It had to happen. Sylvia Plath has haunted so many people, from her late husband and son, her mother before them, the rest of her family, her teachers, her friends, and her doctors, that not to allow her right of reply would be to leave a gap in the record that would be - indeed, has already become - intolerable to later generations. Say what you will, Plath was a brilliant poet and writer, tried to do it all in terms of being a perfect daughter, wife and mother, and was hyper sensitive to and felt hyper responsible for any failures of her own, even those that may have been the result of failures by others.
2013 is the 50th anniversary of her death in London by suicide. I will be inviting you to read about her life. When I became privy to the facts of that life I could hardly believe what I was learning myself. Inevitably, such deep study raises questions, not least why, when she was making a name for herself in England, knew the quality of her own work (work that would go on to win her a posthumous Pulitzer Prize), and was a devoted mother to her two children, did she lose all hope, becoming depressed enough to end her life? I hope to have answered at least some of these questions satisfactorily. Inevitably, there will be further questions.
