The Bell Jar

Some people say novels should be about story or about characters, but The Bell Jar is a prime example of why prose quality matters, as well as a useful reminder why you shouldn't sleep on poets.

Yes, it's a harrowing depiction of mental illness. Yes, it's a searing look at the limited options open to women (even relatively privileged white ones) during the middle of the 20th Century.

More importantly, the book is fucking beautiful. I found the pages slipping by, while also finding myself pausing to savor a turn of phrase or striking image. Plath's mastery of language is breathtaking.