by Sylvia Plath
October 27
Dear mum . . .
What a cagey one you are! Never o never did I suspect a FILE! I am so proud of it. It is just the sort of gift I LOVE. I’ll use it the rest of my life, & it occupies a niche in my heart next to my typewriter and my bike! People who love me always know what makes me happiest. Marty, Carol & Mrs. B. gave me a birthday dinner party tonight & three perfect presents: a Van Gogh book of reprints, a chunky pottery Italian Plate, & a new Modern Library book of Franz Kafka’s short stories.* A glass or two of sherry & a home atmosphere served to bring me out of the bog of lonesomeness & despair I had been wallowing in, and shot me through with new joy and love for them all. They have been so very good to me – and so have you all. Thanks a billion times. I have gotten two fat letters from Dick, as I perhaps said. By the way, do get all the info on skiing that you can – prices of boots, skis, etc. I am serious about learning how. I am thinking of perhaps seeing Ilo when I go to Greenwich Village during midsemesters – he was so sweet to send me the picture!
XXX from your ancient 20 yr. old
Sivvy
TO Aurelia Schober Plath
Tuesday 28 October 1952*
ALS (postcard), Indiana University
Tuesday –
Dear Mother . . .
Well, I have done it! Bought a black-fitted coat! I do hope you like it, as I tried on at least 10 b. f. c’s in different stores till I got it. It is a snug fit over my suit, but I will wear it mostly over dresses. It is a very simple coat, with a full skirt, falling in folds, and will look very trim with my black heels – or my red shoes & the red bag I bought to match (a lovely pocketbook for only $3.60!) I feel much wiser & more sensible in my purchases this year. The coat was $50!!!
Love again
XX
Sivvy
TO Aurelia Schober Plath
Wednesday 29 October 1952*
ALS (postcard), Indiana University
Wednesday
Dear mum . . .
Thanks for the great political letter: read Mrs. Truitts article* & admire her strategy, even if I disagree with her ideas. Both sides have “albatrosses.” No, I don’t like some of Truman’s deals. But also don’t see how Ike can unite forces in senate to pass his noble measures when those black-sheep senators have voted so consistently against him! – How would you like a genuine, heavy, double-breasted Paris tweed suit or a gold jersey dress? I picked them up free because they almost fit & will bring them home Thanksgiving to see if you like either & to alter them – some of Alum donated them to the Co-op house! By the way, I was one of the 4 finalists for head of Junior Prom – but I resigned before the final vote, even though the prestige is tremendous, because it would mean half a year’s work like mad, and I feel my health & courses are much more important. Also, I am busy enough already, to say the least. I think I am very wise, even though the big time has a certain glitter. In 10 years, who would know the dif? I like the house better & better every day. The girls are all wonderful! Wish me luck at Princeton
XXX
Sylvia
TO Aurelia Schober Plath
Sunday 2 November 1952*
ALS (postcard), Indiana University
Sunday
Dear Mum . . .
Well, I am back, weary & a bit numb from travelling from 9:30-5 today. The weekend was warm & spring-like, & Princeton was the most beautiful college I’ve ever seen – especially the great modern library,* complete with elevators – and the exquisite gothic chapel* with great stained glass windows. I wore high heels for the first time, and even Charlestoned in them. The trip has satisfied my wanderlust till Xmas when I’ll see Dick. $15 train fare! My date was tall, cute, but unfortunately quite intellectually stupid. He served his purpose, but I never intend to see him again – I cannot abide dumb rich boys. Two informal dances at the Club where I stayed Fri. & Sat., and a football game where Princeton slaughtered Brown to which I wore just my suit & was hot even then! My heels were fun – I felt so grown up with them. I hope Warren goes to Harvard. No doubt there are intelligent boys at Princeton, but the pressure to drink & the wealthy socialites are most obvious. Now, back to work.
XXX
a sleepy Sivvy
TO Aurelia Schober Plath
Thursday 6 November 1952
TLS, Indiana University
November 6, 1952
Dear Mummy . . . .
