The Letters of Sylvia Plath Vol 2: 1956-1963 – A Pulitzer Prize-Winning Poet's Intimate Correspondence on Marriage and Mental Health

So, first off -- Plath's letters should have been published in one volume. There's no separating the wheat from the chaff here, no tough editorial decisions -- you get every scrip and scrap she wrote, obsessively footnoted, whether it is of any literary interest or not. Ted Hughes lived till his 60s, and Faber managed to publish a superbly edited doorstop-sized SINGLE volume of his letters! They should have done the same for Plath. Putting that aside -- I'm next expecting a Sylvia Plath cookbook to come out! There are at least two recipes included in these letters, as well as numerous ideas for meal plans -- not to mention housekeeping and gardening tips, some home remedies, and ways to organize your schedule to work from home! No complaints here -- reading an author's letters immerses you in their daily life. In Plath's case, you get that in spades. I'm simply astonished at how incredibly energetic and capable she was across all fronts. And you can bet I'm going to try the recipes! Until the devastating end, negativity is rarely in evidence. Readers of her Letters Home will be familiar with this -- she was consistently positive, and this was not a false front. Yes, she struggled -- but her life WAS amazing and good, and she did glory in her family and friends, her writing, and the beauty of nature and art. The only ambiguous relationships worth noting in the letters -- and no surprise if you know anything about Plath -- are with her mother, her sister-in-law Olwyn Hughes, and with the poet W.S. Merwin and his wife Dido. As Plath's daughter makes clear in the foreword, the real story here is the revelation of her letters to her psychiatrist in the last months of her life. Like most fans of Plath, I'd previously read quotes from her letters written during that time -- and the biographer Diane Middlebrook summed it up best when she talks about fantasies of rescuing Sylvia Plath. Her suicide was nothing like that of her fellow poets Anne Sexton or John Berryman -- she was much younger, was struggling with depression but not with more severe forms of mental illness, and was at the height of her poetic powers. These letters make clear what a perfect storm it was -- literally, a storm, when faced with a horrific English winter -- plus no phone, no hospital bed, and especially no nanny to help with the kids. With Plath's journals from the end of her life missing, I often wondered about her real state of mind. Yes, there are clearly exaggerations in these letters, which leave the reader wondering what really happened. But mostly, I was floored by how clearly she saw the truth. Reading the letters to her psychiatrist, I kept in mind that Ted Hughes never saw these letters -- nor would his widow Carol have seen them, unless she's read them now that they are published. Plath knew that she was seeing the real Hughes at last -- the serial adulterer, bound to proving his freedom, even as he loves his wife at home -- and this is the man he remained for the rest of his life. She also realized that she couldn't be the "sweet homebase" of a country wife "to take him back refreshed", as he requires -- the very homebase that he had in his second wife Carol Hughes, his widow who still lives in Plath's beloved Court Green. But most devastatingly of all, she knew exactly what she had to do for her own mental health and was desperately trying to get the help she needed. Once she faced the worst, she ran on adrenaline until she got into that damn flat of poet W.B. Yeats in London, when a sinister destiny seemed to conspire to bring her to her knees in front of a gas oven. The act that she is most famous for. O we are superstitious, as Plath says -- but I can't think anything else, after reading these letters. I've been reading Plath -- and reading about Plath -- for many years. But nothing has affected me like reading her last letter, a week before her suicide. Each reader will have their own reaction, based on who they are. I'm Eastern Orthodox and see much intense -- even desperate -- spiritual woundedness and spiritual longing in Plath's work and in her letters. May God have mercy on us all.

