Status Updates From A Closer Look at Ariel: A M...

The poetic eye was always at work examining nuance and measuring obscure detail, turning observation into ultimatum.

Once, when she was in the bedroom putting away laundry, I remarked about the neat, almost mechanical arrangement of the contents of her drawers. "Yes," she confessed, "if anyone ever disarranged my things I'd feel as though I had been raped intellectually." The reaction was extreme, and it frightened me

what a shocker that the introduction, which waffles on and on (AND IS ALMOST HALF THE FUCKING BOOK) and not only sensationalises plaths suicide, but also ill-tastefully focuses on the attractiveness of both plath and steiner, is written by a man. i’m bamboozled