It was like the first time I saw a cadaver. For weeks afterward, the cadaver’s head- or what there was left of it- floated up behind my eggs and bacon at breakfast and behind the face of Buddy Willard, who was responsible for my seeing it in the first place, and pretty soon I felt as though I were carrying that cadaver’s head around with me on a string, like some black, noseless balloon stinking of vinegar.
It’s been years since I read this, and it has some of the best passages to an opening of a book I’ve ever read. We meet Esther Greenwood, who is preoccupied with the Rosenbergs’ execution, and the bell jar has already begun to descend over her; its arrival is imminent, like a velvet curtain being drawn down on a play, and once the rope has been pulled it goes and goes until it lands and covers the people behind it, sealing them in shadow.
Today I’m thankful for the time to read, and to write. I’ve begun two new stories, very different from each other. One is just for me. I’m trying my hand at a different genre. On Monday I will query! I am thankful for the chance to do that.