I have a very strong desire that no one should read my journals or publish them when I'm dead.

These journals are my private thoughts, feelings, and experiences. They are a part of me that I only want to keep to myself.

I don't want anyone to invade my privacy or use my words for their own purposes.

When I'm gone, I hope my journals will remain untouched, hidden away where no one can find them.

Maybe one day, when the world has forgotten about me, they will be discovered and read, but until then, I want them to be my little secret.

I believe that everyone has the right to their own privacy, and I'm going to do everything in my power to protect mine, even after I'm gone.

**The Complexities of Biography and the Ever-Elusive True Self**

“The Silent Woman” by Janet Malcolm is a profound exploration into the convoluted world of biographical writing. Malcolm uses Sylvia Plath, her biographers, and Plath's living relatives as a case study. The book reads like a journal, with Malcolm meticulously setting the scene for numerous interviews, much like a skilled mystery novelist.

It's important to note that “The Silent Woman” isn't a comprehensive tell-all about Plath. In fact, the “silent woman” in the title could potentially refer to Anne Stevenson, a criticized Plath biographer, or even any one of us. My experience of rereading this book has been a personal reaction that highlights the difficulties of biography, even of the autobiographical kind.

I first read “The Silent Woman” five years ago. At that time, I had just moved, was friendless, and was realizing that my true writing persona was in the genre rather than literary. What struck me most then was the idea of a “false” and “real” Plath. The “false” Plath wrote for fame and money, while the “real” one penned poetry to expose harsh truths. Malcolm's exploration of this dichotomy reflects the tensions of an entire era, especially for artistic women in 1950s America.

Plath further subdivided her voice, creating a wealth of biographical material but lacking coherence. With so many people who knew her and have their own opinions on which part of Plath is the “true” one, the question of “real” versus “false” becomes a complex and never-ending debate. The problem isn't about who is right or wrong, but rather that the totality of any life is too vast and incomprehensible to ever have a single, definitive account.

Earlier this week, upon rereading, I came across two underlined passages. The first, about Hughes's struggle to salvage a normal life from the “disaster of his calling,” made me question who had underlined it so strongly. The second, about Plath encountering her “not-nice” self and the nature of art, confirmed that the red pen was mine. It reminded me of my past dilemma of writing things that might upset those I loved. In just five years, my mindset has changed so much that I hardly recognized my former self.

“The Silent Woman” is a thought-provoking exposé that shows how thin the line is between reality and fiction. It also serves as a reminder to read biographies with a critical eye. And perhaps, when we take a break from reading, we should consider burning our journals before it's too late and we become open to misinterpretation and exploitation.

One of the best biographies I've read is truly a remarkable work. It offers one of the best and most interesting understandings of Sylvia Plath. The author has delved deep into Plath's life, uncovering the complex layers of her personality, her struggles, and her achievements. Through vivid descriptions and detailed accounts, we are able to witness Plath's journey from her early years to her untimely death. The biography not only provides a chronological narrative but also explores the psychological and emotional aspects of her life. It helps us to understand the forces that shaped her and the demons that haunted her. We see her as a brilliant and talented poet, but also as a vulnerable and tortured human being. This biography is a must-read for anyone interested in Sylvia Plath or in the world of literature. It offers a unique and valuable perspective on one of the most important and influential poets of the 20th century.

This text seems to be more of a revisionist piece rather than a record of Sylvia Plath's life. In fact, it is almost a biography of her afterlife. The intense, yet empty pursuit of the "silent woman" is quite interesting, amazingly perceptive, and captivating. And perhaps it even softened my image of Ted Hughes - the Monster. I highly recommend it - I, who have always been in a love-hate situationship with literary Plath.

Plath's life and work have long been the subject of much debate and speculation. Her tragic death at a young age only added to the mystery and allure surrounding her. This text offers a new perspective on her, one that challenges the traditional narrative.

By focusing on her posthumous reputation, the author explores how Plath has become an icon, a symbol of female suffering and artistic genius. The description of the "intense, yet empty pursuit" of her suggests that there is something almost obsessive about our fascination with her.

At the same time, the text also humanizes Plath, presenting her as a complex and multifaceted individual. The reference to the love-hate relationship with her literary works implies that her writing is both powerful and disturbing, capable of eliciting strong emotions in the reader.

