by Sylvia Plath
anyway, I managed to extract a lot of substance from your rather complex and provocative dissertation concerning aerial castles and the dangers and delights thereof. I think, for the most part, that I comprehend. I had a rather singular experience which I may have told you about which points up the possible consequences of a prolonged letter-writing experience between male and female: in brief, (?) this was a clinical example of what disillusion may follow a correspondence which is entirely two-dimensional (all on paper) without any basis on physical and practical realities.
for a year or so, as the result of vital and most intriguingly intelligent letters from an unknown black-haired fellow (who had read one of my tear-jerking adolescent stories in “17” and somehow deduced that we had great things in common) I poured out my ideas, emotions, and reactions to life in frequent cathartic abandon, and sent them off to chicago. the actual attachment that we two built up, based on utter trust and faith in each other, and complete frankness about our romantic involvements and problems and our ideological growth, became most vivid and important to us. since we both wrote in a free and easy conversational style, the letters were really close to talking, and we seemed to have an instinctive understanding of each others predilections.
the whole affair went along just fine, until I walked downstairs into the livingroom of haven house at college and found an unfamiliar young man waiting for me. as it was the day spring vacation began, I first assumed he must be the taxi driver, until he took the pipe out of his mouth and remarked with a cryptic smile: “this is the third dimension.” the shock was enormous. he drove me home, and even a pink convertible couldn’t help me to make the natural integration between the fiery, independent, idealistic, pragmatic, vehement personality that I had become fond of in the letters . . . and the quiet, reserved, tense, almost inarticulate male at my side in the car. we had occasionally jokingly reffered in letters to what would have happened if we ever met, but since he happened to be as serious about a special member of the opposite sex as I was, we agreed never to cross each other’s paths, and that was to be that.
but here I had gone and built up in my most agile and capricious mind an image of a tall dark compelling guy who would talk and act like his letters. and here was a stranger I simply couldn’t adjust to. even after hours of a bull session in some hash house along the road, I found that I was doing all the talking, and he just didn’t have the complex ingredients that make up an attractive personality. the let-down was really depressing; it was also unfortunate that, for him, my letters and my personality coincided. oh well, chalk it up.
at any rate, one of the purposes behind going into this is to say that I know what happens to so many of those aerial castles that get built without prosaic foundations like basements and reliable central heating. in the words of one of our more minor and embryonic poets:
“The magic golden apples all look good
Although the wicked witch had poisoned one:
Oh, never try to knock on rotten wood.
From here the moon seems smooth as angel food,
From here you can’t see spots upon the sun:
Never try to know more than you should.”*
all right, we’ll say “no prefabricated castles”. naturally inclined to idealism, I would have found it hard to admit to the inevitable little flaws and lop-sidednesses in every human nature several years ago. in this world, I am beginning to realize more and more, if the man can produce quite deft and architectural pen and ink sketches and know just when to send dark red roses with just what words, he may, in regrettable addition, blow bubbles in his chicken soup. or something. or the girl with butter yellow hair and the tricky cocktail conceits may just not happen to give a blink of her doe-eyes for fireside evenings reading dylan thomas aloud. so there it is, and of course it’s much more complex than that. it all depends what you rate highest in your slide-rule scale of values.
as for “playing parts”. ah, such fun, and, one thinks, so safe. if one particularly vulnerable character gets wounded to the core, one can always pretend to whip off the mask, shrug the shoulders, and reveal the mocking and unhurt smile of the actor behind, ready for new and better things. when the truth, all this time, may be the reverse: the hurt face the real one, the smile being the protective and camouflaging mask. and in how many varied roles do we like to see ourselves: the serious creator, the strong honest out-door type that scorns persiflage, the urbane and seductive partygoer; the eggs-and-bacon-and-coffee girl in a housecoat who can also exist somehow on olives, roquefort and daiquiris while clad in black velvet, and make a switch to a tanned saltwater and sunworshipping pagan. and different situations open different doors---shall we release the lady? or the tiger? someday, somewhere, with someone, there may be the chance to balance, to stabilize, to learn to integrate all. who knows? but maybe?
all this meandering about parts and facets of personality reminds me of an amusing flick I saw in town yesterday (driving in in the midst of a novel snowstorm.) “The Captain’s Paradise”, with my pet “Alec Guiness”.* made me think of you, as always when I see a boat or anything nautical. seems this handsome genius of a captain, shuttling back and forth between gibraltar and africa, managed two blissful menages, diametrically opposed to each other, but sufficing to keep him perfectly happy: the hot, voluptuous, libidinous child of nature on one shore (pampered by gifts of hothouse roses, naughty black underthings, and bikinis) and the veddy domestic, stable, homecooking wife on the other shore (who lapsed into controlled ecstasies over vacuum cleaning attachments and singer sewing machines). sound like fun? well, he managed. with finesse.
that is, until the two consistent and unchanging natures of the women he had set up to delight him forever began to show the versatility of the human personality. the sexy dancer begins to want to settle down to home life like other gals; the staid housewife takes to gin to help her enter in on all the nightlife fun she’s missed, and the poor captain tries to no avail to force his women back into the mono-roles he had planned them to retain always. to no avail. they both leave him, lovely, lovely.
reminding me of the adage that a woman needsthree husbands: one to support her in style, one to be an intellectual companion, and one to make competent love . . . or something to that effect. here again, hyperbole. but I vote for versatility, combining several of the desirable characteristics in one personality. complex, but fun.
now this is going on and on. the end draws near. I just want to say that my garrulity tonight is a result of my prolonged silence. also, I like writing to you, talking about anything that comes to mind (incidents, ideas, be they serious or frivolous) and I like thinking that you can share some of your adventures, etc., with me.
