Malcolm's short contributor's bio reveals that she has been writing for The New Yorker since 1963, starting with her poem “Thoughts on Living in a Shaker House.”

The first line from The Journalist and the Murderer is quite thought-provoking: “Every journalist who is not too stupid or too full of himself to notice what is going on knows that what he does is morally indefensible.”

Oh, how Malcolm's presence in her works adjusts every biography one reads. Her way of entering or receding from a scene is truly fascinating. She has an Indian lunch, leans across a letter she shouldn't have seen. Yet, there's a surprising absence. After 11 books of non-fiction, her bio leads with her poem. Here, however, her poetry, her time as a poet, and even a close reading of a line are omitted. She's presented as only a journalist. Would it have been unseemly to be both? Later, in 41 False Starts, she shows her collages to David Salle, which I love.

If Malcolm's first genre was poetry, it evolved into interior design in her NYer column “Around the House,” and then into amazing profiles of artists and writing about them. But these developments happened during her marriages to larger New Yorker personalities, first book critic Donald Malcolm and then editor Gardner Botsford. This made her fluent in Hughes' view of what was a secondary genre or self.

“Thoughts on living in a Shaker House” by Janet Malcolm is a beautiful piece. The Shaker house is described as neat, low, with straight and clean lineaments. The house is full of pegs and a kind of grudging elegance. The chairs and cabinets were built for use and have never known a child's abuse. The household objects are scarcely worn, and the makers are dead while the heirs are unborn. One thinks of the busy little souls bent over wooden bowls, like bees in well-conducted hives, living their peculiar lives. They are too occupied with sin and chairs to notice ordinary griefs and cares, and too intent on a vision to see the saving imprecision. Our sense of lives ill-spent is in the end impertinent and does not impair the beauty of a Shaker chair.

I wish the review of “The Silent Woman” was longer than just a blurb, but as James Wood said, it is one of the deepest, loveliest, and most problematic things Malcolm has written. It is so subtle, patiently analytical, and true that it's hard to imagine anyone writing again about Plath and Hughes. It has an almost disabling authority and a finality like a father's advice.

Biography is a fascinating genre that allows us to peek into the lives of famous individuals. In this essay, we will explore the famous platform of Hughes/Plath and how it has been used to market a story that might otherwise have gone unnoticed.

Plath and Hughes have been dissected and analyzed countless times, and there is nothing truly new under the sun. However, what interested me was that Malcolm sided with the Hughes. Olwyn, Ted's sister, may have been protective of him, but she was also a bully and just as difficult and unpleasant as Sylvia was accused of being. And Ted himself? He has had a rough time, but how much of it was his own doing? He hid behind Olwyn, criticized those who spoke about their relationship publicly, and even burned and "lost" some of Plath's diaries.

If Hughes truly hated all the attention, he could have taken steps to protect Plath's work. He could have bundled up all of her writing, hired a trusted academic to manage her estate, and told everyone to leave them alone. Instead, he did a good job of collating and marketing her work, but perhaps as her ex, it would have been wiser to hand over the reins.

Malcolm also mentions that Plath herself could be mean. But how mean was she really? I have read a lot of her work and don't see it as any worse than the trash we read in today's gossipy women's magazines. Nevertheless, despite Malcolm's position, she doesn't come across as overly anti or pro anyone. She is thorough and has a sharp eye, but she didn't tell me anything new. Still, it was an interesting read, offering a fresh and well-written perspective on the Hughes/Plath saga.

Like many, if not all, of Malcolm's books, the true driving narrative within this work is the relationship between the writer, be it a journalist or a biographer, and her subjects and sources. This might initially sound rather dry, theoretical, meta, or even pretentious. However, in Malcolm's capable hands, this relationship takes on real narrative stakes.

One could hardly ask for a more engaging backdrop than the biographical disputes surrounding Plath's and Hughes's legacies. Although I resist the impulse, for some reason, I find myself primed to care deeply about the lives of these privileged poets and writers, as well as the people they met and knew. The real tension in the book lies in the race and struggle among journalists, biographers, and critics to define those legacies. Despite all our postmodern pretensions, these legacies tend to be one-dimensional and unified, even in the short-term after someone's death.

Malcolm's work is filled with thought-provoking quotes. For example, she writes, "The transgressive nature of biography is rarely acknowledged, but it is the only explanation for biography's status as a popular genre." (p. 9) She also states, "We lied to our parents and we lied to each other and we lied to ourselves, so addicted to deception had we become. We were an uneasy, shifty-eyed generation." (p. 15) These quotes, among others, add depth and complexity to her exploration of the relationship between the writer and her subjects.

Overall, Malcolm's book offers a fascinating and insightful look into the world of biography and the people who inhabit it. It challenges our assumptions about truth, deception, and the role of the writer in shaping our understanding of the past.

