir ed. Every time I trie d to ar gue, B uddy would sa y his mother still g ot pleasur e out o f his fa ther and w asn’t tha t wonderful f or pe ople their age, it must me an she r eally kne w wha t was wha t. Well, I had just de cided to di tch B uddy Willard for onc e and f or all, not be cause he ’d slept wi th tha t waitress but be cause he didn ’t have the honest

A Convenient Diagnosis

Esther expresses exhaustion with Buddy’s sexist philosophy that men are arrows into the future while women are merely the place the arrow shoots off from.
Just as Esther decides to leave Buddy for his lack of integrity regarding an affair, she discovers he has contracted tuberculosis.
Rather than feeling sorrow, Esther experiences a wonderful relief, viewing the illness as a karmic consequence for Buddy’s perceived superiority.
She leverages the situation to maintain a facade of a brave girlfriend, using the tragedy to avoid the exhaustion of dating and gain social sympathy.
Esther's attention shifts to Constantin, a sophisticated and intuitive man who treats her as an individual rather than a medical student's appendage.

What a man is is an arr ow in to the futur e and wha t a w oman is is the plac e the arr ow shoots o ff from,” until it made me tir ed. Every time I trie d to ar gue, B uddy would sa y his mother still g ot pleasur e out o f his fa ther and w asn’t tha t wonderful f or pe ople their age, it must me an she r eally kne w wha t was wha t. Well, I had just de cided to di tch B uddy Willard for onc e and f or all, not be cause he ’d slept wi th tha t waitress but be cause he didn ’t have the honest guts to admi t it str aight off to e verybod y and fac e 68|The Bell J ar up to i t as par t of his char acter, when the phone in the hall r ang and somebod y said in a li ttle kno wing singsong, “I t’s for you, Esther , it’s from Boston. ” I could tell rig ht away some thing must be wr ong, be cause B uddy was the onl y person I kne w in Boston, and he ne ver called me long distanc e because i t was so much mor e expensiv e than le tters. Onc e, when he had a messag e he w anted me to g et almost imme diately, he w ent all r ound his en try at me dical school asking if an ybod y was driving up to m y colleg e tha t week-end, and sur e enoug h, somebod y was, so he ga ve them a note f or me and I g ot it the same da y. He didn ’t even ha ve to pa y for a stamp. It was Buddy all rig ht. He told me tha t the annual fall chest X -ray showed he had c aught TB and he w as going o ff on a scholarship f or medical studen ts who c aught TB to a TB plac e in the Adir ondacks. Then he said I hadn ’t wri tten sinc e tha t last w eek-end and he hope d nothing w as the ma tter be tween us, and w ould I ple ase tr y to wri te him a t least onc e a w eek and c ome to visi t him a t this TB plac e in m y Christmas v acation? I had ne ver he ard Buddy so upse t. He was v ery pr oud o f his perfect health and w as al ways telling me i t was psy chosoma tic when my sinuses block ed up and I c ouldn ’t breathe. I thoug ht this an odd attitude f or a doc tor to ha ve and per haps he should stud y to be a psychiatrist inste ad, but o f course I ne ver came rig ht out and said so. I told B uddy how sorr y I w as about the TB and pr omise d to wri te, but when I hung up I didn ’t feel one bi t sorr y. I onl y felt a w onderful relief. I thoug ht the TB mig ht just be a punishmen t for living the kind of double lif e Buddy lived and f eeling so superior to pe ople. And I thoug ht how convenien t it would be no w I didn ’t have to announc e to everybod y at colleg e I had br oken o ff with Buddy and star t the boring business o f blind da tes all o ver again. I simpl y told e veryone tha t Buddy had TB and w e were practically engag ed, and when I sta yed in to stud y on Sa turday nig hts the y were Chapter 6 |69 extremel y kind to me be cause the y thoug ht I w as so br ave, working the w ay I did just to hide a br oken he art. 70|The Bell J ar Chapter 7 Of c ourse, Constan tin w as much too shor t, but in his o wn w ay he was handsome, wi th lig ht brown hair and dar k blue e yes and a liv ely, challeng ing e xpression. H e could almost ha ve been an Americ an, he was so tan and had such g ood te eth, but I c ould tell str aight away that he w asn’t. He had wha t no Americ an man I ’ve ever me t has had, and tha t’s intuition. From the star t Constan tin guesse d I w asn’t an y protég ée of Mrs Willard’s. I r aised an e yebrow her e and dr oppe d a dr y little la ugh there, and pr etty soon w e were both openl y raking Mrs W illard over the c oals and I thoug ht, “This Constan tin w on’t mind if I ’m too tall and don ’t kno w enoug h languag es and ha ven’t be en to E urope, he ’ll see thr ough all tha t stuf f to wha t I really am. ” Constan tin dr ove me to the UN in his old gr een c onvertible wi th cracked, comfortable br own le ather se ats and the top do wn. H e told me his tan c ame fr om pla ying tennis, and when w e were sitting there side b y side f lying do wn the str eets in the open sun he took my hand and sque ezed it, and I f elt happier than I

A Catalog of Inadequacies

Esther experiences a rare moment of happiness with Constantin, which triggers a painful realization that she has not felt truly happy since her father's death when she was nine.
Watching the UN interpreters, Esther feels a sense of alienation and a desire to trade her identity for the 'efficiency' of their mechanical linguistic work.
The narrator reflects on her intentional failure to learn domestic skills like cooking as a subconscious defense against being expected to perform them.
She expresses a deep-seated resistance to learning shorthand, viewing it as a symbol of female subservience and an obstacle to her own ambition of dictating 'thrilling letters.'
Esther begins a mental inventory of her perceived failures, listing various physical and social skills she lacks compared to her more 'practical' peers.

Constan tin w on’t mind if I ’m too tall and don ’t kno w enoug h languag es and ha ven’t be en to E urope, he ’ll see thr ough all tha t stuf f to wha t I really am. ” Constan tin dr ove me to the UN in his old gr een c onvertible wi th cracked, comfortable br own le ather se ats and the top do wn. H e told me his tan c ame fr om pla ying tennis, and when w e were sitting there side b y side f lying do wn the str eets in the open sun he took my hand and sque ezed it, and I f elt happier than I had be en sinc e I was about nine and running along the hot whi te be aches wi th m y father the summer bef ore he die d. And while Constan tin and I sa t in one o f those hushe d plush auditoriums in the UN , next to a stern muscular Russian g irl with no mak e-up who w as a simultane ous in terpr eter lik e Constan tin, I thoug ht how str ange it had ne ver oc curr ed to me bef ore tha t I w as only pur ely happ y un til I w as nine y ears old. After tha t—in spi te of the Gir l Scouts and the piano lessons and the w ater-colour lessons and the dancing lessons and the sailing camp, all o f which m y mother scrimpe d to g ive me, and c olleg e, wi th crewing in the mist bef ore breakfast and black -bot tom pies and the little ne w firecrackers o f ide as going o ff every day—I had ne ver be en really happ y again. I star ed thr ough the Russian g irl in her double-br easted grey sui t, Chapter 7 |71 rattling o ff idiom af ter idiom in her o wn unkno wable tongue— which Constan tin said w as the most dif ficult par t, be cause the Russians didn ’t have the same idioms as our idioms—and I wishe d with all m y heart I c ould cr awl in to her and spend the r est o f my life bar king out one idiom af ter another . It mig htn’t mak e me an y happier , but it would be one mor e little pebble o f efficienc y among all the other pebbles. Then Constan tin and the Russian g irl interpr eter and the whole bunch o f black and whi te and y ellow men ar guing do wn ther e behind their labelle d micr ophones se eme d to mo ve off at a distanc e. I saw their mouths g oing up and do wn wi thout a sound, as if the y were sitting on the de ck o f a depar ting ship, str anding me in the middle o f a hug e silenc e. I star ted adding up all the things I c ouldn ’t do. I began wi th cooking. My grandmother and m y mother w ere such g ood c ooks tha t I lef t everything to them. The y were always tr ying to te ach me one dish or another , but I w ould just look on and sa y, “Yes, y es, I se e,” while the instruc tions slid thr ough my head lik e water, and then I ’d always spoil wha t I did so nobod y would ask me to do i t again. I remember J ody, my best and onl y girl-friend a t colleg e in m y freshman y ear, making me scr amble d eggs a t her house one morning. The y taste d unusual, and when I ask ed her if she had put in an ything e xtra, she said che ese and gar lic salt. I ask ed who told her to do tha t, and she said nobod y, she just thoug ht it up. B ut then, she w as pr actical and a sociolog y major . I didn ’t kno w shor thand ei ther. This me ant I c ouldn ’t get a g ood job af ter c olleg e. M y mother kept telling me nobod y wanted a plain Eng lish major . But an Eng lish major who kne w shor thand w as some thing else again. E verybod y would w ant her . She w ould be in demand among all the up-and- coming y oung men and she w ould tr anscri be le tter af ter thrilling letter. The tr ouble w as, I ha ted the ide a of ser ving men in an y way. I wanted to dic tate m y own thrilling le tters. Besides, those li ttle 72|The Bell J ar shor thand symbols in the book m y mother sho wed me se eme d just as bad as le t t equal time and le t s equal the total distanc e. My list gr ew long er. I was a terri ble danc er. I couldn ’t carry a tune. I had no sense o f balanc e, and when w e had to w alk do wn a narr ow boar d wi th our hands out and a book on our he ads in g ym class I al ways fell o ver. I couldn ’t ride a horse or ski, the t wo things I