I was surprised at how much I enjoyed reading these letters. I miss the days, not so long ago, when people would write long letters to one another as a primary mode of communication with distant family or friends. Although this volume does offer an overview of Plath's life and a chronology in the introductory pages, it was certainly helpful to be already mostly familiar with her biography and her poetry. The letters filled in some missing pieces in Sylvia's own voice-- preserved in the moment when events were unfolding. The last minute addition of the letters to her American psychiatrist were a wise decision—a choice made by her daughter, who offers opening remarks that were meaningful as well. The letters to the psychiatrist allow a more authentic and uncensored voice to emerge. Even though she would occasionally tell the same news to more than one recipient of her letters, I am glad the whole collection was given to us and did not find the repetition bothersome—there would be a few different details in each. It would have been helpful if we knew the location of the recipient, that is, where the letter was mailed to, instead of having to figure that out from clues. I was pleased to learn that Plath believed that she was writing poetry for those who would benefit from her honest and bold expression. She did not want to write happy verse where, as she states it, "birds go tweet, tweet." As someone who has experienced at least one episode of severe depression, I found comfort reading her poetry at the time I was struggling—she has the gift to describe what the experience of despair is like, and she had the courage to state it outright in her amazing language. Thank you, Sylvia! Finally, it was a moving experience to come to the last letter of the book and turn the page to hear her voice no more—I almost wished there were an epilogue, but the abrupt silence fits the sudden loss of this magnificent poet and remarkable woman. It must have been a huge project for the editors of this collection to prepare all these pages—I am grateful for their attention to details. I have not read volume one, so I cannot comment on that. I was able to close this book with a more complete understanding of the events of her life during this period and the possible and various elements that led to her suicide. Now I plan to return to the poems again and will look forward to reading some literary criticism. As an added bonus, there are some photographs of Plath and pictures of a few letters and other documents—some of these in color. Overall, a quality hardbound book and the font is large enough to read easily.

