The Tragedy of Loving Sylvia Plath

My Sylvia Plath fandom dates back to the early nineties, when I was in my late teens and randomly pulled The Bell Jar off the shelf at my local library in suburban Salt Lake City. I had never heard of Plath, but there was a section on one shelf containing books by and about her. I was intrigued, and by looking through various biographies, I learned the story of her suicide in 1963. This knowledge would shadow my experience of reading her work for the first time, and as tends to happen with Plath, her life and her work became inseparable.