The Paralyzing Fig Tree

Esther reflects on her lack of practical skills and languages, feeling dreadfully inadequate despite her history of academic success.
She realizes that her identity was built on winning prizes, a phase of life that is ending and leaving her directionless.
The fig tree serves as a powerful metaphor for her many conflicting ambitions, from motherhood to becoming a famous poet or world traveler.
Her inability to choose a single path leads to a paralyzing vision where every opportunity eventually withers and dies.
After eating at a Greek restaurant with Constantin, she wonders if her dark philosophical crisis was partially induced by her empty stomach.

d to dic tate m y own thrilling le tters. Besides, those li ttle 72|The Bell J ar shor thand symbols in the book m y mother sho wed me se eme d just as bad as le t t equal time and le t s equal the total distanc e. My list gr ew long er. I was a terri ble danc er. I couldn ’t carry a tune. I had no sense o f balanc e, and when w e had to w alk do wn a narr ow boar d wi th our hands out and a book on our he ads in g ym class I al ways fell o ver. I couldn ’t ride a horse or ski, the t wo things I w anted to do most, because the y cost too much mone y. I couldn ’t spe ak German or r ead Hebrew or wri te Chinese. I didn ’t even kno w wher e most o f the odd out-o f-the-w ay countries the UN men in fr ont of me r epresen ted fitted in on the map. For the f irst time in m y life, sitting ther e in the sound-pr oof heart of the UN building be tween Constan tin who c ould pla y tennis as well as simultane ously interpr et and the Russian g irl who kne w so man y idioms, I f elt dr eadfull y inade quate. The tr ouble w as, I had been inade quate all along, I simpl y hadn ’t thoug ht about i t. The one thing I w as good a t was winning scholarships and priz es, and tha t era was coming to an end. I felt lik e a r acehorse in a w orld wi thout r ace-tracks or a champion c olleg e footballer suddenl y confronted by Wall Street and a business sui t, his da ys of glory shrunk to a li ttle g old cup on his man tel wi th a da te engr aved on i t like the da te on a tombstone. I saw m y life branching out bef ore me lik e the gr een fig-tr ee in the stor y. From the tip o f every branch, lik e a fa t purple f ig, a w onderful futur e be ckoned and wink ed. One f ig w as a husband and a happ y home and childr en, and another f ig was a famous poe t and another fig was a brillian t professor , and another f ig was Ee Ge e, the amazing editor, and another f ig w as Europe and Afric a and South Americ a, and another f ig was Constan tin and Socr ates and A ttila and a pack of other lo vers wi th que er names and o ff-beat professions, and another f ig w as an Ol ympic lad y crew champion, and be yond and above these f igs w ere man y mor e figs I c ouldn ’t qui te mak e out. I saw myself si tting in the cr otch o f this f ig-tr ee, star ving to de ath, just be cause I c ouldn ’t mak e up m y mind which o f the f igs I w ould Chapter 7 |73 choose. I w anted each and e very one o f them, but choosing one meant losing all the r est, and, as I sa t ther e, unable to de cide, the figs began to wrinkle and g o black, and, one b y one, the y ploppe d to the gr ound a t my feet. Constan tin’s restaurant smelt o f herbs and spic es and sour cr eam. All the time I had be en in N ew York I had ne ver found such a restaurant. I onl y found those H eavenly Hambur ger plac es, wher e they ser ve giant hambur gers and soup-o f-the-da y and f our kinds o f fanc y cake at a very cle an counter facing a long g larey mirr or. To reach this r estaurant we had to climb do wn se ven diml y-lit steps in to a sor t of cellar . Travel posters plaster ed the smok e-dar k walls, lik e so man y picture windo ws o verlooking S wiss lak es and J apanese moun tains and Afric an v elds, and thick, dust y bot tle-c andles tha t seeme d for centuries to ha ve wept their c olour ed waxes red over blue o ver green in a f ine, thr ee-dimensional lac e, cast a cir cle o f light round each table wher e the fac es f loated, f lushe d and f lamelik e themsel ves. I don ’t kno w wha t I ate, but I f elt immensel y better af ter the f irst mouthful. I t occurr ed to me tha t my vision o f the f ig-tr ee and all the fat figs tha t withered and f ell to e arth mig ht well ha ve arisen fr om the pr ofound v oid o f an empt y stomach. Constan tin k ept r efilling our g lasses wi th a sw eet Greek wine tha t taste d of pine bar k, and I f ound m yself telling him ho w I w as going to le arn German and g o to E urope and be a w ar corresponden t like Magg ie Higgins. I felt so f ine b y the tim

The Logic of Seduction

Esther realizes that her bleak outlook and the vision of the withering fig tree may have been exacerbated by the physical void of an empty stomach.
Driven by a desire to match Buddy Willard's sexual experience, Esther decides to seek out her own first sexual encounter to even the score.
She reflects on a boy named Eric who viewed sex as a base animal instinct and believed it should be kept entirely separate from love.
Eric's refusal to sleep with Esther because he respected her intelligence highlights the era's restrictive and paradoxical moral codes regarding women.
Esther selects Constantin as her intended seducer because his maturity and professional discretion distinguish him from the boastful college boys she knows.

f elt immensel y better af ter the f irst mouthful. I t occurr ed to me tha t my vision o f the f ig-tr ee and all the fat figs tha t withered and f ell to e arth mig ht well ha ve arisen fr om the pr ofound v oid o f an empt y stomach. Constan tin k ept r efilling our g lasses wi th a sw eet Greek wine tha t taste d of pine bar k, and I f ound m yself telling him ho w I w as going to le arn German and g o to E urope and be a w ar corresponden t like Magg ie Higgins. I felt so f ine b y the time w e came to the y oghour t and str awberr y jam tha t I de cided I w ould le t Constan tin se duce me. Ever sinc e Buddy Willard had told me about tha t waitress I had been thinking I oug ht to g o out and sle ep wi th somebod y myself. Sleeping wi th Buddy wouldn ’t count, thoug h, be cause he w ould still be one person ahe ad of me, i t would ha ve to be wi th somebod y else. The onl y bo y I e ver ac tuall y discusse d going to be d wi th w as a bitter, hawk-nose d Southerner fr om Y ale, who c ame up to c olleg e one w eek-end onl y to f ind his da te had elope d with a taxi-driv er the 74|The Bell J ar day bef ore. As the g irl had liv ed in m y house and as I w as the onl y one home tha t par ticular nig ht, it was m y job to che er him up. At the loc al coffee-shop, hunche d in one o f the se cretive, hig h- back ed booths wi th hundr eds o f peoples’ names g ouged into the wood, w e dr ank cup af ter cup o f black c offee and talk ed frankly about se x. This bo y—his name w as Eric—said he thoug ht it disgusting the way all the g irls at my colleg e stood ar ound on the por ches under the por ch lig hts and in the bushes in plain vie w, necking madl y before the one o ’clock curf ew, so e verybod y passing b y could se e them. A million y ears o f evolution, Eric said bi tterly, and wha t are we? Animals. Then Eric told me ho w he had slept wi th his f irst w oman. He went to a Southern pr ep school tha t spe cializ ed in building all-r ound g entlemen, and b y the time y ou gr adua ted it was an unwritten rule tha t you had to ha ve kno wn a w oman. Kno wn in the Biblical sense, Eric said. So one Sa turday Eric and a f ew of his classma tes took a bus in to the ne arest ci ty and visi ted a notorious whor e house. Eric ’s whor e hadn ’t even tak en o ff her dr ess. She w as a fa t, middle-ag ed woman with dyed red hair and suspiciousl y thick lips and r at-colour ed skin and she w ouldn ’t turn o ff the lig ht, so he had had her under a f ly- spot ted twenty-five watt bul b, and i t was nothing lik e it was cr acked up to be. I t was boring as g oing to the toile t. I said ma ybe if y ou lo ved a w oman i t wouldn ’t seem so boring, but Eric said i t would be spoile d by thinking this w oman too w as just an animal lik e the r est, so if he lo ved anybod y he w ould ne ver go to be d with her . He’d go to a whor e if he had to and k eep the w oman he loved free of all tha t dirty business. It had cr osse d my mind a t the time tha t Eric mig ht be a g ood person to g o to be d wi th, sinc e he had alr eady done i t and, unlik e the usual run o f boys, didn ’t se em dir ty-minde d or sill y when he talked about i t. But then Eric wr ote me a le tter sa ying he thoug ht he mig ht really be able to lo ve me, I w as so in tellig ent and c ynical and y et had such a kind fac e, surprising ly like his older sister’ s; so Chapter 7 |75 I kne w it was no use, I w as the t ype he w ould ne ver g o to be d with, and wr ote him I w as unf ortuna tely about to marr y a childhood sweetheart. The mor e I thoug ht about i t the be tter I lik ed the ide a of being seduced by a simultane ous in terpr eter in N ew York City. Constan tin seeme d ma ture and c onsider ate in e very way. Ther e were no pe ople I kne w he w ould w ant to br ag to about i t, the w ay colleg e bo ys bragged about sle eping wi th girls in the backs o f cars to their r oom- mates or their friends on the bask etball te am. And ther e would be a ple asan t irony in sle