After reading "Loving Sylvia Plath", I simply couldn't resist delving into this one. Although I don't always concur with the conclusions drawn, I find Malcolm's forthright and articulate approach to biography truly satisfying. I'm (rather delightfully) caught between two extremely different stances regarding Ted Hughes and his connection to Plath. One perspective holds that he was a failed husband yet ultimately a humane individual. The other accumulates evidence of violent domestic abuse. I'm merely an observer. What I've gleaned from both books is that Hughes' charm and privilege allowed him to navigate between different versions of the truth. To what extent did he abuse this power? I'm not entirely convinced of him being either a wife-beating cheater or a sensitive albeit unconventional husband/father. But power is power, and both books explore it in different ways.

Malcolm teases out the antagonism between the cultural norms of the UK and the USA. One can't help but wonder how much cultural friction colors the assessments of Plath's behavior and psychology...

Regardless of where I stand on Plath/Hughes as individuals, I will say that his poetry leaves me bored. Hers, on the other hand, has the opposite effect. (Even those early "Colossus" poems that Hughes all but disparaged!)

The letters quoted in this book (and Malcolm's obvious admiration) lead me to think that he might have been a better prose writer than a poet.

This is yet another book that I closely associate with a specific moment in my life. I vividly remember reading it all in a single night, right there in my dorm room.

The dominant theory within my class regarding this particular book is that Ms. Malcolm was, erm... rather interested in Mr. Hughes. It's a theory that has circulated among us students, sparking numerous discussions and speculations.

As I think back to that night of reading, I can still recall the sense of immersion I felt in the story. The words seemed to leap off the page and draw me into a world of mystery and intrigue.

Perhaps it was the unique writing style of the author or the captivating plot that kept me engaged until the very end. Whatever the reason, this book holds a special place in my memory, forever linked to that one memorable night in my dorm.

And the theory about Ms. Malcolm and Mr. Hughes continues to add an extra layer of fascination to the whole experience. It makes me wonder what really lies beneath the surface of the story and what secrets the author may have been hinting at.

All in all, this book is not just a collection of words on a page but a memory that will stay with me for a long time.

Janet Malcolm is an outstanding figure who truly rules in the literary world.

Her works are highly regarded for their incisive analysis, profound insights, and elegant writing style.

She has a unique ability to explore the complex nature of human relationships and the inner workings of the mind.

Whether it's through her journalism, essays, or biographies, Malcolm manages to captivate her readers and draw them into her world.

Her attention to detail and her skill in presenting different perspectives make her writing both engaging and thought-provoking.

Janet Malcolm's influence extends beyond the literary sphere, as her ideas and writing have inspired countless others.

She is a true master of her craft, and her work will continue to be studied and admired for years to come.

In conclusion, Janet Malcolm rules not only because of her talent and achievements but also because of the lasting impact she has had on the literary landscape.

I firmly believe that, just like me, the majority of people in search of that particular book would assume it to be a straightforward biography. However, this is not precisely the case.

"The Silent Woman" is, first and foremost, a journalistic exploration into the boundaries of biography and how flawed this genre can be, especially when the subject of the biography has already passed away and the family is not always inclined to cooperate - which is precisely what occurred in the case of Sylvia Plath.

Janet Malcolm, throughout her book, endeavors to demystify the eternal struggle between the readers of Sylvia and Ted Hughes. She attempts to present a partial perspective of both, making it evident that there was no innocent girl and villain in this narrative, but rather two individuals with their own strengths and weaknesses. Regrettably, due to the sensationalism that is often associated with such cases, the survivors of this episode are the ones who bear a bitter price.

On one hand, Ted Hughes was indeed at fault for abandoning his wife and children for another woman. On the other hand, Sylvia was not exactly an example of friendliness and an easy person to live with.

At the conclusion of the reading, the feeling that I am left with is that I will never again read a biography with 100% reliance on the writer. I have a love for this genre, as well as for everything that is non-fiction. However, I must come to terms with the fact that although it purports to be real, not everything contained within these books is necessarily true.

A wonderful book indeed. It has such an allure that it tempts me to make grand statements like "a classic of the genre." However, in truth, I haven't delved deeply enough into the world of biographies to be certain. In fact, this work is somewhat of an anti-biography or perhaps a biography of biography itself.

Somehow, despite being a biography of a genre that I don't typically read, it managed to be incredibly absorbing and a real page turner. What's more, it wasn't sensationalist, even when dealing with a rather sensationalist case. Instead, it was more preoccupied with its own moral dilemmas.

Without having truly immersed myself in the whole Plath/Hughes debacle, I haven't been immune to the odd lurid article either. And I've always emerged from them feeling an immense sense of sympathy for Ted Hughes. I enjoy the work of both poets, having read the well-known pieces from Plath such as "The Bell Jar" and the "Ariel poems," and also some less common works from Hughes like the wonderful little collection called "Season Songs." In any event, I don't think one has to be a die-hard Plath or Hughes fan to enjoy this book. To me, it read almost like a literary thriller, with journals, letters, drafts, and witnesses being presented as evidence, yet there is no definitive truth. Truth itself is being questioned, and we are constantly acutely aware of the absence of other, lost journals, letters, drafts, and witnesses.

I found this book to be pro-Hughes yet never anti-Plath. And as a whole, it was eccentric, unclassifiable, and strangely, life-affirming.

