How Much Money Aurelia Got For Sylvia's Letters

It was such a big event in Aurelia's life I had to pursue the question although told the answer was confidential, none of my business, they didn't know or they wouldn't say.

Aurelia Plath was paid $190,000 for her daughter Sylvia's letters and other items now in the Sylvia Plath mss. at the Lilly Library at Indiana University at Bloomington.

The sale, through a dealer, was completed in March 1977.

$190,000 in 1977 is worth in 2024 either $985,150 or $1,101,400. In either case, a cool million.

Worth it, for Sylvia's letters home, early short stories, diaries, paintings, and memorabilia: more than 3,000 items. Aurelia opened the Lilly collection to the public having decided what the public should see. I think she removed Sylvia's "lost" short stories "The Trouble-Making Mother" and "The Mummy." But let's admire Aurelia's amazing foresight in amassing and preserving for 45 years this dazzling literary trove and making it available. Many a scholar has made money from it.

Aurelia's writings and correspondence never mention meeting an appraiser or dealer, or negotiations over the price and dealer's fee.

Aurelia -- in 1977, age 70 -- for tax reasons divided the $190,000 into 10 annual payments. [1]

I heard more than once that the dealer held back some items and sold them.

Aurelia at a later time donated further Plath materials to the Lilly Library's Sylvia Plath archive.

[1] In 1977 a single filer with a taxable income of $19,000 (in 2024 money, $100,000) was taxed at 34 percent. $190,000 would have been taxed at 70 percent. TaxFoundation.org.

Beth Hinchliffe's Unpublished Sylvia Plath Biography

How differently we would read Sylvia Plath's work and life story had Elizabeth Hinchliffe's Plath biography been completed and published, showing Sylvia and Otto and Aurelia at their weakest and most helpless, portrayals that biographies have tried to avoid.

Part One of The Descent of Ariel, 58 pages, depicts Sylvia, in London in her final winter, as a nuisance who pounded on her downstairs neighbor's door until he opened it and wailed for his help: Would he please crawl over the roof and through a window because she'd locked herself out of her flat? Did he know a plumber? Clearly we're getting the neighbor's view of Sylvia. (In this manuscript he's called "Evans.") Hinchliffe notes that when snowbound, Sylvia had no other adult besides "Evans" to talk with; she didn't yet have a telephone.

Now, I don't believe everything I read unless I can find corroboration and I had to find my own because this manuscript has no footnotes.

Corroboration: Sylvia's anguished letters from fall and winter 1962 and '63, and Dr. Anita Helle, a Plath relative: "Sylvia was almost beside herself with grief and terror in her last months."[1]

In the next chapter Otto Plath's fellow graduate students at Harvard's Bussey Institute describe Otto as a a timid, sniffling outsider who agreed with whatever anyone said and defended himself by quoting other people. A nice guy, someone said, who didn't "carry the guns" to be a scientist. Feared completing his dissertation because then he would have to defend it.

This matches the Otto of the 1918 FBI report: a nervous, morbid man who made no friends, lied that he thought he was a U.S. citizen, and when asked about the war did not say he was a pacifist. 

Otto saved his "Daddy" act for home. His kids learned to shed their real selves at the door and became quiet, well-mannered robot children so he wouldn't yell at them the way he yelled at their mother. They'd assume this outer armor for the rest of their lives.

Aurelia described her own parents as sources of love and laughter -- not as Austrian immigrants who shut out neighbors and tried to re-create Austria in their living room, speaking only German, teaching obedience to authority, to hide one's emotions, work hard, and expect the worst. I'd add that Aurelia's parents were Roman Catholics, a faith centered on sacrifice. They were taught to believe that mother pelicans, when they had to, tore their own flesh to feed the blood to their children. Although pelicans don't really do that. 

Interesting: It was Aurelia's mother who looked for houses and found the one on Elmwood Road. Aurelia was at work, of course. Aurelia's mother had a car and was the household's only driver. So quit saying Aurelia chose the WASPiest house she could find because becoming a WASP was her ambition.

About Aurelia Plath -- plainly the source and link to much of this information -- the unfinished biography says Aurelia wanted her children to have the fun and freedom her own childhood did not. It doesn't mention Aurelia's job or college years, or any of her triumphs; in fact portrays her as friendless. So even a neighbor and professional journalist was another in a long line of biographers who didn't ask Aurelia about herself. 

The text is well-woven, well written and absorbing.

The manuscript, in the Fran McCullough archive at the Hornbake Library at the University of Maryland-College Park, is 123 pages and incomplete. It includes a few photos. It's undated.

[1] A. Helle, "Family Matters," Northwest Review, Vol. 26 No. 2, 1988.

Poems About Aurelia Plath

Perseus isn't finished with Medusa until he turns his mother's suitor into stone.

