The Space Between
Usually, I don’t like big books. The sweeping novel comes to mind — full of tedious details, long digressions, too much banality. I want intensity; I want strangeness; I want to be thrown into a tidal wave, thrashed around, and aggressively spit out. I want a story to leave me in a hazy, tender, postorgasmic stupor. That’s why I love short stories; there’s more room for interpretation. With a short story, we have to fill in the blanks. It’s similar to the liminality of a crush: the enchantment exists in the distance between you and the one you desire, in the mysterious in-between place of knowing and not-knowing. This doesn’t mean a long story can’t have a similar effect. I’ve not read Ulysses, but I assume it’s a strange and experimental book worth reading. But more often than not, door-stopper books are not my favorite.
It’s safe to assume that if it’s hard for me to get through a sweeping saga, it’s nearly impossible for me to read a dense biography. This is true. Except recently, I found an exception: Red Comet: The Short Life and Blazing Art of Sylvia Plath by Heather Clark. It’s over 1,000 pages long — a real whopper! I’m a little over halfway through, and I can tell this biography is different; this one reads like a fever dream.
I doubt many share my reaction to Red Comet, but that’s probably because they’re not reading it like I am. When reading a big book, I often alternate between the physical copy and the audio version. I listen while driving, folding laundry, and right before I fall asleep (my favorite time to read). Bedtime is a liminal space, an in-between space — a threshold between waking and sleeping. When I’m in this foggy limbo, my thoughts slip back and forth between reality and fiction, and when I wake up — if I remember anything at all — it’s hard to distinguish what the truth is. And because I listen to Plath’s biography while in this disorienting stage of sleep, Plath’s thoughts and my thoughts sometimes mysteriously meld together. I’m often left wondering: “Was that me or was that Plath?”
This murky mind-meld is also influenced by my longtime affinity for Plath. I was the stereotypical moody teenage girl. I wrote terrible poetry, listened to Riot Grrrl music, and proudly considered myself a nonconformist feminist (think Kat Stratford from Ten Things I Hate About You mixed with Angela Chase from My So-Called Life). Inside my teenage journals are scribbled quotes and poems by Emily Dickinson and Sylvia Plath — two of America’s greatest female poets. At fourteen, I knew very little about these women, but I connected to their restlessness and rich — sometimes dark— inner worlds. Reading Plath’s journal entry, “'I am a victim of introspection,” was profound for me as a girl. I often felt burdened by my relentless thoughts and sensitivity. Finding Plath’s work helped me feel less alone. I can see now how those early teenage years are also an in-between space: you’re no longer a child, but you’re also not an adult. It’s an uncertain time, with many opportunities to change and grow.
It’s as if my connection to Plath, her work, and Red Comet exists within a liminal space, a space between what was and what is to come. She’s there when I’m passing a threshold: from child to teenager, young woman to mid-life, from awake to asleep. Unconsciously, I’ve inserted Plath’s work into my liminal spaces, both physically and mentally. She inhabits this strange period of waiting. I think liminality, like Plath, is often misunderstood and can be oversimplified as “crazy”. But if you’re willing to take the time to learn and pay attention, you may find something, or someone, incredible is waiting to be known.
Listen
I initially thought I was writing a quick “Listen List” that revolved around Plath, but this post has morphed into something else entirely. Still, I want to recommend a few things:
Listen to Red Comet: The Short Life and Blazing Art of Sylvia Plath. Typically, I don’t alternate between a physical book and its audio version, but with a book this big, it really helps you get through it. Plus, I find Laura Jennings’s voice calming.
For more background on this massive piece of work, listen to author Heather Clark in conversation with Courtney Balestier on the WMFA Podcast. “I Did Not Want Her Name to Be Synonymous with Madness.”
Listen to: Syliva Plath reading her poetry. You can hear her read some of her most famous poems, “Lady Lazarus” and “Daddy,” and a few lesser-known stunners like “Mushrooms” and “Cut.”
Music that reminds me of liminal space
Fiona Apple: “I Want You To Love Me”
All of Kate Bush’s music (listen to her Greatest Hits)
Bjork: “Hidden Place”
Julee Cruise: “Floating”
Related posts:
Past Listen Lists:
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