Yummybooks's Blog

The house I grew up in outside of Boston is directly across the street from Sylivia Plath’s childhood home. I remember one day when I was in fourth grade, up to my ears in The Golden Compass and Redwall and full of dreams of someday being a writer, my mom  casually told me that a very famous writer had grown up in the house across the street. I was incredulous—“a very famous, female writer lived in the house I can see from my bedroom window and you never told me?” This was, of course, before the days of Google, when every intimate detail of a person’s life couldn’t be accessed with the click of a button, so that afternoon I rode my bike to the library.

I asked the librarian where I could find Sylvia Plath’s poems and she looked at me in a concerned way but led me to…

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