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Sylvia Plath Method and Madness
This is the first full-length biography of the controversial poet Sylvia Plath whose suicide in made her a misinterpreted cause celebre and catapulted her into the ranks of the major confessional voices of her generation, such as Robert Lowell and
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First published January 1, 1976
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Displaying 1 - 18 of 18 reviews
March 22, 2010
I was really looking forward to reading this book, and I did enjoy reading about the life of Sylvia Plath. However. The tone in Butscher's writing upset me quite a bit. He spends much of the book analyzing Sylvia's poetry. Her early poetry, he keeps damning as unsophisticated and not noteworthy. She was 20 years old! Give the girl a break. Who was a significant poet at 20?
Also, he constantly refers to one of Sylvia's personas as the "bitch goddess." I found this to be incredibly misogynistic and, quite frankly, in really poor taste. Had Sylvia referred to herself in these terms, I could see using the tern sparingly. But, to my knowledge, she never did.
I also feel that Butscher shows way too much kindness to Ted Hughes.
I wonder why someone who seems to dislike Sylvia Plath so much spent so much effort writing a biography about her.
Also, he constantly refers to one of Sylvia's personas as the "bitch goddess." I found this to be incredibly misogynistic and, quite frankly, in really poor taste. Had Sylvia referred to herself in these terms, I could see using the tern sparingly. But, to my knowledge, she never did.
I also feel that Butscher shows way too much kindness to Ted Hughes.
I wonder why someone who seems to dislike Sylvia Plath so much spent so much effort writing a biography about her.
November 26, 2019
What makes this biography so boring isn't that Edward Butscher is mean or out to get Sylvia or anything like that. The problem is that the life she lived just wasn't as dramatic and devastatingly emotional as the poetry she wrote. The reader gets to feeling that the biographer is being phony, hiding all the demonic rage and weirdness under hundreds of pages of stuff about what lectures she took and where she shopped for bargains. But the problem is, most of her short life Sylvia Plath was very, very high-functioning, and not a heap of jagged wires all charged with electricity. She spent a lot of time doing boring stuff and trying to live up to other people's boring ideas of what a co-ed, poet, wife, and mother should be. So reading about that is boring.
One other thought, and I do *not* mean this as disrespectful. But in Albert Goldman's snarky classic biography ELVIS, he makes a point about Elvis that is very relevant. He's describing Elvis in Vegas, in the Seventies, doped out of his mind and wearing sunglasses and a sequined jumpsuit. And the Colonel, his manager, comes to inspect him before the show, and Goldman says, "like all junkies, Elvis is an expert at conning the squares that he's straight."
Now I mean this in the most sympathetic and admiring way possible. But poor Sylvia Plath was a lot like Elvis. Because she was a genius, and she changed the world, and being special killed her. But also because, like Elvis, she was an expert at conning the squares that she was straight. All the stuff she did in college, all the Vogue fashion layouts, all the hustling and self-promotion as the perfect young American wife/writer/woman, was really her way of concealing all the frightening, destructive energy that only got let loose in her last twenty or thirty poems. The reason a story of her life is so boring is because all it captures is the window dressing that she created with such desperate energy. And the reader feels ripped off.
On the other hand, in another way Sylvia Plath was the opposite of Elvis. Because she never betrayed her talent and she went out on top. Her last poems were her best, and she literally killed herself to be her best self as an artist.
I suspect Elvis killed himself to avoid that kind of challenge.
One other thought, and I do *not* mean this as disrespectful. But in Albert Goldman's snarky classic biography ELVIS, he makes a point about Elvis that is very relevant. He's describing Elvis in Vegas, in the Seventies, doped out of his mind and wearing sunglasses and a sequined jumpsuit. And the Colonel, his manager, comes to inspect him before the show, and Goldman says, "like all junkies, Elvis is an expert at conning the squares that he's straight."
Now I mean this in the most sympathetic and admiring way possible. But poor Sylvia Plath was a lot like Elvis. Because she was a genius, and she changed the world, and being special killed her. But also because, like Elvis, she was an expert at conning the squares that she was straight. All the stuff she did in college, all the Vogue fashion layouts, all the hustling and self-promotion as the perfect young American wife/writer/woman, was really her way of concealing all the frightening, destructive energy that only got let loose in her last twenty or thirty poems. The reason a story of her life is so boring is because all it captures is the window dressing that she created with such desperate energy. And the reader feels ripped off.
On the other hand, in another way Sylvia Plath was the opposite of Elvis. Because she never betrayed her talent and she went out on top. Her last poems were her best, and she literally killed herself to be her best self as an artist.
I suspect Elvis killed himself to avoid that kind of challenge.