The Issue of Purity

Esther contemplates losing her virginity to Constantin, viewing him as a mature alternative to the immature college boys she usually encounters.
She reflects on a traditional article sent by her mother which argues that a woman's chastity is necessary to bridge the emotional gap between men and women.
The text highlights the societal double standard where men are expected to teach their wives about sex while women are expected to remain pure.
Esther critiques this logic, noting that it ignores the woman's feelings and allows men like Buddy Willard to lead 'double lives' of hypocrisy.
She concludes that if pure men are impossible to find, she should abandon her own purity so she can meet a future husband on equal terms.
For Esther at nineteen, the most significant social divide is not religion or politics, but whether a person has had sexual experience or not.

tely about to marr y a childhood sweetheart. The mor e I thoug ht about i t the be tter I lik ed the ide a of being seduced by a simultane ous in terpr eter in N ew York City. Constan tin seeme d ma ture and c onsider ate in e very way. Ther e were no pe ople I kne w he w ould w ant to br ag to about i t, the w ay colleg e bo ys bragged about sle eping wi th girls in the backs o f cars to their r oom- mates or their friends on the bask etball te am. And ther e would be a ple asan t irony in sle eping wi th a man Mrs W illard had in troduc ed me to, as if she w ere, in a r oundabout w ay, to blame f or it. When Constan tin ask ed if I w ould lik e to c ome up to his apar tmen t to he ar some balalaika r ecords I smile d to m yself. M y mother had al ways told me ne ver under an y cir cumstanc es to g o with a man to a man ’s rooms af ter an e vening out, i t could me an onl y the one thing. “I am v ery fond o f balalaika music, ” I said. Constan tin’s room had a balc ony, and the balc ony overlooked the riv er, and w e could he ar the hooing o f the tugs do wn in the darkness. I f elt mo ved and tender and perf ectly certain about wha t I was going to do. I kne w I mig ht have a bab y, but tha t thoug ht hung far and dim in the distanc e and didn ’t trouble me a t all. Ther e was no one hundr ed per c ent sur e way not to ha ve a bab y, it said in an ar ticle m y mother cut out o f the R eader’ s Dig est and maile d to me a t colleg e. This article w as wri tten b y a marrie d woman la wyer wi th childr en and called “In Def ence of Chasti ty”. It gave all the r easons a g irl shouldn ’t sle ep wi th an ybod y but her husband and then onl y after the y were marrie d. The main poin t of the ar ticle w as tha t a man ’s world is dif ferent from a w oman ’s world and a man ’s emotions ar e dif ferent from a woman ’s emotions and onl y marriag e can bring the t wo worlds and the t wo dif ferent sets of emotions tog ether pr oper ly. My mother said this w as some thing a g irl didn ’t kno w about till i t was too la te, 76|The Bell J ar so she had to tak e the ad vice of people who w ere alr eady exper ts, like a marrie d woman. This w oman la wyer said the best men w anted to be pur e for their wives, and e ven if the y weren’t pur e, the y wanted to be the ones to teach their wiv es about se x. Of c ourse the y would tr y to persuade a girl to ha ve sex and sa y the y would marr y her la ter, but as soon as she ga ve in, the y would lose all r espe ct for her and star t saying tha t if she did tha t with them she w ould do tha t with other men and the y would end up b y making her lif e miser able. The w oman f inishe d her ar ticle b y saying be tter be saf e than sorr y and besides, ther e was no sur e way of not g etting stuck wi th a bab y and then y ou’d really be in a pickle. Now the one thing this ar ticle didn ’t seem to me to c onsider w as how a g irl felt. It mig ht be nic e to be pur e and then to marr y a pur e man, but what if he suddenl y confesse d he w asn’t pur e after w e were marrie d, the w ay Buddy Willard had? I c ouldn ’t stand the ide a of a w oman having to ha ve a sing le pur e life and a man being able to ha ve a double lif e, one pur e and one not. Finally I de cided tha t if i t was so dif ficult to f ind a r ed-bloode d intellig ent man who w as still pur e by the time he w as twenty-one I might as w ell forget about sta ying pur e myself and marr y somebod y who w asn’t pur e either. Then when he star ted to mak e my life miser able I c ould mak e his miser able as w ell. When I w as nine teen, pur eness w as the gr eat issue. Inste ad o f the w orld being divide d up in to Ca tholics and Protestan ts or R epublic ans and Democr ats or whi te men and black men or e ven men and w omen, I sa w the w orld divide d into pe ople who had slept wi th somebod y and pe ople who hadn ’t, and this seeme d the onl y really signif icant dif ference be tween one person and another . I thoug ht a spe ctacular chan

The Great Divide of Purity

Esther views purity as the most significant societal divider, distinguishing people more than religion, race, or gender.
She imagines that losing her virginity will leave a physical, visible mark in her eye, symbolizing a profound personal transformation.
Lying beside Constantin, she feels inferior and worries that she lacks the intellectual or physical attributes to be worth seducing.
Esther realizes she rejects marriage because she fears domesticity will trap her in a role of support rather than allowing her to pursue her own ambitions.

mak e my life miser able I c ould mak e his miser able as w ell. When I w as nine teen, pur eness w as the gr eat issue. Inste ad o f the w orld being divide d up in to Ca tholics and Protestan ts or R epublic ans and Democr ats or whi te men and black men or e ven men and w omen, I sa w the w orld divide d into pe ople who had slept wi th somebod y and pe ople who hadn ’t, and this seeme d the onl y really signif icant dif ference be tween one person and another . I thoug ht a spe ctacular chang e would c ome o ver me the da y I crosse d the boundar y line. I thoug ht it would be the w ay I’d feel if I e ver visi ted Europe. I ’d come home, and if I look ed closel y into the mirr or I’d be able to Chapter 7 |77 make out a li ttle whi te Alp a t the back o f my eye. Now I thoug ht tha t if I look ed into the mirr or tomorr ow I’d see a doll-siz e Constan tin sitting in m y eye and smiling out a t me. Well for about an hour w e loung ed on Constan tin’s balc ony in t wo separ ate sling-back chairs wi th the vic trola pla ying and the balalaika records stack ed be tween us. A fain t milky lig ht dif fused from the street lights or the half -moon or the c ars or the stars, I c ouldn ’t tell what, but apar t from holding m y hand Constan tin sho wed no desir e to se duce me wha tsoever. I ask ed if he w as engag ed or had an y spe cial g irl friend, thinking maybe tha t’s wha t was the ma tter, but he said no, he made a poin t of keeping cle ar of such a ttachmen ts. At last I f elt a po werful dr owsiness drif ting thr ough my veins fr om all the pine-bar k wine I had drunk. “I think I ’ll go in and lie do wn,” I said. I str olled casuall y into the be droom and stoope d over to nudg e off my shoes. The cle an be d bobbe d bef ore me lik e a saf e boa t. I stretche d full-length and shut m y eyes. Then I he ard Constan tin sigh and c ome in fr om the balc ony. One b y one his shoes clonk ed on to the f loor, and he la y down b y my side. I look ed at him se cretly from under a fall o f hair . He was lying on his back, his hands under his he ad, staring a t the c eiling. The star ched whi te sle eves of his shir t, rolled up to the elbows, g limmer ed eerily in the half -dar k and his tan skin se eme d almost black. I thoug ht he must be the most be autiful man I ’d ever seen. I thoug ht if onl y I had a k een, shapel y bone-struc ture to m y face or c ould discuss poli tics shr ewdly or w as a famous wri ter Constan tin mig ht find me in teresting enoug h to sle ep wi th. And then I w onder ed if as soon as he c ame to lik e me he w ould sink in to or dinariness, and if as soon as he c ame to lo ve me I w ould find fa ult af ter fa ult, the w ay I did wi th Buddy Willard and the bo ys before him. The same thing happene d over and o ver: 78|The Bell J ar I would c atch sig ht of some f lawless man o ff in the distanc e, but as soon as he mo ved closer I imme diately saw he w ouldn ’t do a t all. That’s one o f the r easons I ne ver w anted to g et marrie d. The last thing I w anted was inf inite se curity and to be the plac e an arr ow shoots o ff from. I w anted chang e and e xcitemen t and to shoot o ff in all dir ections m yself, lik e the c olour ed arr ows fr om a F ourth of July rocket. I woke to the sound o f rain. It was pi tch dar k. Af ter a while I de cipher ed the fain t outlines o f an unfamiliar windo w. Every so o ften a be am o f light appe ared out of thin air , traverse d the w all lik e a g hostl y, explor atory finger, and slid o ff into nothing again. Then I he ard the sound o f somebod y breathing. At first I thoug ht it was onl y myself, and tha t I w as lying in the dark in m y hotel r oom af ter being poisone d. I held m y breath, but the br eathing k ept on. A gr een e ye glowed on the be d beside me. I t was divide d into quar ters lik e a c ompass. I r eache d out slo wly and close d my hand on it. I lif ted it up. W ith it came an arm, he avy as a de ad man ’s, but warm wi th sle ep. Constan tin’s watc