"Sappho" by Beth Hinchliffe. America magazine, 29 June 2023. This poem was a runner-up in the Jesuit magazine's annual poetry contest. Aurelia Plath's friend and neighbor, journalist and author of an unpublished Plath biography, Hinchliffe said this was the first poem she ever wrote.

"Cottage Street, 1953" by Richard Wilbur, first published in 1972, describes Aurelia and a very depressed Sylvia having tea at his mother-in-law Edna Ward's house on Cottage Street in Wellesley. Mrs. Ward was Aurelia's friend. Hear Wilbur read the poem (and defend it).

"Aurelia Plath Confesses" by Lisa Mullenneaux, published in Prairie Schooner, Vol. 93, No. 2, Summer 2019. Mullenneaux is a poet, scholar, translator, and professor of writing, best known for the essay "Can You Call Her Sister? Amelia Rosselli on Sylvia Plath."

"Medusa" by Sylvia Plath (1962).

Frieda Hughes wrote several poems about her grandmother Aurelia. You've probably read some. Here are quotations from four different poems:

1. "Mirror, mirror on the wall / Who is the least dead / Of us all?// You loved me not, just saw / A copy of the face / You gave birth to."

2. "Come live with me!" it cried, / Nostrils spread above like nose wings / As if the face would take off from its neck-end / Like a ghastly bald crow."

3. "Chipping away at her / As if she were an egg, / to be broken and beaten / And turned into something else."

4.  "She is the gypsy / Whose young have rooted / In the very flesh of her scalp. // Her eyes are drill-holes where / Your senses spin, and you are stone / Even as you stand before her."

I think you get the gist.

Although Ted Hughes wrote at least one poem centered on Aurelia, Birthday Letters offers only glimpses. His poem "Night-Ride on Ariel" makes a typically chilling reference: "Mother / Making you dance with her magnetic eye / On your Daddy's coffin"

Her Parents' Graves

I traveled to Boston to view Plath-related sites and saw Otto's grave in Winthrop Cemetery and Aurelia Plath's in Wellesley's Woodlawn Cemetery. Both cemeteries are well-kept, tree-shaded, quiet and bewildering. Winthrop Cemetery has three terrace-like sections separated by streets and Otto is buried in the bottom-most terrace, the one not yet filled, which abuts a golf course. At Otto's grave I was alone. What came to mind was "He died like any man." There's no mythic aura unless you bring your own.

It's right off the path as Sylvia said. See it for yourself (video, 21 seconds).

At Aurelia Plath's grave in Wellesley I left a thank-you note near Aurelia's "flush marker," that is, a stone flush with the ground, not even a 3-D brick like Otto's. I used Findagrave.com's coordinates and map to find the Schober plot where Aurelia is buried at her parents' feet. Crabgrass partly obscures Aurelia's marker. Only garden tools could clean it up. I brought the thank-you note thinking gratitude is all any mother really wants. (I don't know what fathers want.) I weighted the note with a stray chunk of marble, and had my picture taken there for social media.

Woodlawn Cemetery, Wellesley, 2024

I had prepared to travel on to Linden, New Jersey and photograph the grave of Aurelia's African-American uncle Christopher Nicholson, buried in Rosedale-Rosehill Cemetery there. Burials in Manhattan are unlawful, so its dead end up in the boroughs or New Jersey. Phoned the cemetery, learned Nicholson has no marker and the only info is the date he was buried: October 31, 1956. The Manhattan death record says Nicholson was 70. In fact he was 73, but apparently he had no one close enough to know that, least of all his niece and great-niece Aurelia and Sylvia.

I didn't go to New Jersey.

Neither parent's gravestone has a quotation or says "beloved" or anything, and neither had any tributes such as plastic flowers, coins, or little flags. I should have brought and planted American flags on all three graves.

Because how these three people became family, Sylvia Plath's family, is a very American story.

Contusions: What Purple Means in Sylvia Plath

Medical Illustration by Dr. Ciléin Kearns (Artibiotics)

How a bruise works: an impact breaks the capillaries. Gradually the pooled blood breaks down into its components, as illustrated. Can't think of another writer besides Plath so taken with bruises. The crown jewel of the lot is her poem "Contusion," written February 4, 1963, Plath's third-to-last poem. The poem's speaker watches a bruise develop. The speaker doesn't say it's theirs. This bruise is somehow decisive: a minor injury elevated by its formal, medical name, it portends a death.

 

Sylvia Plath’s works include far more bruising than most writers describe by age 30. In The Bell Jar, a male escort’s grip on Esther Greenwood’s arm leaves purple fingerprints. Esther describes her injured face as “purple and bulged out in a shapeless way, shading to green along the edges, and then to a sallow yellow.” The writer knows bruises, has studied them. Plath's journal says her first night with Ted Hughes gave her a "battered face smeared with a purple bruise" (26 March 1956). Over time, the bruises in Plath's work increase and so does her artfulness in describing them:

O adding machine--

Is it impossible for you to let something go and have it go whole?

