Today I curled up with a pot of Earl Grey and read The Unabridged Journals of Sylvia Plath (2000). Her journals begin in 1950 when Plath was 18, a freshman at Smith. They end in early 1962. Ted Hughes burned the last journal (in which she no doubt recorded his mental cruelty and philandering). She killed herself February 11, 1963.

NYT review: “As maddeningly incomplete as they are, these journals are a revelation. Most strikingly, where one expects morbidity, one finds instead an almost pagan relish for life.”

[Thinks of the line from Annie Hall: “Oh, Sylvia Plath, whose tragic suicide was misinterpreted as romantic by the schoolgirl mentality.”]

Well, Woody Allen got it 2/3 right. Her suicide was tragic. My schoolgirl mentality could relate to aspects of Sylvia’s life. But nothing about her death seemed “romantic.”

Her journal is absorbing on many different levels, though: voyeuristic (a glimpse into a sexy debutante’s not-so-good-girl’s journal); analytic/medical (a glimpse into a young, intelligent mind on-the-edge-of-madness), academic (a chance to live vicariously through her “dream” academic career), and as a period piece (a vivid trek through 1950’s life and mores).

The hours flew by. I got home with her words throbbing in my temples and feeling the weight of a familiar brilliance, creative inspiration, trivial foolishness and pettiness . . . elements that unchecked can destroy a human spirit . . .

Felt no deep affinity with Sylvia Plath, just sympathy and a confused relief that through cruel (?) fate my own life was denied that sort of insanity, intensity and a career in the world of screwed-up narcissistic poets. (Came close, though.)

A quick read; fairly entertaining: competent, bland, tactful. I have long been curious as to how Madelyn Pugh became successful at a time when television writing was dominated by men; I admit I was hoping for an Unsinkable Molly Brown tale, imagining her to be sort of a bitchy, backstabbing, beer-guzzling, clawing-her-way-to-the-top gal. No such luck. Damn! Basically, she paints herself as a Bland Token Woman Employee: a hard-working dame who mostly thought like a man and didn’t cause the network execs trouble.

I saw Amy Grant and Michael W. Smith at an Orange County concert in 2003. The show wasn’t well-attended, and it was clear Amy was not impressed with the thin crowd . . . the result was quite amusing. She wasn’t exactly a grump, but there was a plucky, almost curmudgeonly quality about her disappointment that was very endearing. In this live performance, you could really see the strong personality behind this early Christian star . . . not a surprise because after all, she making a name for herself long before there was such a thing as a female Christian pop star, (much less a “cross-over” star). Anyone who could have blazed THAT trail so successfully must have had some steel in her spine . . . and it’s clear she did.

So, that’s why when Mosaic came out, I was looking forward to reading it. I guess I was hoping that side of her personality would shine through again . . . the strength and stubborness and the “cute grouch” . . . but alas! it wasn’t there. Closest she came was including a funny, funny story about how her three children reacted to roadkill (in their own unique styles) . . . other than that, her personality via Mosaic comes across as being a bit whitewashed and artificial . . . too bad, because she is neither of those things.

Emotional, but not too heavy. It’s a book about forgiveness and growth, but hey, if you’re just not in the mood to forgive and grow TODAY, you don’t close the book laden with guilt . . . no preachiness. Just good old-fashioned storytelling. (Hood’s writing style reminds me of Maeve Binchy.)

A great book for a less-than-perfect dog owner.

WARNING: Check out Amazon.com to see the complaints.

If you enjoy this type of writing, you could very well be a Michael Ondaatje fan, too.

I like books of lists. And lists of lists to help me remember lists.

This book is a gem.

For anyone who is fed up with consumerism . . . and cares about ecology . . . and peace . . .this book is SO FRESH. Ahead of its time, IMHO. Entertaining and very worthwhile read.

My favorite films, books, shows, etc. are those which exhalt that lovely hiding place between fantasy and reality . . . where human beings are safe and strong.

The 1962 version is superb; the special edition with commentary enriches the experience that much more.