The Domestic Trap of Marriage

Esther wakes in the early morning and observes Constantin, imagining the soul-crushing routine of a traditional marriage.
She reflects on her academic achievements, viewing the domestic expectations of cooking and cleaning as a dreary and wasted life.
Through the example of Mrs. Willard's rug, Esther concludes that a woman's creative labor is often relegated to something to be stepped upon.
She fears that marriage is a deceptive trap where men ultimately desire to flatten their wives into utilitarian objects.
Esther recalls Buddy Willard’s claim that motherhood would kill her desire to write, leading her to compare marriage to being a slave in a private, totalitarian state.

nd slid o ff into nothing again. Then I he ard the sound o f somebod y breathing. At first I thoug ht it was onl y myself, and tha t I w as lying in the dark in m y hotel r oom af ter being poisone d. I held m y breath, but the br eathing k ept on. A gr een e ye glowed on the be d beside me. I t was divide d into quar ters lik e a c ompass. I r eache d out slo wly and close d my hand on it. I lif ted it up. W ith it came an arm, he avy as a de ad man ’s, but warm wi th sle ep. Constan tin’s watch said thr ee o’clock. He was lying in his shir t and tr ousers and stocking f eet just as I had lef t him when I dr oppe d asle ep, and as m y eyes gr ew use d to the darkness I made out his pale e yelids and his str aight nose and his toler ant, shapel y mouth, but the y seeme d insubstan tial, as if dr awn on fog. F or a f ew minutes I le aned over, stud ying him. I had ne ver fallen asle ep beside a man bef ore. I trie d to imag ine wha t it would be lik e if Constan tin w ere my husband. It would me an g etting up a t seven and c ooking him eggs and bacon and toast and c offee and da wdling about in m y nig htgown and cur lers af ter he ’d lef t for w ork to w ash up the dir ty pla tes and mak e the be d, and then when he c ame home af ter a liv ely, fascina ting da y he ’d expect a big dinner , and I ’d spend the e vening Chapter 7 |79 washing up e ven mor e dir ty pla tes till I f ell in to be d, ut terly exhauste d. This se eme d a dr eary and w asted life for a g irl with fifteen years o f straight A’s, but I kne w tha t’s wha t marriag e was lik e, be cause c ook and cle an and w ash w as just wha t Buddy Willard’s mother did fr om morning till nig ht, and she w as the wif e of a univ ersity professor and had be en a priv ate school te acher herself. Once when I visi ted Buddy I found Mrs W illard braiding a rug out of strips o f wool fr om Mr W illard’s old sui ts. She ’d spen t weeks on that rug, and I had admir ed the t weedy browns and gr eens and blues patterning the br aid, but af ter Mrs W illard was thr ough, inste ad o f hang ing the rug on the w all the w ay I w ould ha ve done, she put i t down in plac e of her ki tchen ma t, and in a f ew da ys it was soile d and dull and indistinguishable fr om an y ma t you c ould bu y for under a dollar in the F ive and T en. And I kne w tha t in spi te of all the r oses and kisses and r estaurant dinners a man sho wered on a w oman bef ore he marrie d her , wha t he se cretly wanted when the w edding ser vice ende d was for her to flatten out underne ath his f eet like Mrs W illard’s kitchen ma t. Hadn’t my own mother told me tha t as soon as she and m y father left Reno on their hone ymoon—m y father had be en marrie d bef ore, so he ne eded a div orce—m y father said to her , “Whew, tha t’s a relief, now we can stop pr etending and be oursel ves,”—and fr om tha t day on m y mother ne ver had a minute ’s peace. I also r emember ed Buddy Willard sa ying in a sinister , kno wing way tha t after I had childr en I w ould f eel dif ferently, I w ouldn ’t want to wri te poems an y mor e. So I began to think ma ybe i t was true tha t when y ou w ere marrie d and had childr en it was lik e being brainwashe d, and af terwards y ou w ent about numb as a sla ve in some priv ate, totali tarian sta te. As I star ed do wn a t Constan tin the w ay you star e down a t a brig ht, unattainable pebble a t the bot tom o f a de ep w ell, his e yelids lif ted and he look ed thr ough me, and his e yes w ere full o f love. I w atche d dumbl y as a li ttle shut ter o f recogni tion click ed acr oss the blur o f 80|The Bell J ar tenderness and the wide pupils w ent glossy and depthless as pa tent leather. Constan tin sa t up, ya wning. “ What time is i t?” “Three,” I said in a f lat voice. “I be tter g o home. I ha ve to be a t work first thing in the morning. ” “I’ll driv e you.” As w e sat back to back on our separ ate sides o f the be d fumbling with our shoes in the horrid che erful whi te lig ht o

Lingering Pain and Unmet Promises

Esther experiences a brief moment of peace when Constantin touches her hair, contrasting with the flat tone of their earlier conversation.
A physical ache in Esther's shin triggers a realization that her previous injury was a deliberate act of self-punishment.
The post-Christmas journey to the Adirondacks is marked by a deep sense of disappointment and the failure of holiday symbols to provide meaning.
Mr. Willard’s innocent and trusting nature makes Esther feel trapped, as his paternal affection imposes a role she feels unable to decline.

ull o f love. I w atche d dumbl y as a li ttle shut ter o f recogni tion click ed acr oss the blur o f 80|The Bell J ar tenderness and the wide pupils w ent glossy and depthless as pa tent leather. Constan tin sa t up, ya wning. “ What time is i t?” “Three,” I said in a f lat voice. “I be tter g o home. I ha ve to be a t work first thing in the morning. ” “I’ll driv e you.” As w e sat back to back on our separ ate sides o f the be d fumbling with our shoes in the horrid che erful whi te lig ht of the be d lamp, I sense d Constan tin turn r ound. “I s your hair al ways lik e tha t?” “Like wha t?” He didn ’t answ er but r eache d over and put his hand a t the r oot o f my hair and r an his f ingers out slo wly to the tip ends lik e a c omb. A little ele ctric shock f lared thr ough me, and I sa t qui te still. E ver since I w as small I lo ved feeling somebod y comb m y hair . It made me go all sle epy and pe aceful. “Ah, I kno w wha t it is,” Constan tin said. “ You’ve just w ashe d it.” And he ben t to lac e up his tennis shoes. An hour la ter I la y in m y hotel be d, listening to the r ain. I t didn ’t even sound lik e rain, i t sounde d lik e a tap running. The ache in the middle o f my lef t shin bone c ame to lif e, and I abandone d an y hope of sleep bef ore seven, when m y radio-alarm clock w ould r ouse me with its he arty renderings o f Sousa. Every time i t rained the old leg-br eak se eme d to r emember i tself, and wha t it remember ed was a dull hur t. Then I thoug ht, “Buddy Willard made me br eak tha t leg. ” Then I thoug ht, “N o, I br oke it myself. I br oke it on purpose to pa y myself back f or being such a he el.” Chapter 7 |81 Chapter 8 Mr W illard drove me up to the Adir ondacks. It was the da y after Christmas and a gr ey sky bellie d over us, fa t with sno w. I felt o verstuf fed and dull and disappoin ted, the w ay I always do the da y after Christmas, as if wha tever it was the pine boug hs and the c andles and the sil ver and g ilt-ri bbone d pr esen ts and the bir ch-log f ires and the Christmas tur key and the c arols a t the piano pr omise d ne ver came to pass. At Christmas I almost wishe d I w as a Ca tholic. First Mr W illard dr ove and then I dr ove. I don ’t kno w wha t we talked about, but as the c ountryside, alr eady de ep under old falls of sno w, turne d us a ble aker shoulder , and as the f ir trees cr owded down fr om the gr ey hills to the r oad e dge, so dar kly green the y looked black, I gr ew gloomier and g loomier . I was tempte d to tell Mr W illard to g o ahe ad alone, I w ould hi tch- hike home. But one g lance at Mr W illard’s fac e—the sil ver hair in i ts bo yish crewcut, the cle ar blue e yes, the pink che eks, all fr osted like a sw eet wedding c ake with the innoc ent, trusting e xpression—and I kne w I couldn ’t do i t. I’d have to se e the visi t thr ough to the end. At midda y the gr eyness pale d a bi t, and w e par ked in an ic y turn- off and shar ed out the tunaf ish sand wiches and the oa tmeal cookies and the apples and the thermos o f black c offee Mrs W illard had pack ed for our lunch. Mr W illard eyed me kindl y. Then he cle ared his thr oat and brushe d a f ew last crumbs fr om his lap. I c ould tell he w as going to sa y some thing serious, be cause he w as very sh y, and I ’d he ard him cle ar his thr oat in tha t same w ay bef ore giving an impor tant economics le cture. “Nelly and I ha ve always w anted a da ughter.” For one cr azy minute I thoug ht Mr W illard was going to announc e 82|Chapter 8 that Mrs W illard was pr egnan t and e xpecting a bab y girl. Then he said, “B ut I don ’t see ho w an y daughter c ould be nic er than y ou.” Mr W illard must ha ve thoug ht I w as cr ying be cause I w as so glad he w anted to be a fa ther to me. “ Ther e, ther e,” he pa tted my shoulder and cle ared his thr oat onc e or t wice. “I think w e understand e ach other .” Then he opene d the c ar door on his side and str olled round to my side, his br eath shaping

