To the person in the bell jar, blank and stopped as a dead baby, the world itself is the bad dream. A bad dream. I remembered everything. I remembered the cadavers and Doreen and the story of the fig tree and Marco's diamond and the sailor on the Common and Doctor Gordon's wall-eyed nurse and the broken thermometer and the Negro with his two kinds of beans and the twenty pounds I gained on insulin and the rock that bulged between sky and sea like a gray skull. Maybe forgetfulness, like a kind snow, should numb and cover them. But they were a part of me. They were my landscape.
In "The Bell Jar," the narrator reflects on her feelings of entrapment and disconnection from the world, likening her experience to being in a bell jar where everything feels stagnant and lifeless. This overwhelming sensation turns the world into a nightmare, filled with haunting memories that she cannot escape. The imagery she recalls, including moments and people from her past, serve as reminders of her struggles and identity.
Despite the desire to forget the painful memories that have shaped her life, she acknowledges they are integral to her being. These memories form her personal landscape, suggesting that even though they bring discomfort, they are essential to her understanding of herself and her reality. The narrative portrays a complex interplay between memory, identity, and the longing for numbness in the face of psychological turmoil.
