https://www.theguardian.com (Picture Credit)
“It was a queer, sultry summer, the summer they electrocuted the Rosenbergs, and I didn’t know what I was doing in New York. I’m stupid about executions.”
Just like that, bang! Can we take a second to appreciate the emotion that weights down those two simple, yet well crafted sentences?
It took my second time of consuming this book (I’ve read it two times and listened to the audiobook twice) to understand why Plath started her novel off with these sentences. Of course, hindsight is 20/20. Why talk about the Rosenbergs being executed? What does it have to do with the main character’s situation as it stands in New York during 1953? To date the novel? Perhaps. Yet, why employ executions as the bridge for the narrator to question why she is in New York? Even before the end of the first sentence, we know she is discontent. Instead of being excited she won the privledge to work at a prestigious magazine, she’s wondering why she was even there. She goes on to say at the end of that same paragraph, “It had nothing to do with me, but I couldn’t help wondering what it would be like, being burned alive all along your nerves.” Foreshadowing? Maybe. Most likely. What do you think?
No matter how you dice it, that first paragraph paints a picture of gloom and despair.
Later she goes on to say, “I knew something was wrong with me that summer, because all I could think about was the Rosenbergs, and how stupid I’d been to buy all those uncomfortable, expensive clothes hanging limp as fish in my closet…” The narrator is having an obvious preoccupation with death. The clothes hanging like a string of dead fish on a line serves to add to the imagery.
Another obvious note of discontent comes to us as early as page two. “And when my picture came out in the magazine the twelve of us were working on…everybody would think I must be having a real whirl.” It is obvious she was not having a whirl. She goes on to express, “only I wasn’t steering anything, not even myself.” She is empty and rudderless.
Heavy, powerful stuff to start a novel off with, and we haven’t even made it to page 3.
What did you notice in these opening pages? What mood do you feel Plath was trying to infuse into the reader? Did her opening grab you, or did it take a while for you to feel engaged with the narrator?
If this is a revisit reading this novel, do you recall where you were when you read the opening pages for the first time? I can. I was at the corner down from my house heading south, walking my dog. I was listening to Maggie Gyllenhaal’s narration of the audio book. Just an aside – if you haven’t listened to this version, I cannot recommend it enough. Gyllenhaal’s wry delivery is unparalleled. It was so powerful, I can scarcely read the words on my pages without hearing Gyllenhaal’s voice. As I reread this book have to train my brain to use its own imagination to craft my own voices for Plath’s characters. If you know of a better audio book version please let me know. I welcome hearing other approaches.
The first few pages set the stage for what feels could be a heavy, humorless tome. Yet, somehow, Plath proves this assumption incorrect. Her humor quickly shows in the first chapter as she expands her cast of characters.
Next up, Doreen, Betsy, Lenny Shepherd, and Frankie.
Tidbits and Timemachines 