A Visit to the Sanatorium

Mr. Willard misinterprets the narrator's emotional reaction, believing she is touched by his desire to act as a father figure to her.
The narrator's idealized vision of a mountain chalet sanatorium is replaced by the grim, 'liver-colored' reality of a decaying institution.
Buddy Willard describes his life with tuberculosis as living with a 'bomb in your lung,' where the primary goal is to remain perfectly still.
Upon meeting Buddy, the narrator is shocked to find him plump and ruddy rather than the emaciated, tragic figure she had envisioned.

as going to announc e 82|Chapter 8 that Mrs W illard was pr egnan t and e xpecting a bab y girl. Then he said, “B ut I don ’t see ho w an y daughter c ould be nic er than y ou.” Mr W illard must ha ve thoug ht I w as cr ying be cause I w as so glad he w anted to be a fa ther to me. “ Ther e, ther e,” he pa tted my shoulder and cle ared his thr oat onc e or t wice. “I think w e understand e ach other .” Then he opene d the c ar door on his side and str olled round to my side, his br eath shaping tor tuous smok e signals in the gr ey air . I mo ved over to the se at he had lef t and he star ted the c ar and w e drove on. I’m not sur e wha t I expected of Buddy’s sana torium. I think I e xpected a kind o f wooden chale t per ched up on top o f a small moun tain, wi th rosy-che eked young men and w omen, all v ery attractive but wi th he ctic g littering e yes, lying c overed wi th thick blank ets on outdoor balc onies. “TB is lik e living wi th a bomb in y our lung, ” Buddy had wri tten to me a t colleg e. “You just lie ar ound v ery quie tly hoping i t won’t go off.” I found i t har d to imag ine B uddy lying quie tly. His whole philosoph y of life was to be up and doing e very second. E ven when we went to the be ach in the summer he ne ver la y do wn to dr owse in the sun the w ay I did. H e ran back and f orth or pla yed ball or did a little series o f rapid push-ups to use the time. Mr W illard and I w aited in the r eception r oom f or the end o f the afternoon r est cur e. The c olour scheme o f the whole sana torium se eme d to be base d on liv er. Dark, glowering w oodwork, burn t-brown le ather chairs, walls tha t mig ht onc e ha ve be en whi te but had suc cumbe d under a spr eading malad y of mould or damp. A mot tled br own linoleum sealed off the f loor. On a lo w coffee-table, wi th cir cular and semi-cir cular stains bitten in to the dar k veneer, lay a f ew wilte d numbers o f Time and Life. I f lippe d to the middle o f the ne arest magazine. The fac e of Eisenho wer be amed up a t me, bald and blank as the fac e of a foetus in a bot tle. Chapter 8 |83 After a while I be came a ware of a sl y, leaking noise. F or a minute I thoug ht the w alls had begun to dischar ge the moistur e tha t must saturate them, but then I sa w the noise c ame fr om a small f ountain in one c orner o f the r oom. The f ountain spur ted a f ew inches in to the air fr om a r ough length o f pipe, thr ew up i ts hands, c ollapse d and dr owned its ragged dribble in a stone basin o f yellowing w ater. The basin w as pa ved with the whi te he xagonal tiles one f inds in public la vatories. A buz zer sounde d. Doors opene d and shut in the distanc e. Then Buddy came in. “Hello, D ad.” Buddy hugg ed his fa ther, and pr omptl y, wi th a dr eadful brightness, c ame o ver to me and held out his hand. I shook i t. It felt moist and fa t. Mr W illard and I sa t tog ether on a le ather c ouch. B uddy per ched opposi te us on the e dge of a slipper y armchair . He kept smiling, as if the c orners o f his mouth w ere strung up on in visible wir e. The last thing I e xpected was for B uddy to be fa t. All the time I thoug ht of him a t the sana torium I sa w shado ws c arving themsel ves under his che ekbones and his e yes burning out o f almost f leshless sock ets. But everything c oncave about B uddy had suddenl y turne d convex. A pot bell y sw elled under the tig ht whi te nylon shir t and his che eks were round and rudd y as marzipan frui t. Even his la ugh sounde d plump. Buddy’s eyes me t mine. “I t’s the e ating,” he said. “ They stuf f us da y after da y and then just mak e us lie ar ound. B ut I’m allo wed out on walk-hours no w, so don ’t worry, I’ll thin do wn in a c ouple o f weeks.” He jumpe d up, smiling lik e a g lad host. “ Would y ou lik e to se e my room ?” I followed Buddy, and Mr W illard followed me, thr ough a pair o f swing ing doors se t with panes o f frosted glass do wn a dim, liv er- colour ed corridor smelling o f floor w

The Sanitarium Visit

Esther visits Buddy Willard at his recovery facility, where he has gained weight due to a regimen of forced overfeeding and rest.
Mr. Willard abruptly departs to avoid facing his son's illness, which he views as a shameful failure of individual will.
Buddy reveals a newfound creative side by showing Esther a mediocre poem he published and a handmade clay ashtray.
Esther feels a profound physical discomfort and fear of contagion, imagining Buddy surrounded by a murderous aura of germs.
The atmosphere becomes increasingly strained as Buddy begins to pivot toward a serious, personal proposal.