Overall, this text offers a thought-provoking and engaging exploration of Sylvia Plath and her enduring legacy. It is a must-read for anyone interested in literature, feminism, or the human condition.

I found this piece to be truly provocative, incredibly smart, and utterly fascinating.

It can almost be considered an anti-biography. Right from the start, it questions the entire endeavor of writing or reading a biography, not only on ethical grounds but also due to the interpretative leaps and omissions necessary to present what seems like a coherent account of a life. Malcolm stubbornly refused to do this. She includes her doubts, her awareness of her own biases, and even her errors in the interesting endnote added after the original publication.

Although this self-deprecation doesn't stop her from skewering various biographers and sometimes readers with rapier sharpness. On the other hand, it's also interesting to note the sympathy she has for women who came of age in the 50s. In part, this book serves as an indictment of 50s mores and, more broadly, as a defense of those who were pushed into impossible, contradictory positions.

It makes one think deeply about the nature of biographies and the people whose lives they attempt to capture.

I firmly believe that Janet Malcolm is the person who could make all my life choices with great wisdom and understanding. Her insights and perspectives are truly remarkable. I have complete trust in her ability to analyze situations, weigh the pros and cons, and come up with the most suitable decisions for me.

Janet Malcolm has a unique way of looking at the world, and her judgment is always based on a deep understanding of human nature and the complexities of life. She would take into account my values, dreams, and aspirations, and make choices that would align with them.

Moreover, I know that Janet Malcolm would not make hasty decisions. She would carefully consider all the available options and gather as much information as possible before making a choice. Her decisions would be well-thought-out and based on sound reasoning.

In conclusion, if I had the opportunity, I would without hesitation let Janet Malcolm make all my life choices. I am confident that she would lead me down the right path and help me achieve my goals and live a fulfilling life.

So I gave this book two stars.

I feel that a book titled Sylvia Plath and Ted Hughes should be precisely about them. Perhaps the "Silent Woman" part is partly a reference to the fact that this isn't truly a biography of its titular subjects as much as it is about biographers engaged in the act of biography-ing.

The book was extremely well-written and interesting. I breezed through it in a few days as it was so gripping. However, I learned far more about what other biographers experienced while writing about Sylvia and more about Olwyn than anything else. I don't view this as much of a biography about Sylvia Plath but rather a biography about biographers working with Olwyn and how much of a nightmare she was. Even that doesn't seem to be the sole subject or purpose, though.

And that's my main problem. There just didn't seem to be a real point or purpose to the book. It was rather scattered and didn't really seem to have much of an end goal, except maybe to set herself apart from everyone else she talks about. But I don't think she even really managed to do that.

This book had potential and included excellent musings on what it means to be a journalist writing about the lives and deaths of others, and the difference between fiction and non-fiction. But otherwise, it just seems purposeless and misleading in its presentation.

Other reviewers are definitely more positive. Maybe I missed something. But it seems like if the author wanted to write a critique of the way of biography and journalism using the Plath/Hughes battle as a backdrop, it should've been titled and presented differently, I think.

This book quickly irritates. It purports to be a meta-analysis of the work of the biographer. However, it is singularly unilluminating about the main protagonists. Instead, it is highly illuminating about Janet Malcolm's obsessions.

Surprisingly, it has the redeeming quality of making you want to read Sylvia Plath's poems rather than this arch view of her life at two removes.

The book fails to provide a comprehensive and in-depth understanding of the main characters. It seems to focus more on the author's own preoccupations rather than on the subject matter at hand.

Nevertheless, its one saving grace is that it piques the reader's interest in Sylvia Plath's poetry. By presenting a somewhat distant and detached view of her life, it makes one curious to explore her works and gain a more direct and personal connection with her art.

Overall, while the book may disappoint in its treatment of the main protagonists, it does manage to have a positive impact by inspiring a newfound interest in Sylvia Plath's poetry.

This is the smartest book on biography that I have ever had the pleasure of reading.

It purports to be about Plath and Hughes, but in reality, it delves much deeper into the history of Plath/Hughes biography and the broader project of writing a life.

The book is truly fascinating, offering profound insights and featuring some truly lovely writing.

There are several representative good bits that really stand out. For example, it states that "The freedom to be cruel is one of journalism's uncontested privileges, and the rendering of subjects as if they were characters in bad novels is one of its widely accepted conventions."

Quoting A. Alvarez on Ted Hughes, it says, "Ted kind of went through swaths of women, like a guy harvesting corn."

