I finally finished this wonderful journal by Ms Sylvia Plath; evocative and on occasion disturbing, but always exploding with passion. This woman was born to write; she awoke in the morning and the first thing on her mind was to write, and the art of writing would permeate her soul until her head fell on the pillow at the close of the day. Writing was what sustained her, enveloped her, and being a successful writer was what enabled her to get up in the morning.
To continue to write in the face of the many rejections she received from numerous publishing houses would at times prove too much for even her to bear, but stand she did, and continue to write - by golly she did. What else could she do but write. In the end the exceedingly high standards that she set for herself became too high, too far reaching for even her. In the end she would come stumbling down from that great height, and the fall would be too much for even her to recover from.
In the end this life and the great expectations she imposed upon herself were all too much. A tragic end was inevitable.
But we all know that although this may have been the end of the struggle that was Plath's life; this was really just the beginning of her being recognized as the brilliant writer that she always was. How unfortunate that like many great writers/artists this success came too late for her to revel in the glow of this much sort after recognition.
Plath will continue to live on through her work, and continue to inspire women, like myself to endure this struggle that we call life, and to reach for the stars.