This is an outstanding compilation that delves into the diverse "myth" s surrounding Sylvia Plath. However, it is not a traditional biography that commences with "Sylvia Plath was born..." and elaborates on her entire life.

If you have a keen interest in Sylvia Plath's afterlife, as well as the numerous biographies and critiques of her work and the Hughes family, then this compilation is definitely worth exploring.

Nevertheless, if your intention is to gain a comprehensive understanding of Sylvia Plath herself, I would not recommend this book.

It focuses more on the myths and interpretations that have emerged over time rather than providing a detailed account of her personal life and experiences.

So, depending on your specific interests and what you hope to learn about Sylvia Plath, you can make an informed decision about whether or not to pick up this compilation.

It's truly a pity that the initial acquaintance I had with Janet Malcolm was due to the libel case she was embroiled in during the 1980s. This lawsuit has become a mainstay in media law curricula across the nation. Consequently, nearly every journalism student has heard of Malcolm, yet for all the inappropriate reasons.

I'm not attempting to vindicate her against the accusations of libel as I lack sufficient knowledge about the case and the actual events to form a definite opinion. She is a writer of remarkable clarity and style, which she deploys to convey observations and critiques that I find, quite frankly, brilliant. And I don't use that term lightly. I can fathom why she is such a controversial figure as her descriptions of people and events can be rather brutal.

However, the flip side of this brutality is a fierce ethical sensibility and a longing to explore institutions we take for granted, such as the literary biography, journalism, and the American justice system. She endeavors to penetrate to their moral essence and examine the murky unpleasantness she discovers beneath the respectable facade. In "The Silent Woman," Malcolm delves into the cottage industry of biographies that emerged in the aftermath of Sylvia Plath's suicide and the various battles waged against them by Ted Hughes and his sister, Olwyn. She accomplishes this through interviews, literary criticism, and good old-fashioned research.

It had been a considerable time since I last read any of Plath's poetry - precisely since high school. I haven't read "The Bell Jar" in several years, even though there was a period when it was like my talisman. Until I perused this book, it was effortless for me to overlook just how astonishing a creative force she was. She was a feminist before the second wave arrived, and she was cognizant of the feminine mystique before it was named. The excerpts from her journals are insanely wonderful in the best sense, mean, beautiful, sometimes gross, and sometimes maddening. It's intriguing how Plath has become so iconic that it's easy to forget she was a person, similar to how John Lennon, Michael Jackson, Fitzgerald, and a host of other artists became symbols of something other than themselves, and in the process, one loses sight of what initially made her so special. After all, she was a prim and proper American housewife in the 1950s who penned poems about Nazis, eating men like air, death, and suicide. It would be as if Betty Draper suddenly started writing poems that resembled Nine Inch Nails lyrics.

But the book wasn't solely about Sylvia Plath, Ted Hughes, and all their associated hangers-on. It was also about what it means to attempt to capture the messy complexity of life in a book, how arduous it can be, and how destructive it can also be. I found the entire thing captivating, and it left me not only desiring to read the poetry of both Hughes and Plath but also eager to read more of Malcolm's books.

A meta-biography of the Plath-Hughes mythology

This isn't simply a traditional biography of Sylvia Plath. Instead, it is an intelligent and in-depth exploration into the biographical industry that has emerged around her. It delves into the intense struggles for ownership of the various legends that surround the Plath-Hughes marriage.

Starting from the publishing of Plath's 'Letters Home' by her mother, to Hughes' controversial editing and destruction of her last journals, and the numerous memoirs, essays, and biographies written from both sides of what has sometimes been presented as a Plath-Hughes divide, Malcolm contemplates not only the art of biography but also the impossibility of ever attaining a stable and fixed 'truth'.

Confessing her own sympathy towards the Hughes, Malcolm is equally intrigued by Anne Stevenson, whose 'Bitter Fame' was widely criticized upon its appearance. She undertakes travels to meet many of the writers who have written about Plath, in order to understand their role in the continuous re-forging of the Plath legacy. In doing so, she also sheds light on the art of biography itself.

For anyone who is fascinated by Plath's life and poetry, or the concept of biography in general, this is an elegant and captivating read that offers unique insights and perspectives.

I was not anticipating to discover this book to be so astonishingly captivating.

And yet, for a period of time, it was the only thing I read. I relished the passages of language and the incredibly perceptive points that articulated a great deal of the sentiment I have frequently felt towards the biographical form.

The Plath and Ted Hughes and various others serve as a perfect medium for this book. It also enlivens some intelligent and at times controversial material.

I believe that anyone who reads books should give this one a go. Its narrative composition is propulsive, and it is simply excellent non-fiction.

It has the power to draw you in and keep you engaged from start to finish, offering a unique perspective on the lives and works of those it explores.

Whether you are a fan of biographies or simply interested in thought-provoking literature, this book is well worth your time.

It is a testament to the power of words and the ability of a well-written book to leave a lasting impression.

So, if you are looking for a book that will challenge your thinking and expand your understanding, look no further than this one.