The bell jar / Sylvia Plath
| dc.contributor | Smith, John B. Department of Computer Science Chapel Hill College Chapel Hill |
| dc.contributor.author | Plath, Sylvia |
| dc.coverage.placeName | New York |
| dc.date.accessioned | 2018-07-27 |
| dc.date.accessioned | 2022-08-19T14:51:22Z |
| dc.date.available | 2022-08-19T14:51:22Z |
| dc.date.created | 1971 |
| dc.date.issued | 1992-03-12 |
| dc.identifier | ota:1634 |
| dc.identifier.uri | http://hdl.handle.net/20.500.14106/1634 |
| dc.description.abstract | Unknown markup version of this text (1634) available at 0110 |
| dc.format.extent | Text data (1 file : ca. 374 KB) |
| dc.format.medium | Digital bitstream |
| dc.language | English |
| dc.language.iso | eng |
| dc.publisher | University of Oxford |
| dc.relation.ispartof | Oxford Text Archive Core Collection |
| dc.rights | Use of this resource is restricted in some manner. Usually this means that it is available for non-commercial use only with prior permission of the depositor and on condition that this header is included in its entirety with any copy distributed. |
| dc.rights.uri | https://hdl.handle.net/20.500.14106/licence-ota |
| dc.rights.label | ACA |
| dc.subject.lcsh | English literature -- 20th century |
| dc.subject.other | Novels |
| dc.title | The bell jar / Sylvia Plath |
| dc.type | Text |
| has.files | yes |
| branding | Oxford Text Archive |
| branding | Oxford Text Archive |
| files.size | 382454 |
| files.count | 1 |
| otaterms.date.range | 1900-1999 |
Files for this item
- Name
- plabell-1634.txt
- Size
- 373.49 KB
- Format
- Text file
- Description
- Version of the work in plain text format
<text> <front> <tPage> <dTitle>The Bell Jar <byLine>by <dAuthor>Plath, Sylvia </dAuthor></byLine> <dImprint>New York: Harper and Row, 1971 1961-1962<dImprint> </tPage> <pb n=1> <body> <div> <p>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. The idea of being electrocuted makes me sick, and that's all there was to read about in the papers -- goggle-eyed headlines staring up at me on every street corner and at the fusty, peanut-smelling mouth of every subway. 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. <p>I thought it must be the worst thing in the world. <p>New York was bad enough. By nine in the morning the fake, country-wet freshness that somehow seeped in overnight evaporated like the tail end of a sweet dream. Mirage-gray at the bottom of their granite canyons, the hot streets wavere . . .