Well, I only hope you’re happy with McCarthy and appropriations, Jenner and Rules and Civil Rights, Taft and Foreign Policy, and our noble war hero and his absurd plan to fly to Korea like a white dove with a laurel leaf in his mouth, appealing to the emotions of parents who “want their boys back home”. Bringing our boys back home too soon has ruined us before. As I said, though, it wasn’t Eisenhower I was against, but all the other little horrors in the Trojan Horse he rode in on. I don’t envy him his crusade nor his companions, and I feel that our gullible American public may be only too sadly disillusioned. But then, variety of corruption is the spice of life. And so are red witch hunts. Me, I felt that it was the funeral day of all my hopes and ideals when I got up the morning after elections. Stevenson was the Abe Lincoln of our age. I don’t know how we could have gone better. But then, the prosperity party often gets kicked out. But I don’t think the change justified the concomitant factors it brought with it. Enough of my partisan views.
I am crazy with work . . . two papers every week now, and I will be writing them thanksgiving, too. I do hope to have a lovely day with you all and Warren, whom I miss very much. And I hope to have a chance to see the Cantors, too. My Chaucer course I love, but the work is unbelievable, and I am going to devote my weekends solely to trying to keep only reasonably behind in the phenomenal lists of readinghe doles out. I will be lucky if I get a low B in the course, which counts for two courses, because the other seven girls in the class are all the most brilliant girls in the college. No longer is the competition large and general, but very specific and individual, with keen competitors and cut-throat workers. I am going to devote myself to this work, though because Mr. Patch is the most brilliant man I have ever known, and I don’t give a damn about dates or any more extra-curricular activities. A good friend of mine got the head of Junior Prom, and I have never been so happy I resigned from anything in my life. I would hate myself for wasting half a year when I could be under the guidance of the best men in the department in the college. Hope you can go to Ray Brook* Saturday. I have hardly enough time to think of writing letters, as every minute of each day is planned rigidly to the last second, but I at least got off all the Birthday returns promptly, didn’t I? I really love my work, all except science, and the nullifying pressure of my Medieval lit unit. I will enjoy rereading Chaucer at my leisure this summer, and later in life, I think . . . he is the most rich and rewarding of writers.
I’ll try to get the box of clothes off to you this weekend. I truly hope you can do something with them. I would be so happy if the suit worked out. The only thing is, it has a pleated skirt, which you might not like.
I have written to Bread Loaf to see if they have any tuition scholarships, but I doubt it. I also don’t know if they would let me spend a summer without earning money. But I would love to go to summer school . . . to Harvard, too, perhaps. I would also like only a part time job or one that would only last a short part of the summer so I could read and write and work on research for my thesis. I think that it is important that I have such a chance to think and work. I plan to write my application for Madem
oiselle as soon as I get home on Thanksgiving . . . because I won’t have a minute till then.
All for now. Keep your lovely letters coming. I do so appreciate them
xxx
sivvy
TO Warren Plath
Thursday 6 November 1952
TLS (photocopy),
Indiana University
November 6, 1952
Dear Warren . . .
Much thanks for your letter. I really appreciated it. I am now paying for my frivolous Princeton weekend of three days last week where I actually had the privilege of sleeping in the same room with Mary Ann and sixty other girls on the top floor of the Tower Club. Obviously she was with Phil Brawner. She actually asked how you were, and took care to remind me that she and John Hodges had cried over my sad story about them in Seventeen three years ago.* I was so touched by her account; I can just see her sobbing. As far as I am concerned she is a very captivating bitchy socialite. My date was the perfect example of the absolute sheep, and I had thought I could have fun with him, and it was all right until he started talking. He was by all means the most pathetic specimen of manhood I have ever met . . . you remember that funny boy Phil and I drove around with down the Cape last summer when we went to see the Weasel? Well the summer is a much better place for funny boys who don’t have any heads. As much as I tried to conceal my brilliance, he guessed I was not as neutral as I seemed. His confession of his own inadequacies, in an attempt to be serious, was not only pitiably revealing of his lack of thinking and values, but was evidently quite a strain on his mental powers, and I use the word loosely.
Princeton was beautiful: especially the gigantic modern library, with the elevators, the modern glassed in lounges, Poetry and Sanskrit rooms, carrels with soundproof sliding doors, art exhibits, and other amazing attractions. I also was much impressed by the enormous Gothic cathedral with the most exquisite blue and arched stained glass windows I have ever seen. The eating clubs all have accomodations for 60 or more girls, and the meals are served by colored waitresses, which bothered my sense of civil rights no end. Most of the boys were Republicans because, of course, they came from the wealthy families.