July 13, 2009
Loads of interesting, gossipy, details. But, here are two representative sentences:
"Surely such an important public figure should not have a vacuum foetus growing so hideously in her virgin cave."
"Her multiple selves had been exposed at last, at a very high cost to be sure; and now a courageous plunge into genuine catharsis might have released her imprisoned bitch goddess once and for all."
"Surely such an important public figure should not have a vacuum foetus growing so hideously in her virgin cave."
"Her multiple selves had been exposed at last, at a very high cost to be sure; and now a courageous plunge into genuine catharsis might have released her imprisoned bitch goddess once and for all."
February 19, 2016
I was not too terribly impressed with this book. Butscher appears to me as though he's merely trying to get in on the 'Plath Cash Cow' since pretty much between 1965 and 1982 with the Collected Poems, anything regarding Plath and the Plath myth was almost guaranteed sales.
I disliked the fact that he tended to use very few primary sources, despite the fact that most of the major players in her life (Ted Hughes, Aurelia Plath, etc.) were all still alive, and he appears to have used more secondary and tertiary sources. That however could be due to the constraints of the Plath Estate (essentially Ted Hughes and his sister Olwyn).
All in all, I can not say I enjoyed this book. I'd rank it up there with my opinion of Carl Rollyson's 'American Isis'...a money grab and nothing more. If I were an editor, agent, publisher or even the author himself, I would be embarassed to have my name on this piece of tripe.
I disliked the fact that he tended to use very few primary sources, despite the fact that most of the major players in her life (Ted Hughes, Aurelia Plath, etc.) were all still alive, and he appears to have used more secondary and tertiary sources. That however could be due to the constraints of the Plath Estate (essentially Ted Hughes and his sister Olwyn).
All in all, I can not say I enjoyed this book. I'd rank it up there with my opinion of Carl Rollyson's 'American Isis'...a money grab and nothing more. If I were an editor, agent, publisher or even the author himself, I would be embarassed to have my name on this piece of tripe.
January 15, 2025
DNFed at chapter 5. do you even like her edward
May 24, 2025
Since her suicide, Sylvia Plath has become larger than life or, more darkly, larger than death. Her ex-husband, the now-deceased Poet Laureate Ted Hughes, was vilified for leaving her and his two children, an act that, according to the rather shrill Plath-ites, directly caused her to put her head in a gas oven on the morning of February 11, 1963. That simplistic judgment degrades her to a pathetic ex-wife rather than the very much more complex artist, woman, daughter, mother, and just soul that she was. Butscher's early biography (published not quite twelve years after Plath's death) is a brave attempt to provide some insight on that complexity, but he doesn't quite pull it off. He is a poet himself, which allows him to render quick critical judgments of the poetry although, irritatingly, he rarely takes the time to explain his assessments with the depth that would make them convincing. Oh well, this is not a critical biography, I suppose, but it does grate a bit when he dismisses whole swaths of her work as "not good." Sometimes, he does take the time to plunge into the poetry, but the results are usually off-putting instead of insightful. In his comments on "Mussel Hunter At Rock Harbour," he says, "Bald, like black, is a part of Sylvia's signature, an immediate token of sterile emptiness and oblivion, which represents the final result of physical creation as well as the artist's central fear. The crab left on shore, an emblem of the poet's own crusade against nature, has escaped the mass indignity of its companions' fate and now must confront a worse punishment, namely, destruction by the merciless sun; but (and this conjunction defines Sylvia's entire poetic career) it does so in its own form and on its own terms" (244). Perhaps I don't want to hear Butscher's critical analysis after all; this reads terribly pretentiously. Even when he is being supportive, he comes across as a teeny bit snooty. At the end of Chapter 14, he lists off a stack of poems that he concludes are "solid works, often brilliant works that mate a unique personal vision, admittedly negative or Gothic, with a nearly flawless craft. Other poems ... [a few of which he then lists] are also too close to some ultimate beauty to abandon altogether" (279). How very generous of him not to abandon them altogether. Later, he observes about "Tulips" that the poetic voice--and remember, Plath is a confessional poet who draws heavily on her own experience, but that doesn't make her absolutely equivalent to her own voice in the poems--is "the narcissistic self on its journey into myth" (295), which is already awfully grandiose, but he then makes this statement: "This is not an abnormal but a common experience, which is why Sylvia always speaks so intimately to other women's hearts--speaking the unspeakable, and bringing out into the open those terrible but normal thoughts which many women experience (and feel dreadfully guilty about) during the course of their lives" (295). Yes, this was written in the early 1970s, but it is still very cringe-worthy that he can arrogate for himself this sort of overarching generalization about women. Perhaps he isn't wrong, but I can hear the howls of outrage from feminist critics. He is, after all, a man.
