I was not overly impressed with this book.

Butscher seems to me like someone who is simply attempting to cash in on the "Plath Cash Cow." Between 1965 and 1982 with the Collected Poems, anything related to Plath and the Plath myth almost had guaranteed sales.

I didn't like that he used very few primary sources. Even though most of the important people in her life, like Ted Hughes and Aurelia Plath, were still alive, he seemed to rely more on secondary and tertiary sources. This could potentially be because of the restrictions imposed by the Plath Estate, which is basically Ted Hughes and his sister Olwyn.

Overall, I cannot say that I enjoyed this book. I would rank it on the same level as my opinion of Carl Rollyson's "American Isis" - it's just a money grab and nothing more. If I were an editor, agent, publisher, or even the author himself, I would be ashamed to have my name associated with this piece of junk.

Rating a Sylvia Plath book is no easy feat. Her work has a tendency to defy categorization, making it a unique and complex experience for the reader. However, I must admit that I thoroughly enjoyed the collection I read.

Plath's writing is both beautiful and haunting. Her words have the power to transport the reader into a world of her own creation, filled with vivid imagery and intense emotions. Each poem or story seems to be a piece of her soul, laid bare for all to see.

Despite the challenges of trying to rate her work, I found myself drawn in by her unique voice and perspective. Whether she was writing about love, loss, or the human condition, Plath always managed to touch on something deep and universal within me. I would highly recommend her collection to anyone looking for a thought-provoking and deeply moving read.

I didn't truly pay much attention to her poetry before reading, and I don't really care much more about it now. However, it was fascinating to read about the mask she wore for others, when in reality, she was concealing her true self from so many. At least, that's the way I perceive it.

While reading about Plath and Madonna simultaneously, I actually find that I prefer Madonna more. This is because she knows how to be true to herself. Madonna is eccentric and unashamed of it. In contrast, Sylvia, in my opinion, might have been a bit unbalanced, yet she attempted to hide it through her dual roles as a wife, mother, and writer.

I believe that if Madonna had been born in Plath's era, and Plath in Madonna's, the resulting individuals would be drastically different.

It astonishes me that Madonna engages in some rather crazy endeavors in her career and thrives, while Plath writes about her own madness. Although Plath is lauded, she is compelled to return to her role as a housewife.

I was truly looking forward to delving into this book, and indeed, I relished reading about the life of Sylvia Plath.

However, the tone in Butscher's writing perturbed me to a considerable extent. He devotes a substantial portion of the book to analyzing Sylvia's poetry. Her early poetry, he persistently condemns as being unsophisticated and unremarkable. She was only 20 years old! Cut the girl some slack. Who was a significant poet at the tender age of 20?

Moreover, he continuously refers to one of Sylvia's personas as the "bitch goddess." I found this to be shockingly misogynistic and, quite frankly, in extremely poor taste. Had Sylvia herself used these terms to describe herself, I might have understood the sparing use of the term. But, as far as I know, she never did.

I also sense that Butscher exhibits far too much leniency towards Ted Hughes.

I wonder why someone who appears to have such a strong aversion to Sylvia Plath would invest so much effort in penning a biography about her.

I had to DNF this one.

Why? Because the paperback actually split in half while I was reading. And it makes me nervous to touch an open book page as thoroughly as I'd grip the cover.

Moreover, I should have stopped way before the halfway mark considering how many angry notes I've penciled in there.

While I can give one extra star for the thoroughness of the investigative research, it's really disappointing that the research is in service of this weird Freudian psychological profile.

Sylvia can never just have an interest in something or just display a certain kind of behavior. It always has to be a "sign" of The Raving Bitch Goddess Just Beneath The Mask or something like that.

There are all these quotes from friends and friends of friends, but rarely does he ever let her speak in her own words.

I don't even know if he likes her poetry to begin with.

My personal psychological profile of the author is that he's never actually interacted with a woman in his life.

Take a long cold shower, my guy.