I went to the game, which was a farce, as Princeton shellacked Brown 39-0, and to a cocktail party with some other dumb boys and to a lamb chop dinner and a dance at the club where I looked very nice, and wore high heels for the first time (I at last bought some, now that Dick is flat on his back) and I Charlestoned in them all night, so that when I took them off I couldn’t bend my feet back! I left at 9:30 in the morning Sunday and was never so glad to get rid of any boy in my life. Thereupon I navigated the shuttle and 7th avenue sub from Penn Station to Grand Central all myself . . . nothing so depressing as the New York Subway on Sunday morning, had a cheery little repast of a sandwich and coffee sitting on my suitcase in the middle of the station and got back to Smith at 5 p.m.
The whole deal cost me about $16 and I resolved never ever to go down there again. I don’t know what made me do it, except that I thought that Roger might at least have something to say. But he was a complete hacker. No doubt some of the boys at Princeton are intelligent and nice, but all the ones I saw are spoiled, sheepish socialites, who get drunk all the time and don’t have an original or creative impulse . . . they are all bloodless like mushrooms inside, I am sure. I did, by the way, glimpse Pete Hersey,* and Alan Balsbaugh* came up to speak to me while I was down there. He seems to be a bright boy.
I am terribly disappointed that Stevenson lost the election. I don’t remember knowing who you were for, except for Pogo* or Krajewski.* But poor mother was for Eisenhower. I don’t think the need for a change in party justified the horrible combination of men that will take over the Eisenhower crusade . . . just think of Taft and foreign policy, Jenner and Rules and Civil Rights, MacCarthy and Appropriations* . . . and all the rest of the witch-hunters and undemocratic guys. It isn’t Eisenhower I’m against, but all the men in his Trojan horse. Stevenson certainly was the Abe Lincoln of our age, and I felt that it was my funeral day when I got up the morning after his defeat.
My work is overwhelming. Don’t know how I have the time to goof off writing letters, but I have two papers due every week from now till thanksgiving . . . I’ll have to work most of the vacation on my back work, too. Ah me, life is grim . . . If I live till Xmas it will be a miracle.
But I can’t wait to see you. Have you thought of asking anyone to the Cotillion yet? I guess I won’t be able to go unless two very vague prospects come about . . . one, that I can persuade Perry to get me a date with Dick Smythe,* who probably doesn’t know or care I exist, or that Attilla comes back from his sojourn in Florida and decides that I am not so immature after all, just because I won’t be his mistress or something the way they are in Hungary (Vere he vas kink of the Huns, remember!)
Love you dearly,
your galley slave sister,
sivvy
P.S. Mother unearthed the clipping. She sure plays the field, wot!
TO Aurelia Schober Plath
Tuesday 11 November 1952*
TLS with envelope,
Indiana University
Tuesday
Dearest mummy . . .
It was lovely to get your long letter. I am overjoyed to hear about Frank and his success, and I was also glad to read about Herter:* he sounds like a most intelligent and creative man. I would have voted Republican on the Massachusetts men, I think.
This afternoon I was amazed to come back to the house just as Aunt Mildred and Uncle Bill were walking across the lawn. We sat in the car and talked for about an hour and a half, and I could see they weren’t too happy about Dick . . . found him rather uncommunicative about his emotional state although he seemed to be cheerful and creative enough about his attitude toward his stay there.
I am enclosing the check, as you directed.
I hope, by the way, that you are feeling better, able to sleep, and aren’t letting finances or grampy’s retiring, bother you. I really wish you would give up teaching Sunday School. You work like a fiend all week teaching, and Sunday should be a day of rest. You should pamper yourself, have a long late breakfast, read, listen to music, lounge a little. I also hope you are wise about the extent and lateness of your baby sitting. Do feel free to tell me any problems that are bothering you. It takes my mind off myself to think of other people.
I look so forward to coming home in two weeks. I can’t believe I will live that long . . . it really is amazing that I have escaped without a cold so far this fall, and I know if I can make it to Thanksgiving without one, I will be able to rest up then and sail through till Xmas. I will be glad to drive the boys back. As I won’t have any time taken up with any sort of social life, I should have enough time left over to read and write my paper, and so forth. I will probably pay a few visits . . . to Pat O’neil, the Nortons’ and the Cantors (I must write them).
