so, i don't like sylvia plath much, and never have. there are moments of lucidity and brilliance (especially yes, with regard to certain images swiftly evoked--well, not evoked--swung at you is more like it--with the cleanest choices in diction imaginable, so it's like you're not even looking or bracing yourself), and i like how it (that upsettingly strong cleanliness) comes out of quagmire. but i think i broke a cardinal rule somewhere when i found i was a teenage girl who liked poetry and notebooks but didn't think plath was a martyr or a deity (of note, i much prefer sexton and this has been the case for quite some time. and in the vein of fucked up and "true" chronicling of the life of a woman and her feelings about girlhood, publishing, the man she fell into, and her motherhood, i'd give anyone elizabeth smart's work over plath's any day). BUT yes, i will say along with everyone else i've talked to that the details of this new movie are making me cringe.


by the way, i have always hated "daddy." someone recently described sexton as "having none of the subtlety of plath." what the fucking fuck?