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What better way to spend a Friday?
Today I just started reading a book on Sparky, my Kindle…a book that has been languishing there since last year, so reading it will accomplish another check on the list for my Mt. TBR Challenge. Already I’m enjoying it. Pain, Parties, Work: Sylvia Plath in New York – Summer 1953, by Elizabeth Winder, spotlights a time that I recognize from my own younger days.
Beginning: (The First Week: Euphoria)
Her room was the size of a decent closet—beige walls trimmed in maroon paint. A dark green carpet, ferny bedspread with rose-patterned ruffles like Snow White’s muted forest. There was green upholstery on the low parlor chair. A desk for typing wedged neatly at the bed’s foot. Above the bed there was a speaker box that piped in music if you turned a knob.
56: (Looking back at Sylvia’s Childhood)
And there was something of Saint Therese de Lisieux about her—collecting cockles and seaweed and talking to mermaids. A sensitive little pagan with a blond braid down her back.
Amazon Description: “I dreamed of New York, I am going there.”
On May 31, 1953, twenty-year-old Sylvia Plath arrived in New York City for a one-month stint at “the intellectual fashion magazine” Mademoiselle to be a guest editor for its prestigious annual college issue. Over the next twenty-six days, the bright, blond New England collegian lived at the Barbizon Hotel, attended Balanchine ballets, watched a game at Yankee Stadium, and danced at the West Side Tennis Club. She typed rejection letters to writers from The New Yorker and ate an entire bowl of caviar at an advertising luncheon. She stalked Dylan Thomas and fought off an aggressive diamond-wielding delegate from the United Nations. She took hot baths, had her hair done, and discovered her signature drink (vodka, no ice). Young, beautiful, and on the cusp of an advantageous career, she was supposed to be having the time of her life.