Plath has an honesty in her journals that I only wish I could have. You have to be brave to write that candidly, and then to know that it was published after her death? It's kind of eerie. I think you only reach that level when you're under the assumption it's just for you, it's just to release your fears and ego and pain.

But it's beautiful.

Her stories are also beautiful. I was especially taken reading her journal about her and Ted's stay with the Widow, and then reading her short story on it, seeing what details she picked and kept and cultivated.