The letters in Vol. 2 which begin with Plath’s engagement to Hughes are more interesting than the juvenilia of Vol 1 though that presages her tenuous mental state. At Oxford, Plath is hopeful, joyous and upbeat about poetry, Ted and the future. Besides, poetry her interests are surprisingly domestic, following her marriage: interior decoration and cookery for example. A harbinger of bad things to come appears in Plath’s obsessive devotion to Ted—the perfect husband, talented, kindly, handsome, a fount of manly virtue—and her surety of a long and productive life together. Plath had no doubts of their mutual adoration and successful future which gives rise to what her mental state might be if the tiniest flaw ever appears. This sort of hubris almost demands to be challenged and one sees, from the outset, the makings of a Greek tragedy. After their marriage, Plath’s letters, especially to her mother, but to her brother and friends too, turn rather gushy and there’s a sense of emotional vampirism in her insistence on “both of us” “Ted and I” “Ted also” repeated constantly as to opinions and actions. No couple could be as conjoined mentally as Plath envisions—one could see how eventually Ted must have been wild to escape. There’s also a persistent note of control as Plath perpetually states how her mother should do things, how the future will play out in the slightest detail “Ted and I will naturally want to come down and be with you over Thanksgiving, Christmas and Easter at least and Marion (her mother’s prospective house-mate) will then of course want to be with her family so that will be fine.” These self-satisfied assumptions dominate Plath’s correspondence as she directs how things will be to suit “Ted and I.” After stating her approval of “Aunt Marion” moving in, she continues “Both of us forbid you to ever let strangers rent the house under any circumstances, it would be intolerable.” Her mother apparently bends to every whim—one imagines she lives in fear of another of Plath’s breakdowns or suicide attempts—and she dutifully sends off pie-crust mixes, cookies, cold medicines and any item unavailable or not up to standards, to Plath at Cambridge. Plath repeatedly condemns England as cold and dirty and extols America as she plots to convince Ted to emigrate permanently and become a citizen, averring that he “loves” America, evidently based on her descriptions of a country he’s never been to. Plath revels in her picture of their life as the perfect couple, united in goals to be leading poets, and she is never so pleased as when they both have poems in the same issue of a top magazine. According to Plath, Ted has never had success in being published, nor a decent meal, until she, Plath, took over. Yet she is wary of trying to “push” Ted and counsels indirection as she convinces herself that she and Ted share every ambition, every small nuance of daily living arrangements. As time passes, and Plath becomes accustomed to Ted’s success as well as her own, she is more professional and adult in her reaction. Both writers have numerous poems in leading magazines, Ted’s first book wins a major prize and is a British book club selection. Plath becomes adept at sussing out the most lucrative venues for their work and applying for grants—Ted wins a Guggenheim which will give them a year to write in Europe—while Plath accepts part-time academic jobs and they both practice frugality so they can be full time writers rather than teachers. Plath spent a year teaching freshman English at Smith while Ted taught part-time at Amherst, experiences that codified their feelings that writing was their real vocation. Most enchanting are Plath’s letters describing their camping trip across the U.S. visiting the national parks such as the Apostle Islands, the Badlands, Yellowstone, Great Salt Lake and so forth. The couple have clearly settled into a comfortable relationship and support each other’s goals. They also have made many connections in the writing and publishing world with top writers and editors which will ensure their careers. Plath seems at the apex of her happiness following the birth of her first child, Frieda. Her delight in her daughter is palpable in her descriptions of the smiling, chuckling, blue-eyed little girl. She adds Ted’s pleasure in parenthood to her own and her innate urge toward domesticity is enhanced, including sewing little outfits, to her interest in cooking and decorating. She repeats her desire to own a larger home where they can have numerous children. Her picture of their life to come is nothing short of idyllic. Meanwhile, Ted seems occupied with his writing conducted in an upstairs room on loan from another tenant, and in his numerous meetings with writers, editors, doing BBC readings and staging plays. One can’t help but wonder if he doesn’t find Plath’s immersion in the domestic life to be a trifle wearying. She almost never mentions their passion as she once did. New fathers often resent their wives fascination with babies and nursing and how this affects their own sexual needs which may be put on the back burner. Plath is also detail-oriented as to their finances, sending all their checks for poems to her mother in America to be deposited in their bank account –its increase is of obvious importance to her as she hopes to find a “real house” and hints rather overtly to her mother that she’d appreciate monetary help in security a deposit. Seeing Plath’s happiness, one feels almost heartsick with the foreknowledge of what lies ahead. Both have books—Ted’s A Hawk in the Rain garners many awards while Plath hopes that her first book The Colossus published in England, will also be picked up by an American publisher. After many more successes, the birth of her second child Nicholas and acquisition of Court Green an ancient house on acreage in Devon, it seems that Plath’s dreams have all come true. Yet, there are disturbing signs in her letters as she mentions that Ted never interacts with their newborn son and how he is off to London frequently doing programs for BBC. In the summer of 1962, the worst comes to pass. Plath discovers that Ted is having an affair with Assia, the wife in the couple who sublet their London apartment. In her letters, the aspect of Ted changes drastically—her first impulse is to try to recapture his affection, but she learns he cannot be trusted. Either he lies or attacks her as wanting only her own happiness. He says he never wanted children, was too cowardly to admit he hated all that domesticity which he found stifling. He wavers back and forth between Plath and Assia, coming back to Court Green on weekends and then fighting with Sylvia. She confides the truth of their situation to Dr. Beuscher, her American psychiatrist who treated her during her breakdown in college and begs for help. Her letters to Beuscher, just recently released and approved for this book, by her daughter Frieda, paint quite a different picture of Ted. She feels he is a genius, the only man she could ever love. She deeply resents Assia and fears that others including her mother will gloat over the conclusion of Plath’s charmed life. In time, she realizes that the marriage is over and with Ted running through their funds on excursions with Assia, she obtains a legal separation to safeguard what monies are left and to require Ted to pay child support. She’s determined to make a life for herself, but her loneliness is unmistakable. She feels misled, that all the cooking and decorating and indulgence in children that she thought Ted appreciated and shared were simply a façade that he continued in part to take advantage of one of her grants which supported them, as well as the loans from both parents that made the purchase of Court Green possible. Yet she found the prospect of remaining in the country suffocating and she relocated with the children to London. One of the bitterest winters in history then struck with power outages, a grim living situation, isolation and ultimately despair. During this period, Plath wrote the searing poems of Ariel which she felt would make her name. Her final letter to Dr. Beuscher shortly before her suicide ended with “I must take the children to tea.” Securing the children’s room so they would not be harmed, Plath taped up the kitchen doors and windows, turned on the gas and put her head in the oven. The possibility that she expected a nanny in the morning and thought she might be saved has been advanced but is purely hypothetical. The rest of the story is well-known—how Ted had a child with Assia who also committed suicide taking their daughter with her; his many affairs and his poetic success as he rose to be the most prominent British poet of his era. He was blamed by many for Sylvia’s death of which he never spoke—having burned her final journal supposedly to prevent the children from the pain of reading it. Before his death of cancer, he published Birthday Poems in which he both accepted some responsibility and also targeted Sylvia’s mental state as contributing to her untimely death. What a story. The editors wisely let the letters speak for themselves without commenting other than identifying persons when mentioned for the first time.

