Dear Mr. Hughes
You'll always be an @&*%$^# to me.
Seriously, Jezebel of all places insists that this letter should make me cry. Instead, it makes me about ten kinds of stabby. I mean, he's British and everything, but such restraint and rhetoric and the omission of a certain oh, minor fact! This does not convince me of his remorse in the slightest. One of the commenters compared Hughes' and Plath's relationship to a Greek tragedy in its self-perpetuated romanticization of turmoil and despair. I'd say that's a pretty fair analysis. The mask hasn't been dropped here.
Seriously, Jezebel of all places insists that this letter should make me cry. Instead, it makes me about ten kinds of stabby. I mean, he's British and everything, but such restraint and rhetoric and the omission of a certain oh, minor fact! This does not convince me of his remorse in the slightest. One of the commenters compared Hughes' and Plath's relationship to a Greek tragedy in its self-perpetuated romanticization of turmoil and despair. I'd say that's a pretty fair analysis. The mask hasn't been dropped here.
Comments