I apologize for the fact that my actual living experiences won’t be particularly unique and scintillating for a while yet: someday I will no doubt be able to joke about the characters and experiences I’ve had at mclean, but not on paper. I have met a lot of nice girls, though--a friend from smith who was in your class I mean “year”, one from cornell, and several from vassar---due to winter closing in the opportunities for tennis, badminton rates as the favorite sport, and I’m just learning and having fun doing it. also am playing around with ceramics---liking designing, etc.
I went skating today over in Walpole with a friend in spite of a snowstorm. you would have hysterics if you saw me: I never really learned to skate at the age when all children should because my ankles more or less collapsed, so I am a complete novice. today, however, I must chalk one up because I managed to skate (forward with nothing fancy) a good long time without either taking a nosedive or plunging through the ice. my triumph will come years hence when I learn to skate backwards.
which reminds me: there are so many things I want to learn to do . . . you always impressed me becaused you seem so competently versatile in every respect. I feel much in the position of a willing and eager apprentice to a sleight-of-living artist. just hope I can keep close enough to your mental and technical advance
ment to make it worthwhile for you to converse. I do like sharing.
tonight, before going back to mclean, I am typing an english paper of warren’s . . . all about Brueghel’s painting Icarus* and three varying critical interpretations of it ( one of which is w. h. auden’s delightful “musee des beaux arts”). wonderful as my kid brother may be, he certainly had a wicked time writing papers of any kind, or expressing himself in literary form of any kind. his mind is the methodical, literal (not ary) scientific kind, mainly, I think. a good balance and ballast for mine, what?
eight above zero and snowing again now at midnight.
random sleepy thoughts, blurring now, making me feel in a jokable mood . . . like quoting pooh bear. or something.
if you like getting letters, I’ll keep up this sort of thing. in fact, I probably will anyway, unless the navy sends me an injunction to stop ruining the morale of its ensigns.
tell me about your ensigns paradise. will you sojourn on the riviera? or visit the blue grotto? or turn leftist on the bank?
let me know also if there are any special news-items you particularly like to hear about. I like talking to you, listening to you, or your music, or reading . . . oh, well, enough. comrade.
your somnolent
sylvia
TO Marion Freeman
Saturday 16 January 1954
ALS, Smith College
January 16, ’54
Dearest Aunt Marion . . .
Just a little note to tell you how very much your last two sweet and thoughtful letters meant to me – you write so well! I could just picture the snow coming down the way you described it, and I know the way you feel about the freshness and purity of it.
Ruthie wrote me the dearest letter about her experiences over New Year’s and at school. She is such a wonderful girl – I just hope our long friendship will last for always! I’m sure she will have the best of times this summer, too.
Recently the hospital has been letting me come home every weekend so I will slowly start getting used to living in the “outside” world again. My visits have worked out quite well, in general – I saw “Captain’s Paradise” in town last weekend with mother and Mrs. Norton. This weekend I went to a “bridge tournament” of two tables – as I am merely a beginner at bridge, I was a bit skeptical about my value as a partner, but was at the table of those who were not experts, fortunately, and so all went well and was fun.
Perhaps mother has already chatted with you about the good news – my doctors have talked things over and decided that the best plan is for me to go back to Smith as a junior this second semester and take only 3 courses instead of 5, taking life very easy, with no pressure of a lot of studying or having to get a certain average of marks. Then, if all goes well, I shall complete next year as a senior. Really it is so much pleasanter to contemplate than going back a comparative “stranger” next year. My class graduates this June, and I’ll be able to enjoy their company at the same time as I make friends with my junior class which I will be part of next year. So in two short weeks I will have made the transition into the “outside” world of responsibility and independence. I expect it will be difficult in many ways – adjusting to the faster pace of normal life and activity again, but I hope I shall be able to go at it with a much more philosophic and serene attitude!
Your messages have helped so much, dear Aunt Marion – and I so enjoyed reading your entertaining clippings – very best love to all – wish me luck!
Yours,
Sivie
TO Enid Mark
Monday 18 January 1954
TLS with envelope, Smith College
January 18, 1954
Dear Enid . . .
Your last plump letter was a delight . . . with all the wonderful news in it! First, how can I ever tell you how happy I am about your engagement!* Your husband-to-be sounds like the sort of man we used to talk about in our confidential sessions, and I would be most pleased to have the chance of meeting him someday in the future.