Must you stamp each piece in purple,

 

Must you kill what you can? ("A Birthday Present")

 

In October 1962 a jealous Plath wrote in the “The Swarm,” the most nebulous of Ariel’s bee poems, these heated and personal lines, like nothing else in the poem:

 

Jealousy can open the blood,

It can make black roses.

 

Admired for her evocative use of the colors red, black, and white, even yellow, the color purple in Sylvia Plath’s writings ranges from "wormy purple" in "Poem for a Birthday" to "The Ravaged Face" ("Grievously purpled, mouth skewered on a groan") to The Bell Jar's decorously sick Miss Norris who wears only purple. Emily Dickinson used the adjective "purple" more than 50 times, connoting, as it had for thousands of years, "priestly" or "princely," or like violets, which Dickinson loved. The first synthetic purple dye was patented in 1856: after that, anyone could wear it. I think Plath, who grew up without priests or princes, redefined the "royal color" as morbid or livid: Cadavers are purple-black. Berries bleed purple. "Fat purple figs" shrivel and rot.

In a draft of Plath's poem "Fever 103,º" purple did signify authority, the priestly type:

 

O auto-da-fe! 

The purple men, gold crusted, thick with spleen, 

Sit with their hooks and crooks and stoke the light.

 

Plath deleted that stanza after recording the poem for the BBC.

 

In Plath's view (then and now widely shared) purples render commoners worse than common. Esther Greenwood's mother wore "a dress with purple cartwheels," and "looked awful." Esther's boss Jay Cee in a lavender suit, hat, and gloves "looked terrible, but very wise." (39) "Irwin's" friend "Olga," a professor's wife, wears purple slacks when she calls on Irwin, who has Esther as his guest instead. (227) Esther more authentically wears the color on her flesh, "bruised purple and green and blue" from insulin injections. (191) Purple, once so exclusively for royals that non-royals were killed for wearing it, Esther wears on her butt.

 

Plath's purples are fleshly and literal. In other Ariel poems one finds a purple tongue and a surgeon's description of the "purple wilderness" exposed during surgery. Plath made the color corporeal. And linked it with women's injuries.

I'm hoping someone will enrich the world with deeper thinking so I don't have to read Jonathan Bate (Ted Hughes: The Unauthorized Life) or his kind saying or quoting, "For Plath, desire was a purple bruise; for Hughes, poetry was the healing of a wound," when Plath's purples communicate something else. [1]

[1] Martin Rubin, review of Ted Hughes: The Unauthorised Life, SFGate, 19 November 2015.

"I Am the Same, Identical Woman" (or Am I?)

Sylvia's paternal grandmother

Courtesy of a descendant, here is Ernestine Kottke Plath (1853-1919), Otto Plath's mother and Sylvia's grandmother. Inscribed on the reverse, "Earnestine Kottke," suggesting this photo was taken before she married in March 1882, when she was 28. It might have been cut from a group photo or her wedding photo. The photo's owner has other vintage family photos all inscribed with the names of those pictured.

The Gibson-girl hairdo suggests the photo was taken after 1880: It's typical to fix one's hair stylishly when sitting for a photo. Where the photo was taken is not known.

I can barely reconcile this image with a known image of Ernestine, age 62, taken at Oregon State Hospital (formerly "for the Insane") in 1916. Another descendant shown the "young" photo had never seen it, could not confirm it was Ernestine Kottke although it was so labeled. What do you think? The older Ernestine seems to be toothless. Here is information about how aging alters one's nose.

There exists a third photo of Ernestine Plath posed with her husband, taken in Oregon between 1911 and 1916, showing features their son Otto inherited.

Theodor and Ernestine Plath had seven children: the first died in infancy, and Otto was born next, in 1885. Ernestine was first hospitalized for depression, sleeplessness, and "persecution" in 1905, three years after moving with her family from Prussia to North Dakota. In Oregon her diagnosis was dementia. Just another "sad Plath woman"? I don't think so. In both photos I see spirit.

The Light of the Mind

"Darkness is not empty. It is information at rest." -Teju Cole

Usually I'm in some archive or library thrilled to be hunting out Plath material and am rarely photographed in such places. Here I am at the Merseyside Maritime Museum in Liverpool, England, viewing old photos of the R.M.S. Lake Ontario, a boat first designed to carry mail. Measuring 400 feet by 45 feet, it was re-fitted to carry 600 steerage passengers, among them Sylvia Plath's grandmother Ernestine and five of her children, who crossed from Liverpool to Canada in 1901.

The R.M.S. Lake Ontario was an old banger built in 1887, twice damaged in collisions, and scrapped in 1905.

Nine million European emigrants passed through Liverpool. Those who began their journey at the port of Hamburg usually first landed at Hull, near London. From there they were packed into trains that delivered them directly to Liverpool.