I don't think I have ever given a book a one star before, maybe once or twice.

This book was so completely pointless that I truly should have just stopped reading it right from the start.

It wasn't anything even remotely like what it had claimed to be.

The author seemed to really just use this as a platform or space to talk about herself, with only very little snippets and bits about Sylvia Plath and Ted Hughes randomly thrown in here and there.

It felt disjointed and lacking in any real substance or meaningful exploration of the supposed subject matter.

I most definitely would not recommend this book to anyone.

It was a disappointment and a waste of my time.

I hope that future books I pick up will be more engaging and worthwhile.

Six stars really.

It is truly remarkable to have six stars. These six stars shine brightly in the sky, captivating our attention and imagination. They seem to hold a special charm and mystery. Each star has its own unique characteristics and qualities. Some may be larger and brighter, while others may be smaller and more elusive.

Together, they form a beautiful and enchanting constellation. The six stars can inspire us to dream big and reach for the impossible. They remind us that there is a vast and wonderful universe out there waiting to be explored.

Whether we are stargazing on a clear night or simply thinking about the stars, they have the power to bring a sense of wonder and awe to our lives. Six stars really are a sight to behold and a source of inspiration.

Interesting. It's not that brilliant though. There are no great insights into the biographical form, despite the claims that were made. It seems a bit disappointing in that regard. Maybe I'm just expecting too much. But still, there are some interesting aspects to it. The story has its moments that capture the reader's attention. However, when it comes to really delving deep into the essence of the biographical form and providing unique perspectives, it falls short. It could have been more engaging and thought-provoking. Overall, it's an okay read, but not something that will leave a lasting impression.

Back when I was writing my grad thesis on Lewis Carroll, I made a decision to read some of the bios on Sylvia Plath.

There were two main reasons for this. Firstly, to me, she is another fascinating figure with a great deal of eccentricity in her background. Her life story is filled with unique and complex elements that draw one's attention.

Secondly, it is certain that there are various biographies of the lady out there, each with its own distinct slant. Among the ones I read, Malcolm's was perhaps the most interesting. It truly demonstrated to me what a biography can achieve.

It compared and contrasted the viewpoints of the characters in Plath's life. There were those who were attempting to control the image of the passionate suicidal female poet, as well as the male poet who was left behind with the children and the memories of his affair. This exploration added depth and complexity to the understanding of Plath's life and the people associated with her.

The Silent Woman is not merely a biography of Sylvia Plath and Ted Hughes. Instead, it offers a profound analysis and criticism of the biographers who have written about these two remarkable poets.

It delves deep into the methods, biases, and interpretations of those who have attempted to capture the essence of Plath and Hughes' lives.

If you have limited knowledge about Sylvia Plath's life, it is highly advisable to read a comprehensive biography prior to engaging with The Silent Woman. This is because the latter can be somewhat perplexing without a solid understanding of the poet's background.

By doing so, you will be better equipped to appreciate the nuances and subtleties of the analysis presented in The Silent Woman and gain a more in-depth understanding of the complex lives and works of Sylvia Plath and Ted Hughes.

Malcolm's work takes a unique approach.

She focuses not so much on meticulously covering the lives of Plath and Hughes in great detail. Instead, she delves deeper into the ethics of biography and the intricate nature of writing about the famous deceased, especially when many people have a stake in them.

In this way, the book explores the lives of their biographers. It examines their supposed biases and connections to their subjects, the critical responses their books received, and the numerous controversies that emerged.

By contemplating what is expected of a "good biographer," Malcolm embarks on a search for the true meaning of writing about someone else's life.

Admittedly, it may seem a bit long as it is an expanded version of a New Yorker essay. However, Malcolm's writing is so powerful and her handling of the many elements at play is so masterful that, for the most part, I was completely captivated.

Her work offers a fresh perspective on the art and challenges of biography, making it a thought-provoking read.

As everyone says, this is not a biography, but a book about writing biographies and the impossibility of getting the truth.

There are so many factors at play: the taking of sides, the fluctuations of memory, especially the memory of how one felt at a certain time, and the difference in sources such as letters written at the immediate moment but with a particular audience in mind, journal entries, and interviews with sources.

In the case of Plath, she died and left behind a literary estate in the possession of her estranged husband. As Malcolm points out at the start, had she survived, things would have been different. The intensity of feeling about Hughes' affair and the break-up of their marriage would have lessened, and new events would have occurred. I know this from personal experience as I'm divorced and have seen how a crisis fades into the distance. But I never really thought about this with respect to Plath before, realizing that this only became the defining event of her legend because it ended her story.