All in all, your year sounds most idyllic . . . what with the intriguing thesis topic, and work with such fine, stimulating people as R. G. and Mr. Jules!* As for seeing you, I am glad to say that it will be sooner than I hoped . . . the doctors here have agreed to my going back to Smith for the second semester as a junior, and taking a light program of three courses, to get back into the swing of academic life without any pressure, or at least as little as possible.
It will be so good to get back on campus for the spring, even if I won’t be graduating with you . . . because I want so very much to renew our friendship! I’ll be coming back Saturday of midsemester weekend, and, needless to say, will look forward to catching up with you on the multitude of ideas and events that have occurred since last we met.
From my large windows, now, I can see the gray mist of fog thickening and settling on the wide landscape . . . over the snowcovered golf course, and the small gray chapel. The lights have just come on, and hang suspended in luminous haloes of honey-colored brilliance on the path leading down to the town. I feel a peace and serenity just looking at the graying shadows of the trees and thinking that soon I will be back again with my favorite friends, relearning the academic routine . . . more slowly, but surely.
Life here has been rather markedly unscholastic in the bookish sense of the word . . . although I’ve been learning a good deal about human character. Time flows by lazily, with tobogganing, playing badminton and bridge, hashing out life in the coffee shop, taking in good movies . . . and I’ve become quite a devotee of ceramics . . . it’s such fun. Jane Anderson lives just down the hall from me (you remember her, don’t you? lived in Gilette, and was president of her sophomore class.) and we have gotten to be very good friends as we have shared so much (even Dick!)
I can hardly believe that I’ll be seeing you . . . in less than two weeks! It will be so good to catch up on things . . . .
Until later,
best love,
Syl
TO Sally Rogers*
Thursday 21 January 1954*
TLS with envelope, Smith College
Lawrence House
Smith College
Northampton, Mass.
Dear Sally . . .
Please do forgive me for not answering your letter sooner . . . but I just received it a short while ago. You see, I had to miss the first semester of college this year as I was ill and had to be in the hospital for a few months. Fortunately, though, I am back for the second semester.
You asked me to tell you about Smith . . . and how it would suit you for a college career. Well, I’m afraid I first have to confess that I’m tremendously prejudiced in favor of the college, and rather enthusiastic about the whole set-up of the place. As far as I’m concerned, all types and varieties of girls can be happy at Smith . . . because there are so many girls from all over the country (and from foreign countries, too) there is ample opportunity for “finding” yourself in any of the multitude of friendly groups that are formed through the associations you form in your house, your classes, your sports, and your extra-curricular activities.
Maybe I’d better give you an idea of my own personality orientation so you can better understand what my own particular biases are. I consider myself an ordinary high school graduate, with a maximum interest in English and people. I never had a particularly riproaring social life at high, and I frankly couldn’t have afforded to go to Smith if I hadn’t gotten a scholarship from the college, lived in a Co-operative house (in many ways, the friendliest houses on campus) and waitressed on tables one meal a day to help with expenses, and worked during the summers. Roughly, expenses---tuition, board and room and incidentals, mount up to well over $2000 . . . but work and scholarship help can take a big slice off that.
Smith, of course, is rather large in numbers, but it makes up for that in the way life is arranged in small groups . . . , and my memories are not so much of the weekly Wednesday chapel meetings where well over 2000 girls congregate, but rather of the intimate
after-dinner coffee sessions with professors visiting the house, art club meetings in the museum lounge, small class “sections”---a refreshing contrast to the large lecture halls where most of the big freshman courses take place . . . and the fun of being part of a crew team or a basketball team: all these characteristics make it relatively easy to extend personal relationships, and though I can’t guarantee being accepted by “everyone”, I can guarantee that eventually you will orient yourself in a group of warm friends who share your interests, whatever they are.
The faculty, I am sure, is one of the finest in the country . . . fine concerts, exhibits, and speakers are always scheduled . . . and extra-curricular activities give you a chance to follow up your hobby interests . . . whether they be inclined to horseback riding, politics, debating, writing, playing hockey or whatever.
If you think you’d like a smaller group of girls to live with, you might apply to one of the smaller and homier houses, like Dewey, or Sessions, or Haven . . . rather than to the large and more magnificent architectural creation of the Quadrangle---of course, it all depends on your personality characteristics.
I know that many people told me that I’d feel “out-of-place” with so many girls, and most of them so wealthy. The truth is, I found many more close friends than I would have at a smaller college where the choice would not have been so great, and since the “Smith uniform” is generally dungarees and sweaters or skisuits in the winter, and Bermuda shorts in the spring and fall, I found that my wardrobe expenses were almost nil. Sweaters and skirts at dinner and for the evening were in order, and weekend dating (here or away) dresses were an entirely individual matter of preference. “Social life” is a whirl for just about any freshman who wants it to be that way. Big introductory dances for freshman are staged with freshman from near-by men’s colleges, and “blind dates” are as easy to pick as daisies!