I am forever interested in girl artists who make art about girls. Regrettably, I am unable to regret my lack of interest in other artists. (Just kidding--it's not regrettable at all.) However, the topics of craziness, having a body, gender--these all interest me, even when tackled by masculine people.
Sylvia Plath becomes relevant. I am so incredibly done being mocked for my emotional investment in Plath. "Lots of young women all relate to this other young woman who wrote about the experience of being a young woman? Gosh, let's do our best to make her fans feel small." Go to hell. Actually don't, because that's where Sylvia and I have been hanging out. (I know--overdramatic.)
I read something the other day about how it's misogynistic that Plath has been framed as a "crazy writer" in a way that male mentally ill writers haven't. (See also: treatment of Zelda Fitzgerald versus her husband.) Which is true, of course. But it also makes me angry, because Plath being crazy is a huge part of why I'm interested in her, and why her work and life are important to me.
She functioned/dysfunctioned in ways that I don't. Disparate experiences, and yet I see so much of myself in her. It's funny, though--I don't think we'd get along if we ever actually met. I would admire but envy her precocious, incisive genius, because I like to be the best, and she would feel contempt for me. We would jostle too much.
It's like how Lolita makes me feel. I'm nothing like Dolly and a lot like Hum, minus the pedophile rapist bit, but I relate to Lo almost as much as I relate to him. The feeling of being captured. The objectification and destruction of girlhood. I often fall asleep listening to Lolita--I wonder if it's good for me (the beautiful language) or bad for me (the tragic content).
It occurs to me that Dolly and I would also hate each other, but that I'd probably get along well with HH. Nothing has been as sad in weeks.
No comments :
Post a Comment