The Unabridged Journals of Sylvia Plath: Transcripts from the Original Manuscripts at Smith College

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Thus, although often preoccupied with dating and husband-hunting she is calculating in romance, knowing the precarity of women in the 1950s. However, I find it perverse how she is seen primarily through her tragedy; her person interchangeable with a sense of macabre victimhood.

She was a Fulbright Scholar in Cambridge, England, and married British poet Ted Hughes in London in 1956. Plath freely acknowledges in her diaries that Ted is a surrogate father figure for her, and there's a section where she realizes Ted is cheating on her and is devastated. I went back and forth on how to best state the first thing and decided to go with the blunt truth of it.I’m not suggesting he would have floundered without her, I’m just saying that… well… even though Plath rarely disparages his character, he still comes off looking like a complete asshole. Polecam wszystkim fankom dzienników, zainteresowanym literaturą, procesem twórczym, walką z oczekiwaniami. The fact that she is mostly known for the first thing is unfortunate because her talent was her true shining light. Our mission is to foster a universal passion for reading by partnering with authors to help create stories and communicate ideas that inform, entertain, and inspire. It is important to read the journals, and her poetry as it is appears on the page, and to remember, all art is artifice.

Given the intensity and rawness of their writing, at moments it feels like walking straight into someone else’s dream. She taught me how to reflect on myself and my thoughts, and slowly I found myself getting out of the bell jar.There were moments reading this book that I had to put it down because the feelings are so vivid you feel like an intruder. I counted backwards from the birth and so knew when the pregnancy must have begun to show, but she says not a word. And that is why I laugh at the transient, the ephemeral; laugh, while clutching, holding, tenderly, like a fool his toy, cracked glass, water through fingers. Many of the poems written in the final months of her life were characterized by a propulsion, or forward momentum, a gallop toward an end.