The Courage of Not Shutting Up

Aurelia Plath with her book Letters Home, getting her say.

Silenced by her son-in-law who held her grandchildren hostage, jeered by critics who judged her daughter's letters false but her daughter's fiction true, Aurelia Plath had things to say and intended to say them without destroying her life and relationships. [1]

Sylvia and Aurelia Plath carved out ways to say what they wished to say. When a circle of hearers was not enough they used the most durable communication tool they had access to: They wrote. If to get messages out they had to be artful, they'd message artfully.

First, Sylvia:

If being heard meant writing and publishing "grisly" and shocking works of art using ethnic slurs and making metaphors of the Holocaust and Hiroshima, poems spoken by figures jailed, raped, hunted, suicidal, burnt at the stake, with tongues cut out, Sylvia Plath would be heard. If it cost the good graces of family and mentors, Sylvia wanted her words not only heard but printed and read. Sylvia lived to be read. Readers wanting more would pay to read more. This might have worked to Sylvia's benefit had she and strangers been the only people in the world.

Shutting up became such an occasion that Sylvia wrote a poem about how hard it was: "The Courage of Shutting Up" (first titled "The Courage of Quietness").

Aurelia Plath's diaries, now at the Plath family archive at Yale and I hope not locked away, show Aurelia trained from youth to minimize or hide her life's most consequential facts. Even to herself she could not be so brazen as to say The money's run out. I married a brute. Censure awaited those who complained (let gratitude be your attitude!) or the world could trot out scripture to remind women in particular not to speak.

To communicate artfully and modestly, those taught to measure their words tucked little notes beneath plates, and wrote in margins and in shorthand their families could not read. They spoke sub rosa, used maxims and quotations, euphemisms, greeting cards, formalities. They made suggestions and gave hints. They wrote each other long letters. They sent money. Those able might risk writing a poem or publishing a book. By no means was this the same as shutting up.

[1] "Letters Home can be read like a novel: all this truth, even the frank disclosures are very close to fiction." New York Times Book Review, 14 December 1975.