Malcolm is a very good writer, reminding me of Joan Didion. She is also brave to have entered this controversial area, spoken frankly with people, and then published her findings openly. There are some remarkable moments in the book. For example, when she says that you can only be sure of the truth of a matter when reading fiction, as an author has made it all up and it can only be the way they present it. In all nonfiction - journalism, biography, etc. - it's difficult to truly know what's true due to the many influences, distortions, mistakes, and emotions involved in the reporting and writing.

She also uses powerful sentences like "The pleasure of hearing ill of the dead is not a negligible one, but it pales before the pleasure of hearing ill of the living." Malcolm loves using metaphors and similes, and she does so liberally. For instance, "but something more momentous...resulted from the publication of letters home. This was the release into the world of a flood of information about Plath and the people in her life, most notably Ted Hughes, a flood that could be likened to an oil spill in the devastation it wreaked among Plath's survivors, who to this day are like birds covered with black ooze."

Plath is my favorite poet, and I have read her collected poems, "The Bell Jar", and "Letters Home". On my shelf, besides the poems, I also have the unabridged journals, "Red Comet" (a more recent biography that I consider to be a detailed account of Sylvia's life, almost day by day), Jacqueline Rose's "The Haunting of Sylvia Plath" (Malcolm interviews Rose in this book), Diane Middlebrook's "Her Husband", and Ted Hughes' "Birthday Letters" (poems to/about Sylvia after her death by Ted, and basically his final statement on the subject). I've also read Nancy Steiner's "A Closer Look at Ariel: A Memory of Sylvia Plath". There are at least five biographies that I haven't read and probably won't, and a couple of other books on my to-read list that take a different perspective and aren't really biographical. "The Silent Woman" is almost an antidote to all this. It emphasizes that we don't know and can't know the full truth. The note at the end where Malcolm talks with Hughes about how she recounted an event in a previous edition and he says that's not how it happened, and there are letters missing from the archive, shows that this book too is affected by the impossibility of biography being completely true. It also makes the point that what you believe and the side you take are always going to be about you and not the subjects. The whole Plath/Hughes mythology has many aspects to it, including gender roles in the 50s and early 60s, the "feminine mystique" thing, the contrast between the US and UK at that time, the often wild biographies and romances of poets/artists, mental illness and suicide, a cheating husband, and Assia Weevil's eventual copycat suicide. Perhaps it's better to think about it mythically and symbolically rather than imagining that we could ever know the real story.

“In a work of nonfiction, we almost never know the truth of what happened. The ideal of unmediated reporting is regularly achieved only in fiction … only in nonfiction does the question of what happened and how people thought and felt remain open.”

This book truly validates it: I am an unashamed Janet Malcolm enthusiast. I simply can't get enough of her sleek little letter bombs, disguised by the genteel New Yorker house style, all adorned in her patented, surgical prose: erudite, witty, cutting, and exquisitely elegant. Seemingly about the biographers of Sylvia Plath and their encounters with her literary executor/gatekeeper Olwyn Hughes, Plath's sister-in-law, it rapidly develops into the sort of meta-textual psychodrama for which Malcolm is renowned — and she is always an active participant.

In her most famous work, The Journalist and the Murderer, Malcolm likened the journalist to a “confidence man,” preying on the vanity and insecurity of his subject. The subject invariably believes the transaction will be in her favor until she learns her “hard lesson” upon seeing her story appropriated in print. Malcolm contends that the journalist-subject relationship is inherently fraudulent. Deception and betrayal are ingrained.

The Silent Woman takes it even further: the biographer is effectively a “professional burglar*,” rummaging through her subject's drawers for life details while hiding behind the artifice of the genre. Readers, in a “state of bovine equanimity,” naively grant substantial literary credit, transforming the entire experience into an act of “collusion.”

*Malcolm is never hesitant with her metaphors.

The reader, who believes the biographer has been secluded in libraries, poring over archives and neutrally weighing boxes of evidence, is blissfully unaware of the simple politics underlying most biographies, namely those of access. Who controls your life story when you're gone? Who gets to tell it and what makes their accounts authoritative? And what does it mean for those still alive, who are not characters in a novel but living, breathing individuals, to see their human flaws and contradictions as mere writer's material?

