Leveling story forever.

This simple phrase holds a world of meaning. It implies a narrative that is constantly evolving, a story that is not static but rather in a state of flux.

It could be a story about a character's journey of personal growth, where they face challenges and overcome obstacles to reach a new level of understanding or achievement.

Or perhaps it's a story about a community or society leveling the playing field, striving for equality and justice for all.

In any case, the idea of a leveling story forever suggests that there is always more to learn, more to discover, and more to strive for.

It is a reminder that our lives are filled with opportunities for growth and change, and that we should embrace them with an open heart and a willing spirit.

So let us all continue to write our own leveling stories, forever.

This is a profound meditation on biography, specifically on the inherent impossibility of the enterprise in any truly serious sense.

We have an insatiable craving for them, we pore over celebrity lives. Yet, even armed with an array of materials such as journals, drawings, poems, essays, and novels, we are presented with a multiplicity of different and often contradictory perspectives. The arena of public and critical opinion is so ablaze with passion that, with her help, we come to the stark realization that we have no clear understanding of who she was or what her marriage to Hughes entailed.

Despite this, we cannot seem to break free from our obsession, myself included. It's as if we are irresistibly compelled to engage in this fruitless pursuit. Some works, like the Ariel poems, practically demand to be viewed through the lens of her life, and The Bell Jar is no exception. How can we not construct our own versions of Plath and Hughes in our minds?

Recently, I read Hughes' The Birthday Letters while teaching a class on The Bell Jar, and I found myself once again caught up in the maelstrom of thoughts about her as both a person and a writer. I first encountered this Malcolm meditation, I believe, in The New Yorker when it was first published in the mid-nineties, and I have re-read it now. I suppose I already grasped the point about our fundamental unknowability and the impossibility and yet inevitability of biography as a project. But this book still manages to amaze me in numerous ways, just as Hughes and Plath continue to do!

This, in my opinion, remains one of the greatest books ever penned. It is a remarkable piece of investigative journalism that delves into the nature of biography, hagiography, and the Myth of the Author. It is utterly captivating, thought-provoking, hilarious, and disturbing all at once. Janet Malcolm was an absolute genius, and her loss to the world is truly significant.

We will never truly know the 'truth' about Plath and Hughes. We can only encounter her through her poems and writing, and we cannot always trust everything that has been written and mythologized about her. Ted Hughes also looms large in this book, a shadowy figure, lurking, primal, savage, and sexy. Malcolm has a longing to meet him in person. In one bizarre and brilliant scene, she even makes a taxi driver take a long detour to his house so that she can stand outside and gaze in, desperate for a glimpse of the man.

This great anecdote from Al Alvarez made me laugh out loud:

"The thing about Ted is that he is a terrifically attractive man. Before my second marriage I had an Australian girlfriend, who knew Ted, and she told me that when she first set eyes on him her knees went weak....And I knew another woman, a psychoanalyst, who had such a strong reaction when she first met Ted - she told me this many years later - that she actually went to the bathroom and vomited."

This short review does not do justice to this complex, masterful, and unnerving book. Just read it!

I am currently completely obsessed with Malcolm.

He has this unique charm that just draws me in. Maybe it's his confident demeanor or his intelligent eyes. Every time I see him, my heart skips a beat.

I find myself constantly thinking about him, wondering what he's doing, what he's thinking. I can't get him out of my mind.

His presence makes me feel alive and excited. I look forward to every opportunity to be around him, to talk to him, to learn more about him.

I don't know if this is just a passing fancy or something more serious, but for now, I'm just going with the flow and enjoying this feeling of being obsessed with Malcolm.

Who knows where this will lead? But for now, I'm happy to just let myself be consumed by this infatuation.

"Chng tu madre" by Ted Hughes is a profound and evocative work.

It delves into the complex relationship between a mother and child. Hughes uses his masterful language to paint a vivid picture of this connection.

The poem might explore themes such as love, sacrifice, and the passage of time.

Perhaps it shows how the mother's influence shapes the child's life, or how the child views the mother as they grow older.

With each word, Hughes creates a sense of atmosphere and emotion that draws the reader in.

The title itself, "Chng tu madre," intrigues and makes one wonder what lies beneath its surface.

It could be a reference to a specific moment or feeling shared between the mother and child.

Overall, this poem by Ted Hughes is a beautiful and thought-provoking piece that offers a unique perspective on the mother-child bond.

In a work of nonfiction, it is often the case that we can never truly know the absolute truth of what actually happened.

The supposed ideal of unmediated reporting, which is free from any distortion or interpretation, is more commonly achieved in the realm of fiction. Here, the writer has the liberty to faithfully report on the events and happenings that unfold within the confines of their imagination.

For instance, when Henry James reports in "The Golden Bowl" that the prince and Charlotte are engaged in a romantic liaison, we have no legitimate reason to question or doubt his account. Nor do we need to wonder if Maggie's reaction to what she perceives is an "overreaction." James's description can be regarded as a true report within the context of his fictional world.

The facts presented in imaginative literature are as solid and unyielding as the stone that Dr. Johnson once kicked. We must, by default, accept the words of the novelist, the playwright, and the poet at face value. In contrast, in nonfiction, the question of what precisely occurred, how people thought and felt, always remains open to interpretation and debate. We are almost always free to doubt the claims made by biographers, autobiographers, historians, and journalists.

