HEY! WHATCHA DOIN'?

Gentle Readers . . . and Maxwell,

My title comes from two recollections I had today. One is of a young woman I knew many years ago when I was an even younger woman. She was from Boston and told me how she hated it when Midwesterners replaced hi with hey.* I did not mention how it grated on my nerves when she said youse guys. The second is of a little girl who used to spend a lot of time with her grandparents next door.* When she spotted me she always called out, Hi! How are ya? 

So now I give you a hey and express a desire to know how you are and what's going on with you. What are you reading? What are you watching? What are you working on around the house? What are you chastising yourself about because you haven't worked on it? What have you done that's fun or relaxing or enjoyable? Fill me in.

To celebrate my job offer, I ordered a hardcover copy of Red Comet: The Short Life and Blazing Art of Sylvia Plath by Heather Clark. I did not realize I was getting a 1,000 page book, so for the next year when you ask what I'm reading, I'll probably answer Red Comet.

Plath is one of my two favorite poets. The other is Emily Dickinson. At page 140 in Red Comet, I'm thrilled by Clark's analysis of Plath's work, how it relates to her life, and how it changed as her skills and viewpoints developed. Clark uses a lot of quotations from letters and Plath's journals. I never noticed before that for all of Sylvia Plath's intelligence and fine education, she did not spell well, so (sic) turns up frequently. 

In her Prologue, I was thrilled to read Clark's goal: I hope to free Plath from the cultural baggage of the past fifty years and reposition her as one of the most important American writers of the twentieth century. . . . She ought to be remembered for her transcendent, trailblazing poems, not for gassing herself in her kitchen.

Loving Plath's poetry should not relegate one to a misogynistic concept of a suicide-loving cult. I find the relationship between Plath's life and her poetry of particular relevance because of the confessional aspect of her work, but she should not be read as merely confessional. There is so much more to her writing, and Plath herself said that she did not approve of what she called unformed cries from the heart.

I'm also fascinated by Plath's life because I see her as an emblem of the 1950's young woman who has been shaped by views of what a woman's life should be, yet she wants more. Plath wanted to marry and have children and be a wonderful cook and keep a lovely home, and she wanted to be an artist; and it is very hard to be a wife and a mother and a housekeeper and a cook and a laundress and find the time and energy for artistry or anything else.

I also wanted and wanted and was weighed down by expectations. 

Red Comet is my family room book––the book I read when I'm in that room. In my bedroom, I read on my kindle. My current book is Joyce Maynard's latest novel: Count The Ways. I might end up liking it even more than my favorite Maynard book, Labor Day. When my eyes are tired or I want to have my hands and eyes free to embroider, then I listen to an Audible book. At the moment it's Wild by Cheryl Strayed, which thus far does not impress me. I saw the movie version long ago. It didn't impress me either, but I retained hope for the book. Oh, well.

More to come. So much more to come.

Infinities of love,

Janie Junebug

*I remember the young woman from Boston because of the elaborate story she told me about her wealthy newspaper-owning family. I learned later than none of it was true.

**The grandparents moved away. I wasn't sorry to see the whole kit and caboodle go. I had once caught a glimpse of their kitchen and was shocked by the filth. After they left, I learned the entire house was in sad condition, with mold hanging like lace from the ceilings and fleas in the carpets. I hope the child's health wasn't damaged by the time she spent there.