A previously unpublished poem by Sylvia Plath has been released. I know, isn't it "thrilling"?
Does it make me a terrible person/English major if I admit I never "got" the fuss about old Sylvie and really don't care about her crappy life? I mean, it's tragic when anyone feels so hopeless about life that they stick they're head in the oven, but does that automatically make one a literary genius? Perhaps I'm too hard on her, though. It's not her fault she was portrayed by Gwenyth Paltrow, my antipathy to which is big enough that I'd cheer if she stuck her head in an oven. Fake British cow...
ANYway, if you like Sylvia more than I do, go read "Ennui" (that's the poem).
(Via Books, Inq.)
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