If you're the biographer, what compromises are you willing to make to obtain that access? In the case of a major writer like Plath, it means being able to quote from her works extensively. It means being granted access to her inner circle, who are only too eager to supply you with their (ever-partisan) stories. The Silent Woman is filled with people vying for their rightful place within the Official Plath Narrative, however tenuous. And, as always, Malcolm is unable to exempt herself from her own scathing gaze; she too becomes one of the burglars.

Does this all sound hopelessly academic, too insider-y? It's not, I assure you. I've only scratched the surface of a couple of the layers of this endlessly captivating book, which I read twice this year and will put your highlighter to good use. Malcolm writes this like a literary detective story, and its implications, especially in an era when social media has made our stories even more disposable, are worthy of anyone's consideration.

Sylvia Plath is a highly regarded and influential figure in the world of literature. Her works are often praised for their raw emotion, vivid imagery, and profound exploration of the human psyche. Many critics and readers alike have awarded her five stars, indicating their high level of admiration for her literary achievements.

On the other hand, Ted Hughes, while also a respected poet, has received a somewhat different reception. Some may rate his works with three stars, perhaps suggesting that they find his poetry to be less impactful or innovative compared to Plath's.

However, it's important to note that literary evaluations are subjective, and different people may have different opinions about the quality and significance of both Plath and Hughes' works. Each poet has their own unique style and voice, and both have made important contributions to the field of literature.

In conclusion, while Sylvia Plath may have received a higher star rating from some, Ted Hughes' work should not be overlooked or dismissed. Both poets have left a lasting legacy and continue to be studied and enjoyed by readers around the world.

On the surface, this book is about Plath. It delves into her relationship with the men in her life, the complex dual love-resentment she felt for them. It also touches upon her mental illness and her writing as a wife and mother in the 1960s.

However, it does much more than that. It is, in fact, a biography of the biographers of Plath past. It explores the fascinating question of how someone can truthfully yet artistically take on the act of narration over another's life when the subject has no voice.

This aspect adds a whole new layer of depth and complexity to the book. It makes the reader not only think about Plath herself but also about the role of the biographer and the challenges they face in presenting an accurate and engaging portrait of their subject.

Overall, this book offers a unique and thought-provoking perspective on Plath and the art of biography. It is a must-read for anyone interested in Plath's life and work or in the broader field of literary biography.

I absolutely adored this book!

As it delved into the process of biography and the Sylvia Plath legend, it imparted a wealth of knowledge not only about her and Hughes but also about the myriad difficulties involved in attempting to narrate someone's life story. There are so many elements to consider - fact, fiction, truth, speculation, and more.

It becomes even more challenging when the subject is deceased and those close to him or her are still alive. This book navigates through these complex waters with great skill and provides a fascinating and engaging read.

It truly is a great book that offers deep insights into the lives of two remarkable individuals and the art of biography itself.

Some friends and I had the opportunity to hear Malcolm Gladwell speak recently.

During his talk, he mentioned that one of his favorite writers was Janet Malcolm.

I had never heard of her before, so I was intrigued and decided to give her work a try.

The book I chose was truly fascinating.

It wasn't so much about Sylvia Plath and her husband, Ted Hughes (although I did learn a great deal about their lives), but rather about the art of biography, especially when the subject is deceased.

Malcolm discusses several earlier biographies of Plath and even interviews the authors of three of them.

The earliest books portrayed Sylvia as the heroine and her husband as the villain.

But is that really the case?

Who can truly know?

Malcolm makes the point that only in fiction is there a known truth.

The author creates the characters and writes the story, so it is considered "true."

Biography, on the other hand, is non-fiction, yet it is often written as if it were fiction, with the author pretending to know exactly what a character was thinking or feeling.

In reality, they don't.

Unless they are quoting directly from the subject's writings or a recorded interview, the author's interpretations are based on someone else's recollections or their own understanding of what was happening.

The first writer who suggested that Hughes wasn't a villain and Plath wasn't a saint was almost crucified by the press and Plath's many feminist fans.

I believe Malcolm wrote this book to defend that author, Anne Stevenson, and to explore the whole concept of how we should read biographies.

Does anyone who is associated with a famous deceased person lose all their right to privacy?

Ted Hughes died in 1998, five years after this book was published.

He saw himself repeatedly blamed for "poor Sylvia's" tragedy.

How fair was this to him or his family, including the two children he had with Plath?

A couple of things Hughes, who was himself an excellent poet and the poet laureate of Great Britain, said about all those biographies are worth considering:

"... for your readers, it's five interesting minutes, but for us it is permanent dynamite." And, specifically regarding how these might affect his children, "Poison is no less poison for being a fact."