Don’t worry about the suit. I haven’t sent it off yet as I literally haven’t had a minute. I’ll see if I can manage this weekend.
Do be good to yourself.
xxxx
sivvy
TO Aurelia Schober Plath
Monday 17 November 1952*
ALS (postcard), Indiana University
Monday am.
Dear mum . . .
The week begins again. Last night I had dinner at Mr. & Mrs. Davis’ house* (my creative writing prof.) Another girl was there, too, and we had a nice time, although I did feel a bit awestruck in the presence of the great critic – (one of whose stories is in the latest New Yorker anthology.*) Saturday night I went to bed at 10:30 – (which is early for me) and got the first good night’s sleep, (with the aid of a phenobarb) for weeks. Friday night I had a lovely pizza supper with Marcia & Carol, and I got a long letter from Warren about politics. Next weekend I think I will double date with Marcia & Mike and a friend of Mike’s from Trinity. Charlie is a nice boy whom I met about 2 months ago, and the four of us should have a good conversational time. This
afternoon I am spending precious time going to a tea for a representative from Mademoiselle* for all those hundreds interested in the College Board. See you soon.
XXX
Sivvy
TO Aurelia Schober Plath
Wednesday 19 November 1952*
ALS with envelope,
Indiana University
Wednesday
Brace yourself and take a deep breath – not too nice:
Dear mother . . .
Thank you for the lovely newsy letter that came today . . . I was most amazed to hear from the anthology* – I sent a whole batch of poems off at the beginning of the year and forgot about them. I don’t know if it’s too impressive – since it’s probably a paper-bound pamphlet of bad poetry or something. When it comes down to it, we have paid them $5 for printing it! Evidently it’s just “honorary” & they probably print it on the money of the “subscribers.”
God, will I be glad to get home for a few days of rest. I am sorry to have to admit it, but I am in a rather tense emotional & mental state – and have been tense and felt literally sick for about a week now . . . a physical manifestation of a very frustrated mental state. The crux of the matter is my attitude toward life – hinging on my science course. I have practically considered committing suicide to get out of it . . . it’s like having my nose rubbed in my own slime. It just seems that I am running on a purposeless treadmill, behind and paralyzed in science – dreading every day of the horrible year ahead when I should be revelling in my major. I have become really frantic: small choices and events seem insurmountable obstacles, the core of life has fallen apart – I am obsessed by wanting to escape from that course. I curse myself for not having done it this summer – I try to learn the barren dry formulas – sick, I wonder why? Why? I feel actually ill when I open the book, and figure I am wasting 10 hours a week for the rest of the year. It affects all the rest of my life; I am behind in my Chaucer unit, feeling sterile in Creative Writing. My whole life is mastered by a horrible fear of this course – of the dry absurdities – the artificial formulas & combinations. I ask myself: why didn’t I take Geology – anything tangible would have been a blessing. Everyone else is abroad, or falling in love with their courses – I feel I have got to escape this, or go mad. How can I explain the irrevocable futility I feel! I don’t even want to understand it, which is the worst yet. It seems to have no relation to anything in my life. It is a year course. I have wondered, desperately, if I should go to the college psychiatrist and try to tell her how I feel about it how it is obsessing all my life, paralyzing my action in every other field. Life seems a mockery. I have the idea that if I could get out of this course: even for the second semester, I would be able to see light ahead. But I can’t go on like this. I have a paper & two exams after Thanksgiving, too. And I will have to study & rest all the time I am home. Luckily I haven’t gotten sinus yet – that would be another form of escapism. When one feels like leaving college and killing oneself over one course which actually nauseates one, it is a rather serious thing. Every day more and more piles up. I hate formulas, I don’t give a damn about valences, artificial atoms & molecules. It is pseudo-science – all theory; nothing to grasp. I am letting it ruin my whole life. I am really afraid to talk it over with the psychiatrist (symbol of a parent, or priest confessor) because they might make me drop my activities (Press Board in particular) and spend half my time pounding formulas and petty mathematical relationships (which I have long since forgotten) into my head when I basically don’t want to learn them. To be wasting all this year of my life, obsessed by this course, paralyzed by it, seems unbearable. I feel that absolved of it – with some sign of light ahead – I could again begin to live.