que a Lisa Simpson também lia The Bell Jar. Afinal, era inevitável.
Com a devida vénia à Lisa, aqui vos deixo as linhas iniciais do romance, onde Plath estabelece uma analogia intensa entre a tensão psicológica e a cena histórica - o macartismo e a execução dos Rosenberg.
Estranhos estes anos 50!
Prometo voltar antes do Natal com algo de eufórico.
Para já, aqui fica Plath no seu melhor:
It was a queer, sultry summer, the summer they executed 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 at 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.
I thought it must be the worst thing in the world.
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 wavered in the sun, the car tops sizzled and glittered, and the dry, cindery dust blew into my eyes and down my throat.
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