gh sounde d plump. Buddy’s eyes me t mine. “I t’s the e ating,” he said. “ They stuf f us da y after da y and then just mak e us lie ar ound. B ut I’m allo wed out on walk-hours no w, so don ’t worry, I’ll thin do wn in a c ouple o f weeks.” He jumpe d up, smiling lik e a g lad host. “ Would y ou lik e to se e my room ?” I followed Buddy, and Mr W illard followed me, thr ough a pair o f swing ing doors se t with panes o f frosted glass do wn a dim, liv er- colour ed corridor smelling o f floor w ax and l ysol and another vaguer odour , like bruise d gar denias. 84|The Bell J ar Buddy thr ew open a br own door , and w e filed into the narr ow room. A lump y bed, shr oude d by a thin whi te spr ead, pencil-stripe d with blue, took up most o f the spac e. Next to i t stood a be d table wi th a pitcher and a w ater g lass and the sil ver twig o f a thermome ter poking up fr om a jar o f pink disinf ectant. A se cond table, c overed with books and papers and o ff-kilter cla y pots—bak ed and pain ted, but not g lazed—sque ezed itself be tween the be d foot and the close t door . “Well,” Mr W illard breathed, “it looks c omfortable enoug h.” Buddy laughed. “What are these ?” I pick ed up a cla y ash tray in the shape o f a lilypad, wi th the v einings c arefull y drawn in y ellow on a mur ky gr een ground. B uddy didn ’t smok e. “That’s an ash tray,” Buddy said. “I t’s for you.” I put the tr ay down. “I don ’t smok e.” “I kno w,” Buddy said. “I thoug ht you mig ht like it, thoug h.” “Well,” Mr W illard rubbe d one paper y lip against another . “I guess I’ll be g etting on. I guess I ’ll be le aving y ou two young pe ople…” “Fine, D ad. Y ou be g etting on. ” I was surprise d. I had thoug ht Mr W illard was going to sta y the night bef ore driving me back the ne xt da y. “Shall I c ome too ?” “No, no. ” Mr W illard pe eled a f ew bills fr om his w allet and hande d them to B uddy. “Se e tha t Esther g ets a c omfortable se at on the tr ain. She’ll sta y a da y or so, ma ybe.” Buddy esc orted his fa ther to the door . I felt Mr W illard had deser ted me. I thoug ht he must ha ve planne d it all along, but B uddy said N o, his fa ther simpl y couldn ’t stand the sight of sickness and espe cially his o wn son ’s sickness, be cause he thoug ht all sickness w as sickness o f the will. Mr W illard had ne ver been sick a da y in his lif e. I sat down on B uddy’s bed. Ther e simpl y wasn’t an ywher e else to sit. Chapter 8 |85 Buddy rummag ed among his papers in a businesslik e way. Then he hande d me a thin, gr ey magazine. “ Turn to pag e ele ven.” The magazine w as prin ted some wher e in Maine and full o f stencille d poems and descriptiv e par agraphs separ ated from e ach other b y asterisks. On pag e ele ven I f ound a poem ti tled “Florida Dawn.” I skippe d do wn thr ough imag e after imag e about w ater- melon lig hts and tur tle-gr een palms and shells f luted lik e bits of Greek ar chitecture. “Not bad. ” I thoug ht it was dr eadful. “Who wr ote i t?” B uddy ask ed with an odd, pig eony smile. My eye droppe d to the name on the lo wer rig ht-hand c orner o f the pag e. B. S. W illard. “I don ’t kno w.” Then I said, “ Of course I kno w, Buddy. You wr ote i t.” Buddy edged over to me. I edged back. I had v ery little kno wledge about TB, but i t seeme d to me an e xtremel y sinister dise ase, the w ay it went on so in visibly. I thoug ht Buddy mig ht well be si tting in his o wn li ttle mur derous a ura of TB g erms. “Don ’t worry,” Buddy laughed. “I’m not posi tive.” “Positive?” “You w on’t catch an ything. ” Buddy stoppe d for a br eath, the w ay you do in the middle o f climbing some thing v ery ste ep. “I want to ask y ou a question. ” He had a disquie ting ne w habi t of boring in to m y eyes wi th his look as if ac tuall y ben t on pier cing m y head, the be tter to anal yse wha t went on inside i t. “I’d thoug ht of asking i t by letter.” I had a f leeting vision o f a pale blue en velope wi th a Y ale cr est on the back f la

A Refusal of Domesticity

Buddy Willard proposes marriage to Esther Greenwood while recovering from tuberculosis, assuming she will wait for him to finish medical school.
Esther rejects his proposal and asserts that she never intends to marry, a stance Buddy dismisses as a temporary whim or a result of her being 'crazy.'
The narrator recalls a past incident where Buddy labeled her 'neurotic' because she couldn't choose between living in the city and the country.
Esther reclaims the label of neurosis, defining it as the state of wanting two mutually exclusive things at the same time and refusing to settle for one.
The scene shifts to Esther standing at the summit of a steep ski slope on Mount Pisgah, feeling a sense of clarity in the punishing cold air despite her lack of skiing experience.

ghed. “I’m not posi tive.” “Positive?” “You w on’t catch an ything. ” Buddy stoppe d for a br eath, the w ay you do in the middle o f climbing some thing v ery ste ep. “I want to ask y ou a question. ” He had a disquie ting ne w habi t of boring in to m y eyes wi th his look as if ac tuall y ben t on pier cing m y head, the be tter to anal yse wha t went on inside i t. “I’d thoug ht of asking i t by letter.” I had a f leeting vision o f a pale blue en velope wi th a Y ale cr est on the back f lap. “But then I de cided it would be be tter if I w aited un til you c ame up, so I c ould ask y ou in person. ” He pa used. “Well, don ’t you w ant to kno w wha t it is?” “What?” I said in a small, unpr omising v oice. Buddy sat down beside me. H e put his arm ar ound m y waist and 86|The Bell J ar brushe d the hair fr om m y ear. I didn ’t mo ve. Then I he ard him whisper , “How would y ou lik e to be Mrs B uddy Willard?” I had an a wful impulse to la ugh. I thoug ht how tha t question w ould ha ve bo wled me o ver at any time in m y five-or six -year period o f adoring B uddy Willard from a distanc e. Buddy saw me hesi tate. “Oh, I ’m in no shape no w, I kno w,” he said quickl y. “I’m still on P.A.S. and I ma y yet lose a ri b or t wo, but I ’ll be back a t me d school by next fall. A y ear fr om this spring a t the la test…” “I think I should tell y ou some thing, B uddy.” “I kno w,” Buddy said stif fly. “You’ve me t some one.” “No, it’s not tha t.” “What is it, then ?” “I’m ne ver going to g et marrie d.” “You’re crazy.” Buddy brig htene d. “You’ll chang e your mind. ” “No. M y mind’ s made up. ” But Buddy just w ent on looking che erful. “Remember ,” I said, “tha t time y ou hi tch-hik ed back to c olleg e with me af ter Ski t Nig ht?” “I remember .” “Remember ho w you ask ed me wher e would I lik e to liv e best, the country or the ci ty?” “And y ou said…” “And I said I w anted to liv e in the c ountry and in the ci ty both ?” Buddy nodde d. “And y ou,” I continue d wi th sudden f orce, “la ughed and said I had the perf ect set-up o f a true neur otic and tha t tha t question c ame from some questionnair e you’d had in psy cholog y class tha t week?” Buddy’s smile dimme d. “Well, y ou w ere rig ht. I am neur otic. I c ould ne ver se ttle do wn in either the c ountry or the ci ty.” “You c ould liv e be tween them, ” Buddy sugg ested help fully. “Then you could g o to the ci ty some times and to the c ountry some times. ” “Well, wha t’s so neur otic about tha t?” Chapter 8 |87 Buddy didn ’t answ er. “Well?” I r appe d out, thinking, “ You can’t coddle these sick pe ople, it’s the w orst thing f or them, i t’ll spoil them to bi ts.” “Nothing, ” Buddy said in a pale, still v oice. “Neurotic, ha!” I le t out a sc ornful la ugh. “If neur otic is w anting two mutuall y exclusiv e things a t one and the same time, then I ’m neur otic as hell. I ’ll be f lying back and f orth be tween one mutuall y exclusiv e thing and another f or the r est o f my days.” Buddy put his hand on mine. “Let me f ly with you.” I stood a t the top o f the ski slope on M ount Pisgah, looking do wn. I had no business to be up ther e. I had ne ver skie d bef ore in m y life. Still, I thoug ht I w ould en joy the vie w while I had the chanc e. At my lef t, the r ope to w deposi ted skier af ter skier on the sno wy summi t which, pack ed by much cr ossing and r e-cr ossing and slightly melte d in the noon sun, had har dene d to the c onsistenc y and polish o f glass. The c old air punishe d my lungs and sinuses to a visionar y cle arness. On e very side o f me the r ed and blue and whi te jack eted skiers tore away do wn the blinding slope lik e fug itive bits of an Americ an flag. F rom the f oot o f the ski run, the imi tation log c abin lodg e pipe d its popular songs in to the o verhang o f silenc e. Gazing do wn on the Jung frau From our chale t for two… The lilt and boom thr eaded by me lik e an in visible rivule t in a deser t of sno w. One c areless, superb

Skiing with Buddy Willard

Buddy Willard organizes a skiing trip for Esther, persistently borrowing equipment from various acquaintances despite his own lack of experience.
Esther reflects on Buddy's clinical persuasiveness, noting he once won a medical school prize for convincing grieving families to permit autopsies.
Despite her hesitation and lack of skill, Esther feels compelled to follow Buddy's instructions, illustrating a submissive dynamic in their relationship.
While attempting to use the rope tow, Esther becomes trapped by the momentum and the presence of other skiers, forcing her to travel all the way to the summit.
From the top of the slope, Esther experiences a sense of visionary detachment, viewing Buddy and the other skiers as tiny, insignificant organisms.