What Butscher is not is a psychoanalyst, so his overall judgment of Plath as a schizophrenic who was tortured by her incompatible doppelgangers--the perfectionist dutiful daughter (a la Simone de Beauvoir) and the "bitch goddess" whose fundamental objective seems to be the destruction of all the icons--strikes me as a little too neat, a bit too cut and dried, to fit the reality. As if anyone outside Plath's head could understand everything that was roiling around in there, even with the poems as insightful guides. It does seem a bit much for Butscher to make this sort of blanket evaluation that steers her whole life along its tortuous and tortured path toward that last cold frozen February in London.
But, in spite of his rush to psychological judgment and his distinct pomposity, Butscher has provided us with a very useful and even necessary book, one which provides a context in which the reader can return to Plath's poetry and pick up on the experiences that contributed to their creation.
What Butscher is not is a psychoanalyst, so his overall judgment of Plath as a schizophrenic who was tortured by her incompatible doppelgangers--the perfectionist dutiful daughter (a la Simone de Beauvoir) and the "bitch goddess" whose fundamental objective seems to be the destruction of all the icons--strikes me as a little too neat, a bit too cut and dried, to fit the reality. As if anyone outside Plath's head could understand everything that was roiling around in there, even with the poems as insightful guides. It does seem a bit much for Butscher to make this sort of blanket evaluation that steers her whole life along its tortuous and tortured path toward that last cold frozen February in London.
But, in spite of his rush to psychological judgment and his distinct pomposity, Butscher has provided us with a very useful and even necessary book, one which provides a context in which the reader can return to Plath's poetry and pick up on the experiences that contributed to their creation.
February 25, 2024
had to dnf this one because the paperback deadass split in half while i was reading and it makes me nervous touching an open book page as thoroughly as i'd grip the cover, although i should have stopped way before the halfway mark with how many angry notes i've penciled in there. while i can give one extra star for the thoroughness of the investigative research, it's disappointing that the research is in service of this weird freudian psychological profile. sylvia can never *just* have an interest in something or *just* display a certain kind of behavior, it always has to be a "sign" of The Raving Bitch Goddess Just Beneath The Mask or something. all these quotes from friends and friends of friends, but rarely does he ever let her speak in her own words. i don't even know if he likes her poetry to begin with. my personal psychological profile of the author is that he's never actually interacted with a woman in his life. take a long cold shower, my guy
April 22, 2022
As a Plath completist I read this out of curiosity. I don't think it was ever released in the UK. Not good
Read Red Comet instead By far the best autobiography of Plath. Very long but very readable, and with no psychiatric axe to grind.
Read Red Comet instead By far the best autobiography of Plath. Very long but very readable, and with no psychiatric axe to grind.
April 24, 2021
Too critical and honestly the writing style was way too dry for me...Ended up in my list of DNFed books
July 12, 2015
I registered a book at BookCrossing.com!
http://www.BookCrossing.com/journal/5178667
I really liked The Bell Jar and wanted to know more about Sylvia Plath. This is the first biography of her life and work. Several others have been written since, which I have not read.
The title, Sylvia Plath: Method and Madness, tells us the book is about more than her life. It follows closely the development of her poetry. Butscher is a well-respected poet in his own right, so it makes sense that he would analyze Plath's poetry. He begins by reviewing the poetry she wrote in her teens, moves on to how it evolved at Smith, and how it changed dramatically after her marriage to Ted Hughes and the birth of her children. From the beginning, he looks for signs that she is revealing her real self and finds it only sporadically until near her death.
Plath was born to a strong yet remote father and a mother who cared too much about appearances. Sylvia learned early how to put on a happy face, play the part of the all-American girl. Certainly she looked like one. She was attractive, energetic, dressed modestly and tastefully. Her approach to the world as a person was reflected in her poetry.
Butscher says she had different selves, but that one of those selves - what he calls the "bitch goddess" - is hidden away most of the time. I had a little difficulty determining what the definition of "bitch goddess" was for Butscher. It has a different meaning for different people. I think Butscher's definition is of a woman rising above the cultural confines of womanhood, an angry yet clear-sighted woman.
The book assumes that the reader knows about Plath's life already. References are frequently made to events to come in the future in an offhand way. We know the end, of course, but many of us do not know all the details in between. Thus there is a kind of distance between writer and subject. I found it difficult to get to know Sylvia. That, of course, is what Buscher says was true for most if not all people she met.
Butscher dwells on Sylvia's "madness" as well. In his Afterword, he says she was probably bi-polar and of course lived with depression much of the time. I believe such categories are best left on the table, as I don't have a great fondness for psychiatric definitions. Clearly she was deeply depressed at the end. By an accident she never got a referral to a therapist that might have saved her life in that last week, but who can say?