Another interesting point is that "The outcry against the Dido Merwin memoir was a cry from the reader's heart about his own posthumous prospects, an expression of his wish to be remembered benevolently and not all that vividly."

It also mentions that "The witness, as he blabs to the biographer, is himself like a person writing in his journal or to his mother, without shame, without inhibition, sometimes almost without thought."

Finally, the author shares the thought, "I felt the shameful, murderous impatience that maundering old people engender in those who still have time to spare."

Overall, this book is a must-read for anyone interested in the art of biography and the complex lives of Plath and Hughes.

Rewriting and expanding the given text:

Sometimes it is extremely good to know how to read. Reading is not just a simple activity; it is a gateway to a world of knowledge, imagination, and inspiration. When we know how to read, we can explore different cultures, learn about history, and gain insights into various fields of study. It allows us to understand the thoughts and ideas of others, which in turn enriches our own perspective. Moreover, reading can be a great source of entertainment. We can lose ourselves in a captivating novel, a thrilling adventure story, or a thought-provoking piece of non-fiction. It relaxes our minds, reduces stress, and provides us with a much-needed escape from the hustle and bustle of daily life. In conclusion, the ability to read is truly a precious gift that opens up countless possibilities and enriches our lives in many ways.

Honestly, I could care less about Sylvia Plath and Ted Hughes.

I've never read The Bell Jar, even though I've heard it's quite good.

My interest lies in Janet Malcolm, specifically in the way she has inserted herself into one of the great battles of modern literature.

Her subject isn't so much Plath or Hughes or the two of them together, but rather their memories and the way they are written about and debated.

Poets, it seems, like politicians, have their partisans.

While these people allow themselves to have a personal stake in the writer and an opinion that isn't entirely rational, the biographer should not.

Or at least that's the common assumption that Malcolm challenges.

She does this in the context of the controversy surrounding a new Plath biography written by an old classmate of hers.

Going back to the common wisdom: If a biographer doesn't aim to be favorable, then at least she should be objective and all-knowing.

To act otherwise, according to Malcolm (who writes with an approving hint), would cast doubt on the entire enterprise.

“Just as a burglar shouldn't stop to debate with his accomplice the rights and wrongs of burglary while picking the lock,” Malcolm argues, “a biographer shouldn't introduce doubts about the legitimacy of the biographical enterprise.

The biography-loving public doesn't want to hear that biography is a flawed genre.

It prefers to believe that certain biographers are the bad guys.”

I love Malcolm for the way she faces up to such uncomfortable truths, and in this and other of her books, she pays the price for her efforts.

Revived review : RIP Janet Malcolm 1934 - 2021

It's truly remarkable. Every time I reflect on this book, I am filled with a sense of awe and reverence. It's as if the essence of what it means to be human is encapsulated within its relatively small number of pages. All the profound questions such as "who are you really and anyway who is the I asking this question and what do these marks signify on these pages which apparently relate to people who used to be here but now aren't and why that should matter anyway, don't we have other more pressing concerns like, er, people who are actually alive?" are explored.

For us book lovers, the line between who is alive and who is dead becomes extremely blurry. I am well aware that Mervyn Peake and Raymond Chandler are more vivid in my mind than several members of my own family. Strictly speaking, Mervyn and Raymond have long passed away, while my nephews and their families are very much alive, albeit many miles distant. However, it doesn't feel that way. It seems as though Mervyn, Raymond, and countless others reside within my brain, their voices and the worlds they created echoing from the pages.

I'll take it a step further - Steerpike from Gormenghast and Lorelei Lee from Little Rock, Arkansas are more alive to me than most people I know. And yet, they never truly existed in the first place. This must be some sort of aberration. Perhaps I should consider resuming my medication. But you understand what I'm trying to convey, or else you wouldn't be reading this.

This brilliant book delves into the importance of understanding the past, someone's life, and their work, but it also reveals how incredibly difficult this task can be, especially when there are as many different versions as there are people remembering. It's a meta-biography, not simply a biography of Sylvia Plath, but rather a study of other biographies written about her. And if that sounds a bit convoluted, trust me, it is, but it's also utterly fascinating. How do we know what we know? I believe Kant or Leibniz or one of those other intellectual giants had a term for this. Janet Malcolm offers yet more insights, and I find her words, both bitter and wonderful, to be truly captivating.