d air punishe d my lungs and sinuses to a visionar y cle arness. On e very side o f me the r ed and blue and whi te jack eted skiers tore away do wn the blinding slope lik e fug itive bits of an Americ an flag. F rom the f oot o f the ski run, the imi tation log c abin lodg e pipe d its popular songs in to the o verhang o f silenc e. Gazing do wn on the Jung frau From our chale t for two… The lilt and boom thr eaded by me lik e an in visible rivule t in a deser t of sno w. One c areless, superb g estur e, and I w ould be hur led into motion do wn the slope to wards the small khaki spot in the sidelines, among the spe ctators, which w as Buddy Willard. All morning B uddy had be en te aching me ho w to ski. First, B uddy borr owed skis and ski poles fr om a friend o f his in the villag e, and ski boots fr om a doc tor’s wif e whose f eet were onl y one size lar ger than m y own, and a r ed ski jack et from a studen t nurse. His persistenc e in the fac e of mulishness w as astounding. Then I r emember ed tha t at me dical school B uddy had w on a prize for persuading the most r elatives of dead pe ople to ha ve their 88|The Bell J ar dead ones cut up whe ther the y ne eded it or not, in the in terests of scienc e. I f orget wha t the priz e was, but I c ould just se e Buddy in his whi te coat with his ste thosc ope sticking out o f a side pock et like par t of his ana tomy, smiling and bo wing and talking those numb, dumb r elatives in to signing the post-mor tem papers. Next, B uddy borr owed a c ar fr om his o wn doc tor, who ’d had TB himself and w as very understanding, and w e drove off as the buz zer for w alk-hour r aspe d along the sunless sana torium c orridors. Buddy had ne ver skie d bef ore ei ther, but he said tha t the elemen tary principles w ere qui te simple, and as he ’d often w atche d the ski instruc tors and their pupils he c ould te ach me all I ’d ne ed to know. For the f irst half -hour I obe dien tly herring-bone d up a small slope, pushe d off with m y poles and c oaste d str aight down. B uddy seeme d ple ased with m y progress. “That’s fine, Esther ,” he obser ved, as I neg otiated my slope f or the twentieth time. “N ow let’s try you on the r ope to w.” I steppe d in m y tracks, f lushe d and pan ting. “But B uddy, I don ’t kno w ho w to zigzag y et. All those pe ople coming do wn fr om the top kno w ho w to zigzag. ” “Oh, y ou ne ed onl y go half -way. Then y ou w on’t gain v ery much momen tum. ” And B uddy accompanie d me to the r ope to w and sho wed me ho w to le t the r ope run thr ough my hands, and then told me to close m y fingers r ound i t and g o up. It never oc curr ed to me to sa y no. I wrappe d my fingers ar ound the r ough, bruising snak e of a rope that slithered thr ough them, and w ent up. But the r ope dr agged me, w obbling and balancing, so r apidl y I couldn ’t hope to dissocia te m yself fr om i t half -way. Ther e was a skier in fr ont of me and a skier behind me, and I ’d ha ve be en knock ed over and stuck full o f skis and poles the minute I le t go, and I didn ’t want to mak e trouble, so I hung quie tly on. At the top, thoug h, I had se cond thoug hts. Buddy sing led me out, hesi tating ther e in the r ed jack et. His arms Chapter 8 |89 choppe d the air lik e khaki windmills. Then I sa w he w as signalling me to c ome do wn a pa th tha t had opene d in the middle o f the weaving skiers. B ut as I poise d, une asy, with a dr y thr oat, the smooth whi te pa th fr om m y feet to his f eet grew blurr ed. A skier cr osse d it from the lef t, another cr osse d it from the rig ht, and B uddy’s arms w ent on w aving f eebly as an tennae fr om the other side o f a field sw arming wi th tin y mo ving animalcules lik e germs, or bent, brig ht exclama tion mar ks. I look ed up fr om tha t churning amphi theatre to the vie w be yond it. The gr eat, gr ey eye of the sky look ed back a t me, i ts mist- shroude d sun f ocusing all the whi te and silen t distanc es tha t pour ed from e v

A Reckless Descent

Esther contemplates the idea of suicide with an unsettling coolness while surveying the snowy landscape from a hilltop.
She deliberately launches herself into a dangerous ski run, seeking a momentary feeling of purity and happiness through high-speed flight.
The descent ends in a crash that breaks Esther's leg in two places, an injury Buddy Willard reports with a disturbing sense of satisfaction.
The narrative transitions to the fashion magazine office, where Esther's colleague Hilda displays a morbid and cynical attitude toward others' deaths.

f eet grew blurr ed. A skier cr osse d it from the lef t, another cr osse d it from the rig ht, and B uddy’s arms w ent on w aving f eebly as an tennae fr om the other side o f a field sw arming wi th tin y mo ving animalcules lik e germs, or bent, brig ht exclama tion mar ks. I look ed up fr om tha t churning amphi theatre to the vie w be yond it. The gr eat, gr ey eye of the sky look ed back a t me, i ts mist- shroude d sun f ocusing all the whi te and silen t distanc es tha t pour ed from e very poin t of the c ompass, hill af ter pale hill, to stall a t my feet. The in terior v oice nagg ing me not to be a f ool—to sa ve my skin and tak e off my skis and w alk do wn, c amouf laged by the scrub pines bordering the slope— fled like a disc onsola te mosqui to. The thoug ht that I mig ht kill m yself f orme d in m y mind c oolly as a tr ee or a flower. I me asur ed the distanc e to B uddy with m y eye. His arms w ere folde d, no w, and he se eme d of a pie ce wi th the split-rail fence behind him—numb, br own and inc onse quen tial. Edging to the rim o f the hilltop, I dug the spik es of my poles in to the sno w and pushe d myself in to a f light I kne w I c ouldn ’t stop b y skill or an y bela ted access o f will. I aime d str aight down. A keen wind tha t had be en hiding i tself struck me full in the mouth and r aked the hair back horiz ontal on m y he ad. I w as desc ending, but the whi te sun r ose no hig her. It hung o ver the suspende d waves of the hills, an insen tient piv ot wi thout which the w orld w ould not exist. A small, answ ering poin t in m y own bod y flew to wards it. I f elt my lungs inf late wi th the inrush o f scener y—air , moun tains, tr ees, people. I thoug ht, “This is wha t it is to be happ y.” I plumme ted do wn past the zigzagg ers, the studen ts, the e xper ts, 90|The Bell J ar through year af ter y ear of doubleness and smiles and c ompr omise, into m y own past. People and tr ees receded on ei ther hand lik e the dar k sides o f a tunnel as I hur tled on to the still, brig ht poin t at the end o f it, the pebble a t the bot tom o f the w ell, the whi te sw eet bab y cradled in i ts mother’ s bell y. My teeth crunche d a gr avelly mouthful. I ce water se eped do wn my thr oat. Buddy’s fac e hung o ver me, ne ar and hug e, lik e a distr acted plane t. Other fac es sho wed themsel ves up in back o f his. Behind them, black dots sw arme d on a plane o f whi teness. Pie ce by pie ce, as a t the str okes of a dull g odmother’ s wand, the old w orld spr ang back into posi tion. “You w ere doing f ine,” a familiar v oice inf orme d my ear, “until tha t man steppe d into your pa th.” People w ere unfastening m y bindings and c ollecting m y ski poles from wher e the y pok ed skyw ard, ask ew, in their separ ate snowbanks. The lodg e fence proppe d itself a t my back. Buddy ben t to pull o ff my boots and the se veral pairs o f whi te wool socks tha t padde d them. H is plump hand shut on m y lef t foot, then inche d up m y ankle, closing and pr obing, as if f eeling f or a concealed weapon. A dispassiona te whi te sun shone a t the summi t of the sky . I wanted to hone m yself on i t till I gr ew sain tly and thin and essen tial as the blade o f a knif e. “I’m going up, ” I said. “I ’m going to do i t again. ” “No, you’re not. ” A que er, satisfied expression c ame o ver Buddy’s fac e. “No, you’re not, ” he r epeated wi th a f inal smile. “ Your leg’ s broken in two plac es. Y ou’ll be stuck in a c ast for mon ths.” Chapter 8 |91 Chapter 9 “I’m so g lad the y’re going to die. ” Hilda ar ched her c at-limbs in a ya wn, burie d her he ad in her arms on the c onference table and w ent back to sle ep. A wisp o f bilious green str aw per ched on her br ow lik e a tr opic al bir d. Bile gr een. The y were promoting i t for fall, onl y Hilda, as usual, was half a y ear ahe ad o f time. B ile gr een wi th black, bile gr een wi th white, bile gr een wi th nile gr een, its kissing c ousin. Fashion blurbs, sil v

The Shadow of Execution

Hilda expresses a chilling enthusiasm for the impending execution of the Rosenbergs, revealing a void of empathy that unnerves the narrator.
The narrator experiences a profound sense of alienation, viewing her peers as performative mannequins and herself as an unsteady vessel for repressed emotion.
During a final magazine photo shoot, the young women are asked to pose with props that represent their future career ambitions.
Esther struggles with an overwhelming, inexplicable urge to cry as she realizes she cannot identify what she wants to become.