I wondered how her voice sounded, so I have sought out recordings. Lucky us, we can find them easily. I like her voice. It's educated, clear, distinct. These recordings give me a rounder sense of her. I wanted more.
The book offers a good sense of who she was and how she wrote, and how she eventually broke through to revealing her inner self. I continue to find her interesting and may seek out other biographies and read more of her poetry.
http://www.BookCrossing.com/journal/5178667
I really liked The Bell Jar and wanted to know more about Sylvia Plath. This is the first biography of her life and work. Several others have been written since, which I have not read.
The title, Sylvia Plath: Method and Madness, tells us the book is about more than her life. It follows closely the development of her poetry. Butscher is a well-respected poet in his own right, so it makes sense that he would analyze Plath's poetry. He begins by reviewing the poetry she wrote in her teens, moves on to how it evolved at Smith, and how it changed dramatically after her marriage to Ted Hughes and the birth of her children. From the beginning, he looks for signs that she is revealing her real self and finds it only sporadically until near her death.
Plath was born to a strong yet remote father and a mother who cared too much about appearances. Sylvia learned early how to put on a happy face, play the part of the all-American girl. Certainly she looked like one. She was attractive, energetic, dressed modestly and tastefully. Her approach to the world as a person was reflected in her poetry.
Butscher says she had different selves, but that one of those selves - what he calls the "bitch goddess" - is hidden away most of the time. I had a little difficulty determining what the definition of "bitch goddess" was for Butscher. It has a different meaning for different people. I think Butscher's definition is of a woman rising above the cultural confines of womanhood, an angry yet clear-sighted woman.
The book assumes that the reader knows about Plath's life already. References are frequently made to events to come in the future in an offhand way. We know the end, of course, but many of us do not know all the details in between. Thus there is a kind of distance between writer and subject. I found it difficult to get to know Sylvia. That, of course, is what Buscher says was true for most if not all people she met.
Butscher dwells on Sylvia's "madness" as well. In his Afterword, he says she was probably bi-polar and of course lived with depression much of the time. I believe such categories are best left on the table, as I don't have a great fondness for psychiatric definitions. Clearly she was deeply depressed at the end. By an accident she never got a referral to a therapist that might have saved her life in that last week, but who can say?
I wondered how her voice sounded, so I have sought out recordings. Lucky us, we can find them easily. I like her voice. It's educated, clear, distinct. These recordings give me a rounder sense of her. I wanted more.
The book offers a good sense of who she was and how she wrote, and how she eventually broke through to revealing her inner self. I continue to find her interesting and may seek out other biographies and read more of her poetry.
October 14, 2011
I didn't really care much about his poet before reading and don't really care more about her now, other then it was interesting to read about the mask she put on for people, when she was really hiding her true persona from so many, at least that's how I see it.
Reading about Plath and Madonna at the same time, I actually think I like Madonna better because she knows how to be herself and Madonna was weird and proud of it, unlike Sylvia, who I think might have been a little off, but tried to hide it with her dual career of wife/mother and writer.
I think if Madonna had been born in Plath's time period, and Plath in Madonna's, there would be drastically different people coming out.
It strikes me that Madonna does some pretty crazy things with her career and prospers, but yet Plath writes about her craziness and although heralded, is forced back into her housewife role.
Reading about Plath and Madonna at the same time, I actually think I like Madonna better because she knows how to be herself and Madonna was weird and proud of it, unlike Sylvia, who I think might have been a little off, but tried to hide it with her dual career of wife/mother and writer.
I think if Madonna had been born in Plath's time period, and Plath in Madonna's, there would be drastically different people coming out.
It strikes me that Madonna does some pretty crazy things with her career and prospers, but yet Plath writes about her craziness and although heralded, is forced back into her housewife role.
March 19, 2013
It was a good read, but a bit didactic. He seemed overly critical of the work she did as a child; I mean, who would expect a little kid's poetry to be professional anyway? Read this if you don't mind a lot of academic language.
~Magickal Graphics~
~Magickal Graphics~
January 5, 2008
First biography ever written about Plath, so doesn't take into account the entirety of the Collected Journals, as they were not yet published. Delves more deeply into her formative years than some other works, though.
February 23, 2009
Beautifully written harrowing tale of a self destructive life and the toll it took on her daughter.
September 6, 2012
Made me want to slit my wrists.
April 4, 2013
Tragic story of a writer who committed suicide.
February 8, 2016
This was fascinating, tracing not only Plath's development as a writer but matching it up to what was going on in her life. Well-written, too.
March 29, 2017
It is difficult to rate a Sylvia Plath book as her work tends to defy categorization but I thoroughly enjoyed the collection.
Displaying 1 - 18 of 18 reviews