Apple of My Eye: Objectification in Slyvia Plath's Ariel Tastes Not So Sweet
Apple of My Eye: Objectification in Slyvia Plath's Ariel Tastes Not So Sweet
Apple of My Eye: Objectification in Slyvia Plath's Ariel Tastes Not So Sweet
By Nicole Vento
In her collection of poetry, Ariel, Sylvia Plath’s metier becomes set designer as equally as
it is poet. Her sets look familiar to her audience: a countryside dotted by flowers and hills, her
Victorian home, the beach, a train departing it’s station, yet Plath’s genius paranoia and sneering
suspicions strip these traditional domestic spaces from any sense of comfort or familiarity they
may imbue us with. Like that of the most gifted of artists, her process fashions a new truth for
her audience and even though many a reader and critic would like it to be certain, whether or not
One of the conflicts central to Plath’s poems is the narrator’s dual attraction and repulsion
to material objects. Make no mistake, the narrator is drawn to objects despite her obvious distrust
of them. They catch her eye, “shimmering like curtains,” and she is quick to profess their beauty.
However, her appreciation belies the core of the conflict: by virtue of their attractiveness, objects
possess a very real, hypnotic, and terrifying ability to control and create us.
onto the possessor. Screaming babies are soothed, entertained, or puzzled by their baubles and
blankets. This preoccupation assures they are no longer in distress. Objects become valuable by
virtue of this functionality. But what happens when the baby’s dummy, or favorite doudou, is
finally taken away? For most children, save for a brief period of distress, nothing dire. Others
might become inconsolable, because their ability to self-soothe is entirely dependent upon the
thing in question.
The idea that objects create an identity is not a novel one at all. People buy products that
they feel will reflect and curate their uniqueness. Stripped of its props, a movie set is no longer
an upper-class family’s living room, but just an ordinarily, sad soundstage. A Hitchock film
Plath expresses the conundrum of possession best with her poem, “The Applicant.” The
applicant appears on the scene as a naked creature completely untouched by material culture.
Over the course of the poem, the applicant is offered items that the interviewer considers
invaluable to the human experience. These objects include a suit, a symbol of high
socioeconomic status, and a hand, so that the applicant will be well equipped to acquire and
handle new objects. “Will you marry it?,” the interviewer asks, when presenting the applicant
with each prize. Of the suit, the interviewer ssures, “[...] they’ll bury you in it,” suggesting that
being buried in such finery would inflate the general public’s opinion of the applicant and
But the choices that the applicant is presented with don’t seem very much to be choices at
all. If he commits to these objects in a symbolic “marriage” of sorts, his success is guaranteed
and he will be welcomed into the fold. If he doesn’t, hope for him is lost; the interviewer
stresses that these commitments are his “last resort.” However, the applicant would not be remiss
in having doubts about this arrangement. Even in death, he would forever be remembered in
terms that he himself had no hand in construing. The narrator does limit her distrust of
relationships to only material objects. Human relationships are subject to the same suspicion. Her
famed applicant is offered a wife with the same sales pitch that he is offered the other objects.
She is equally functional: “a living doll, everywhere you look/ It can sew, it can cook/It can talk,
talk, talk.”
successful in society, can one ever be certain of who they are to others; can they be certain that
they aren’t just a means to an end? If the looking glass theory is correct, and people’s conception
of themselves comes from how others perceive them to be, can one even be certain of who they
are to themselves in such uncertain conditions? These quandaries are the narrator’s main
preoccupations in Ariel, and it seems that she is wont to reject, rather than accept material
relationships under these terms. The words of the narrator in “The Courier” confirm this: “The
word of a snail on the plate of a leaf?/ It is not mine. Do not accept it./Acetic acid in a sealed
tin?/Do not accept it. It is not genuine./ A ring of gold with the sun in it?/ Lies. Lies and a grief.”
Does this mean that current society must act in the same extreme manner and reject these
relationships to save ourselves? When we see how Ariel’s metacognitive narrator is unable to
escape the doubts of her existence just as Plath was incapable of escaping her own, we are
tempted to answer in the affirmate. But whether we must undertake such action depends entirely
on a similarly personal fortitude, which literary works such as Ariel, become instrumental in
helping us evaluate.