A lot of these strike me as way too twee and Anthropologie-esque but I can’t not reblog my girl Sylvia.

(Altho the silverware is all wrong for the fifties!)

The Bell Jar by Sylvia Plath, 1963

Then I tackled the avocado and crabmeat salad. Avocados are my favourite fruit. Every Sunday my grandfather used to bring me an avocado pear hidden at the bottom of his briefcase under six soiled shirts and the Sunday comics. He taught me how to eat avocados by melting grape jelly and french dressing together in a saucepan and filling the cup of the pear with the garnet sauce. I felt homesick for that sauce. The crabmeat tasted bland in comparison.

A lot of these strike me as way too twee and Anthropologie-esque but I can’t not reblog my girl Sylvia.

(Altho the silverware is all wrong for the fifties!)

The Bell Jar by Sylvia Plath, 1963

Then I tackled the avocado and crabmeat salad. Avocados are my favourite fruit. Every Sunday my grandfather used to bring me an avocado pear hidden at the bottom of his briefcase under six soiled shirts and the Sunday comics. He taught me how to eat avocados by melting grape jelly and french dressing together in a saucepan and filling the cup of the pear with the garnet sauce. I felt homesick for that sauce. The crabmeat tasted bland in comparison.

O, dear duchess Sylvia, I know
exactly
what you mean

womenreading:

French actress Barbara Laage (NOT Sylvia Plath!) “Alone in Her Apartment Reading”shot by Nina Leen in 1964

YES THANK YOU
NOT SYLVIA PLATH, EVERYONE

womenreading:

French actress Barbara Laage (NOT Sylvia Plath!) “Alone in Her Apartment Readingshot by Nina Leen in 1964

YES THANK YOU

NOT SYLVIA PLATH, EVERYONE
Cite Arrow reblogged from womenreading
Cite Arrow reblogged from redshoesreads

In the beginning, I didn’t really want to get into this relationship with her because I knew she had been suicidal and I had just lost a friend the year before. She had had post-partum depression and had killed herself. So I was leery.

I think about Anne’s suicide constantly. It’s fresh. I don’t think it will ever fade. I think I have finally forgiven her. I was angry, I felt bereft, betrayed. If we had had the good psychotropic drugs then that we have now, she would probably have lived a long and fruitful life, and certainly Sylvia Plath would have, too. Anne’s suicide was absolutely inevitable. Nobody fought harder to stay alive than Anne. She fought those voices every day, those voices that said, “Come to us. Die.” The medications that were provided then were so raw. First, she was sun-sensitive – she couldn’t be outside in weather at all. And second, they made her really woolly, and she couldn’t write. She turned to alcohol in those last years. She turned to whatever men she could find for companionship. There had been so many previous attempts – or mock attempts – but they were pretty serious. She would call Father Dunn and say, “I want you to give me the last rites over the telephone” – that sort of telegraphing what she was planning to do. He was a wonderful guy. He told her, “God is in your typewriter.” She was constantly in search of one absolutist thing that she could cling to. She thought maybe if she became a Catholic, that would be it, but she never quite made the jump.

Maxine Kumin on Anne Sexton
Detail from an online scan of Jane Welsh and Jane Carlyle by Elizabeth Drew, which I downloaded because it’s about Jane Carlyle, a current obsession, and Drew taught Sylvia Plath (who is a permanent obsession).

I miss library cards.

Detail from an online scan of Jane Welsh and Jane Carlyle by Elizabeth Drew, which I downloaded because it’s about Jane Carlyle, a current obsession, and Drew taught Sylvia Plath (who is a permanent obsession).

I miss library cards.

Draft of “Last Letter,” Ted Hughes

Draft of “Last Letter,” Ted Hughes