I'm not going to deny that reading other people's letters can be very satisfying, especially when the writer of those letters is actually a writer, gifted with words and impassioned with them. That the writer of these letters was Sylvia Plath was obviously its main draw when I read the book. It appears, at face value, to offer us an insight into her life : what better than to read of her experiences in her own words ?
However, it is not as simple as that. The great majority of the letters in LETTERS HOME were written by Plath to her mother, first from Smith College, then from Cambridge in England, then from the various places that Plath lived and wrote in when married to Ted Hughes. The letters, apart from a few at the very end (written in the last few months before her suicide) possess an unrelentingly optimistic tone that borders on the manic. Yes, they are very descriptive. And they appear to be describing an idyllic existence : the writing itself, fascinating people met, the wonderful children, marvellous recipes, superb landscapes. Most of all SUCCESS. Success success success. Plath is clearly writing what her mother wants to hear. Hardly anything negative is mentioned at all ; if it is, it is almost immediately sentimentalized or even retracted. These are letters from a grown-up child still desperate to get approval from her ever-demanding parent. In that sense, they are very sad letters.
The short editorial notes which the late Mrs. Aurelia Plath inserted into the text might also give food for thought to the perceptive reader-she appears to exhibit no insight whatsoever into her daughter's difficulties or her own role in them. Those difficulties, by the way, are referred to very occasionally and obliquely, as if they were a sordid secret of some kind. Or as some utterly baffling and inconvenient phenomenon. Sylvia, it is implied, is "difficult"-all would be well if she only learned to relax more. How she is meant to do that with this vampirical presence in her life is not dwelt on.
If you want to really climb into Sylvia Plath's mind-as much as anyone can ever access the mind of another, that is-I recommend her JOURNALS. The writing there is also excellent, as you would expect, and virtually the same time-frame is covered (1950-1962). And unlike LETTERS HOME,the journals feel real.