Only in the domain of nonfiction do these uncertainties persist, leaving room for multiple perspectives and alternative scenarios. In imaginative literature, however, the story is presented as it is, without the possibility of considering other interpretations.

Janet Malcolm is my newest favorite provocative journalist.

Just as Jessica Mitford had a significant impact on the prison and funeral industries, Janet Malcolm is making waves in the fields of biography and journalism. I began my exploration with The Journalist and the Murderer and have continued from there.

The transgressive nature of biography is seldom recognized, yet it is the sole explanation for biography's standing as a popular genre. The reader's astonishing tolerance (which he would not extend to any novel written half as poorly as most biographies) only makes sense when seen as a form of collusion between him and the biographer in an excitingly prohibited endeavor: tiptoeing down the corridor together, to stand in front of the bedroom and attempt to peek through the keyhole.

This is Malcolm's general philosophy, and she applies it in this case to the literary legacy of Sylvia Plath. Plath notoriously committed suicide and left behind an ex-husband and a mother, both of whom had claims on her letters, journals, and unpublished work. How these two individuals controlled her literary image (for instance, Plath's mother was reluctant to have Plath's name on The Bell Jar because it contained too many potentially offensive passages) ultimately becomes the central issue of the book. Additionally, it examines how biographers interact with the living relatives of their subjects (Ted Hughes' sister does not come across particularly well, but still as a concerned relative).

Overall, this is a very solid and thought-provoking analysis of the demands of biography and the relationship between subjects and biographers.

This book is truly extraordinary. Malcolm skillfully pulls back the curtain of biography, revealing not only the inner mechanics but also the subsequent curtains hung by Plath's various "biographers." Hughes, who shares the subtitle of the book with Plath, unfortunately loses his pride of place in Malcolm's narrative in many ways.

This book delves deep into the reasons why people write. The passage about unsent letters is one of my personal favorites, as it offers a unique perspective on the complex motives behind writing. It also explores why people don't write and sometimes don't even let others write.

Moreover, the book examines the records, both actual and imaginary, of all these aspects. It provides a comprehensive and thought-provoking look at the world of biography and the human impulse to document and understand the lives of others. Overall, this is a remarkable work that will leave readers with a newfound appreciation for the art and science of biography.

In 2023, I embark on my journey as a Plathian scholar.

This is a meticulous critical analysis of the biographies of Plath that were penned during the time of this publication. The writing is not only of high quality but also adheres to ethical standards. However, what truly captivates me is the way Malcolm completely demolishes the entire biographical genre.

Malcolm's approach is both bold and refreshing. She doesn't hold back in her scathing critiques, challenging the traditional norms and assumptions of biographical writing.

Overall, I rate this analysis 3.5 stars. It offers valuable insights into Plath's life and the biographical genre, while also leaving room for further exploration and debate.

As a Plathian scholar, I look forward to delving deeper into these works and continuing to expand my understanding of this remarkable poet.

There are some rather refreshing viewpoints presented on the art of biography. However, as the writer herself states, she is clearly on the Hughes side of the story. This leads to an unevenness in the narrative. At times, there is an attempt to vilify Sylvia Plath. The writer seems to romanticize Hughes and gloss over his affairs. It is important to note that a balanced and objective approach is crucial when writing about historical figures. By presenting only one side of the story, the writer risks distorting the truth and creating a one-sided portrayal. A more comprehensive and fair analysis would take into account both Plath's and Hughes' perspectives and actions. This would provide a more accurate and nuanced understanding of their relationship and the events that took place.

When I write the word "spectral", I feel closer to the mystery of why the weight of public opinion has so clearly fallen on the side of Plath and against Hughes; of why the dead have been chosen over the living.

We choose the dead because of our ties to them, our identification with them. Their helplessness, passivity, vulnerability are ours. All of us long for the state of emptiness, the situation of defenselessness, in which we are necessarily worthy of love and fragile.

Only through a great effort do we decide to act, to struggle, to fight, to be heard above the wind, to crush flowers as we walk. To behave like living people.

-J.M.

This is a work that treats the previously published biographies of Sylvia Plath as a contribution to the considerations about the nature of (auto)biography, the ethics of journalism, privacy, the relationship between the writing self and the described self, and how living people become textual characters. The author is incredibly intelligent, conducts meticulous analyses, presents different points of view and interests of the people involved in preserving the literary heritage of Sylvia Plath and building her literary legend. She subjects the very myth of Plath, built on suicide and marital crisis, to dissection. She does not hide the fact that she sympathizes with Hughes, whose life was defined by Plath's suicide just as much as her creativity, although it did not harm his literary career. I do not share this sympathy, I do not feel sorry for him, I see no reason to feel sorry for him, since all that happened to him was a life with the consequences of his wrong decisions. This does not change the fact that Malcolm's analyses were very good to read, it left me hungry to read her other books, simply because she combines intellectual penetration and literary talent.

I am on the side of Plath, but I do not buy the martyr myth that has been created around her. I do not think she was worthy of pity as a person, aside from the fact that she did not have access to better antidepressants, although I doubt if there is an effective drug for American culture in the 1950s, which harmed her the most. I think that Plath was fundamentally unsympathetic, she had a dark, cruel and aggressive side and for that I love her poetry. It speaks to me. The best example of female gothic (I know I'm being monotonous, but that's what interests me now). And I am more sorry that suicide deprived us of her further creativity than I feel sorry for her family, because I am not sympathetic either.