I have a fascination with Sylvia Plath that goes a long way back in time, starting from when I read The Bell Jar in Middle School (in the 1970's!) through to her poems (as they were published). And then every book about her and Ted Hughes. But it's her letters (I read Volume I when it first came out) that are just so fascinating. I'm 61 and I don't write letters anymore, nor do most I know. And I don't think that's uncommon these days. But even when people DID write long and lengthy letters, I doubt they were as candid and as beautifully written as Sylvia Plath's. If you know anything about her life, it's interesting (and somewhat sad) that in the midst of an incredibly painful time (when she discovered that Ted was having an affair), her letters from London to the people in the US that she was closest with (her mother, for one) still try to paint a picture of (somewhat) domestic bliss. But knowing her need for perfection, the extremely high standards she held herself to, I suppose that isn't all that surprising. It is so worth reading and owning.

Knowing the ending adds suspense to these letters through Sylvia’s idyllic early marriage when she and Ted Hughes stroll together in the countryside and write their poetry in impoverished houses and flats in Yorkshire and London. Perhaps as a forewarning, even in this happy time and during her pregnancy, Sylvia is taking sleeping pills and tranquilisers. Then the children are born and surprise, surprise everything changes. There are hints that Sylvia is a clinging wife to a now famous and adored husband, but then he begins an affair with another woman and it's heart-breaking. After becoming suicidal, Sylvia appears to cope and files for divorce. Happy in her new freedom and tiny apartment in London, she writes in her last letter that her madness has returned. The final line of that letter one week before she puts her head in the gas oven, reads: 'Now the babies are crying, I must take them out to tea.' The introduction by her daughter is equally moving.

These letters show THE REAL Sylvia. And shed light on the suicide of the author of "Medusa". Was it only Ted Huges who contributed to her death? How about her beloved (and secretly hated) mother Aurelia? How about Olwyn, Ted's sister? Who was probably responsible for destroying the journals of Sylvia where she wrote just before she killed herself? So that her children don't read?! Was it Ted? Wasn't he just too uninterested and enamored with Asia Wevill (his ten lover, and next victim afterwards) to even care?! Wasn't Ted just the sad result? Of Sylvia's relationship with her mother, Aurelia? Too many questions... Cannot really read Sylvia. She makes me too depressed. I love her poetry, though. I wish the truth about who contributed to her suicide ever came to life... I think Ruth Barnhouse did a wonderful thing for Sylvia, making these letters public. Too sad she could not save her. Sylvia deserves justice, after all these years. Will the truth ever come to light?

What a great transaction! The book was just as described, priced very nicely, and sent speedily. Above all, it was BEAUTIFULLY packed! This is a large, over 1,000-page book, therefore it could have easily been damaged if packed casually. But the sellers secured the book on all four sides with cardboard and crushed paper and they all fit so snugly in the box. Very happy buyer here! Thanks!

Plath scholars and Plath fans will find this book of much interest, especially some of the revelations not previously known. The forward by Frieda Hughes, Plath's daughter, adds some candor and honesty that Ted Hughes, Plath's husband, and her sister-in-law Olwyn Hughes were never willing to offer.