Sylvia and Me

“I saw my life branching out before me like the green fig tree in the story. From the tip of every branch, like a fat purple fig, a wonderful future beckoned and winked.”

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Sylvia Plath is seen as a martyr by many young women. For many, both her life and death are a casualty of a system designed against her — a world where, despite her tremendous potential as a poet and literary luminary, her talent was constrained by sexist attitudes during the time that she was alive. Her story is indicative of women’s potentials not being taken seriously enough, of a sexist society hindering an exceptionally talented woman. In the decades since Plath’s death, her work and life have been re-examined, her legacy shaped by the subsequent waves of social change that have since taken place.

Plath was born in Boston in 1932 and lived close to the city for many years of her life. She attended Smith College, and during her time there, she excelled academically while experiencing mental health turbulence. After graduating summa cum laude, Plath moved to England on a Fulbright scholarship, where she met the poet Ted Hughes, who would later become her husband. In 1962, she wrote many of the poems which would become part of her notable poetry collection “Ariel.” In February of 1963, Plath died by suicide at 30 years old.

Plath was bright and ambitious — I can see why many equally bright and ambitious young women relate so deeply to her. When I think about her college years, consisting of both success and disappointment, I feel a deep sense of sadness for what was yet to come for her.

I encounter a similar twinge of sadness when I read her work, despite the optimism many of her pieces contain. Plath’s work is expansive, capturing so much of what she, and likely other women during her time, felt. From “The Colossus,” published in 1960, to “The Bell Jar,” published in 1963, she forged a multiverse of yearning, hope, and loss. Throughout the 60s, as second-wave feminism brought women into the streets to protest for reproductive rights and equal rights, her work — especially her unfiltered lens into feminine ambition and talent — was revolutionary.

Although we may speculate about Plath’s life, and what exactly she might have been motivated by, she is still a stranger to me. There is something weird about animating historical figures and thinking about them in terms of modern day societal expectations. Even though I may relate to Plath’s journey of ambition, she is still someone I can never truly know. The best I can do is to look at the legacy of what she has left behind and try to make sense of it.

When I think about Plath and her work, I often think about potential: the potential she had to forge a long career as a writer, and see herself win a Pulitzer when she was still alive. Plath’s allegory of the fig tree, detailed in “The Bell Jar,” is a perfect example of this idea of unrealized potential. In the allegory, the protagonist recounts sitting atop a fig tree, each branching fig representing a different path in life, a different thing she wants for herself. The story is relatable but disappointing, because her main character thinks that she must choose only one path instead of feeling empowered to try to pursue all of her interests and passions wholly.

Like Plath, many of my peers on campus are talented, ambitious, and extremely smart women, including some of my closest friends. Like the protagonist in “The Bell Jar,” we see so many futures for ourselves. I want all of us to succeed, and be able to walk down all of the branching paths we have envisioned, instead of feeling like we must only ever choose one.

When I put myself in the shoes of the woman sitting atop the fig tree, I see so many things I want to accomplish; so many new things I want to try, so many new skills I want to learn. I see a world so big and inviting, wonderful futures that beckon and wink.

Women deserve self-determinism in all they want to learn and pursue; they deserve to feel like they have the whole world at their fingertips, the ability to accomplish all of their dreams and hopes. Sylvia Plath would have been 90 years old if she was still alive today. How much more could she have done with all of that time?

Here’s to you, Sylvia, and your fig tree.

Shanivi Srikonda ’24, an Associate Editorial Editor, is a Human Developmental and Regenerative Biology concentrator in Quincy House.

This piece is a part of a focus on Women’s History Month.