ths.” Chapter 8 |91 Chapter 9 “I’m so g lad the y’re going to die. ” Hilda ar ched her c at-limbs in a ya wn, burie d her he ad in her arms on the c onference table and w ent back to sle ep. A wisp o f bilious green str aw per ched on her br ow lik e a tr opic al bir d. Bile gr een. The y were promoting i t for fall, onl y Hilda, as usual, was half a y ear ahe ad o f time. B ile gr een wi th black, bile gr een wi th white, bile gr een wi th nile gr een, its kissing c ousin. Fashion blurbs, sil ver and full o f nothing, sen t up their f ishy bubbles in m y brain. The y surfac ed with a hollo w pop. I’m so g lad the y’re going to die. I curse d the luck tha t had time d my arriv al in the hotel c afeteria to coincide wi th H ilda’s. Af ter a la te nig ht I felt too dull to think up the e xcuse tha t would tak e me back to m y room f or the g love, the handk erchief, the umbr ella, the notebook I f orgot. M y penalt y was the long, de ad w alk fr om the fr osted glass doors o f the Amaz on to the str awberr y-marble slab o f our en try on Madison A venue. Hilda mo ved like a manne quin the whole w ay. “That’s a lo vely hat, did y ou mak e it?” I half -expected Hilda to turn on me and sa y, “You sound sick” , but she onl y extende d and then r etracted her sw anny neck. “Yes.” The nig ht bef ore I’d seen a pla y wher e the her oine w as possesse d by a d ybbuk, and when the d ybbuk spok e from her mouth i ts voice sounde d so c avernous and de ep y ou c ouldn ’t tell whe ther i t was a man or a w oman. W ell H ilda’s voice sounde d just lik e the v oice of that dybbuk. She star ed at her r eflection in the g losse d shop windo ws as if to make sur e, momen t by momen t, tha t she c ontinue d to e xist. The silenc e between us w as so pr ofound I thoug ht par t of it must be m y fault. So I said, “I sn’t it awful about the R osenber gs?” 92|Chapter 9 The R osenber gs w ere to be ele ctrocute d late tha t nig ht. “Yes!” H ilda said, and a t last I f elt I had touche d a human string in the c at’s cradle o f her he art. It was onl y as the t wo of us w aited for the others in the tomb-lik e morning g loom o f the c onference room that Hilda amplif ied tha t Yes of hers. “It’s awful such pe ople should be aliv e.” She ya wned then, and her pale or ange mouth opene d on a lar ge darkness. F ascina ted, I star ed at the blind c ave behind her fac e un til the t wo lips me t and mo ved and the d ybbuk spok e out o f its hiding place, “I’m so g lad the y’re going to die. ” “Come on, g ive us a smile. ” I sat on the pink v elvet love-se at in J ay Ce e’s office, holding a paper r ose and facing the magazine photogr apher . I w as the last o f the t welve to ha ve my pic ture tak en. I had trie d concealing m yself in the po wder-room, but i t didn ’t work. Be tsy had spie d my feet under the doors. I didn ’t want my pic ture tak en be cause I w as going to cr y. I didn ’t know wh y I w as going to cr y, but I kne w tha t if an ybod y spok e to me or look ed at me too closel y the te ars w ould f ly out o f my eyes and the sobs w ould f ly out o f my thr oat and I ’d cry for a w eek. I c ould feel the te ars brimming and sloshing in me lik e water in a g lass tha t is unste ady and too full. This w as the last r ound o f photogr aphs bef ore the magazine w ent to pr ess and w e returne d to T ulsa or B iloxi or T eaneck or Coos Bay or wher ever w e’d come fr om, and w e were suppose d to be photogr aphe d with pr ops to sho w wha t we wanted to be. Betsy held an e ar of corn to sho w she w anted to be a farmer’ s wife, and H ilda held the bald, fac eless he ad o f a ha tmak er’s dumm y to sho w she w anted to design ha ts, and Dor een held a g old- embr oider ed sari to sho w she w anted to be a social w orker in I ndia (she didn ’t really, she told me, she onl y wanted to g et her hands on a sari). When the y ask ed me wha t I w anted to be I said I didn ’t kno w. “Oh, sur e you kno w,” the photogr apher said. “She w ants,” said J ay Ce e

The Mask of Ambition

During a magazine photoshoot, the interns pose with objects representing their future careers, while Esther struggles to find a prop that fits her identity as a poet.
Forced by the photographer to perform a smile for the camera, Esther suffers a sudden emotional collapse and bursts into uncontrollable tears.
After her breakdown, Esther views her reflection as a bruised, puffed-up stranger that resembles a prisoner after a prolonged beating.
Despite her despair, Esther clings to the hope of being accepted into a prestigious summer writing course led by a famous author.

etsy held an e ar of corn to sho w she w anted to be a farmer’ s wife, and H ilda held the bald, fac eless he ad o f a ha tmak er’s dumm y to sho w she w anted to design ha ts, and Dor een held a g old- embr oider ed sari to sho w she w anted to be a social w orker in I ndia (she didn ’t really, she told me, she onl y wanted to g et her hands on a sari). When the y ask ed me wha t I w anted to be I said I didn ’t kno w. “Oh, sur e you kno w,” the photogr apher said. “She w ants,” said J ay Ce e wittily, “to be e verything. ” Chapter 9 |93 I said I w anted to be a poe t. Then the y scoute d about f or some thing f or me to hold. Jay Ce e sugg ested a book o f poems, but the photogr apher said no, tha t was too ob vious. I t should be some thing tha t sho wed wha t inspir ed the poems. F inally Jay Ce e unclippe d the sing le, long- stemme d paper r ose fr om her la test ha t. The photogr apher f iddle d with his hot whi te lig hts. “Sho w us ho w happ y it mak es you to wri te a poem. ” I star ed thr ough the friez e of rubber plan t leaves in J ay Ce e’s windo w to the blue sky be yond. A f ew stag ey cloud puf fs w ere travelling fr om rig ht to lef t. I fixed my eyes on the lar gest cloud, as if, when i t passe d out o f sig ht, I mig ht have the g ood luck to pass with it. I felt it was very impor tant to k eep the line o f my mouth le vel. “Give us a smile. ” At last, obe dien tly, like the mouth o f a v entriloquist’ s dumm y, my own mouth star ted to quir k up. “Hey,” the photogr apher pr oteste d, wi th sudden f oreboding, “y ou look lik e you’re going to cr y.” I couldn ’t stop. I burie d my fac e in the pink v elvet faç ade o f Jay Ce e’s love-se at and wi th immense r elief the salt te ars and miser able noises tha t had been pr owling ar ound in me all morning burst out in to the r oom. When I lif ted my he ad, the photogr apher had v anishe d. Jay Ce e had v anishe d as w ell. I f elt limp and be trayed, lik e the skin she d by a terri ble animal. I t was a r elief to be fr ee of the animal, but i t seeme d to ha ve tak en m y spiri t with it, and e verything else i t could la y its paws on. I fumble d in m y pock etbook f or the g ilt compac t with the masc ara and the masc ara brush and the e yeshado w and the thr ee lipsticks and the side mirr or. The fac e tha t peered back a t me se eme d to be peering fr om the gr ating o f a prison c ell af ter a pr olong ed be ating. It look ed bruise d and puf fy and all the wr ong c olours. I t was a fac e that needed soap and w ater and Christian toler ance. I star ted to pain t it with small he art. 94|The Bell J ar Jay Ce e br eezed back af ter a de cent interval wi th an armful o f manuscripts. “These ’ll amuse y ou,” she said. “H ave a g ood r ead.” Every morning a sno wy a valanche o f manuscripts sw elled the dust-gr ey piles in the o ffice of the F iction Edi tor. Secretly, in studies and a ttics and schoolr ooms all o ver Americ a, pe ople must be writing. Sa y some one or other f inishe d a manuscript e very minute; in five minutes tha t would be f ive manuscripts stack ed on the Fiction Edi tor’s desk. W ithin the hour ther e w ould be sixt y, crowding e ach other on to the f loor. And in a y ear… I smile d, se eing a pristine, imag inary manuscript f loating in mid- air, with Esther Gr eenwood t yped in the upper -right hand c orner . After m y mon th on the magazine I ’d applie d for a summer school course wi th a famous wri ter wher e you sen t in the manuscript o f a story and he r ead it and said whe ther y ou w ere good enoug h to be admi tted into his class. Of c ourse, i t was a v ery small class, and I had sen t in m y stor y a long time ag o and hadn ’t he ard from the wri ter y et, but I w as sur e I’d find the le tter o f acceptanc e waiting on the mail table a t home. I decided I’d surprise J ay Ce e and send in a c ouple o f the stories I wrote in this class under a pseudon ym. Then one da y the F iction Editor w ould c ome in to J ay Ce e persona

Arbitrary Prompt (The Bell Jar)