The Fig Tree

"I saw my life branching out before me like the green fig tree in the story. From the tip of every branch, like a fat purple fig, a wonderful future beckoned and winked. One fig was a husband and a happy home and children, and another fig was a famous poet and another fig was a brilliant professor, and another fig was Ee Gee, the amazing editor, and another fig was Europe and Africa and South America, and another fig was Constantin and Socrates and Attila and a pack of other lovers with queer names and offbeat professions, and another fig was an Olympic lady crew champion, and beyond and above these figs were many more figs I couldn't quite make out. I saw myself sitting in the crotch of this fig tree, starving to death, just because I couldn't make up my mind which of the figs I would choose. I wanted each and every one of them, but choosing one meant losing all the rest, and, as I sat there, unable to decide, the figs began to wrinkle and go black, and, one by one, they plopped to the ground at my feet." -Sylvia Plath, The Bell Jar




Well I am still awake, and in my desperation for something to do, just began reading old journals. As I was going through I was reminded of a book I read not too long ago, which moved me so deeply. Sylvia Plath's The Bell Jar was another book I bought at my discount book store, risking a dollar and hoping it was good.

Like Peretti, this book was one I randomly picked up at some early hour one morning, and was immediately captivated. It followed the psychotic ups and downs of a teenage girl, as she struggled to find a peace in her mental state. The character's story closely parallels the story of the author, Sylvia, who commited suicide not long after the book was published, and had suffered from a lot of the same depression and nuerosis that her leading lady did.

The thing about that book which effected me so strongly, was that I could so intimately relate to her. Now, let me precursor this comparison by saying, that I am neither depressed, psychotic, or suicidal. What I mean is, the pain and struggles which served as a catalyst for her problems are things all girls can relate to and often go through. While the experiences in The Bell Jar are obviously far beyond the normal experiences of your average teenage girl, the severity of her circumstances cannot negate the way her sorrow reached so deep in me.

I love books like that. Books that grab you so deep inside. Reading this reminded me of my first time reading Redeeming Love by Francince Rivers.

My freshman year of college, my closest friend in the dorms, who is still one of my besties today, gave me the book for Christmas. I was surprisingly touched by it because it had been her copy and she even wrote the sweetest, uplifting and yet sublte letter on the inside, and encouraged me to dig in.

Well I went to my aunt's for the first few days of break, before I trecked it up to SJ. and it was there that I began and finished that book. Like Bell Jar, the main character of Redeeming Love lived through experiences I have not, and hopefully never will have to live through, in a time I can only image. and, like Bell Jar, I can still find the most blatant parallels between my struggles and hers.

I just (because three straight posts, rambling about my love for books, could never be enough) love the complexity of books, and the ambiguity of written texts. I love the fact 20 people can read the same book, and while the basic plot can easily be agreed upon, the subliminal meanings which every text holds, noble or not, can't really be defined. I love knowing that I can even get different things from good books as I read them, and noting the way my life experiences change my perspective and understanding on different books, as I read them at different points in my life.

ok well

I have once again rambled for far too long about nothing ofconsequence.

so it goes.