Holocaust Imagery in the Poetry of Sylvia Plath
'The Boot in the
Face': The Problem of the Holocaust in the Poetry of Sylvia Plath
Critic: Al Strangeways
This essay explores the
controversial role of holocaust imagery in Plath’s poetry.
Sylvia
Plath's poetry is generally judged on the contents of the posthumously
published Ariel (1965), and often on a minority of poems within that volume,
such as "Daddy" (1962) and "Lady Lazarus" (1962), which are
most striking because of their inclusion of references to the Holocaust.
Plath's whole oeuvre is frequently and superficially viewed as somehow
"tainted" by the perceived egoism of her deployment of the Holocaust
in these poems. Such straightforward condemnation, however, disguises the
difficulties surrounding any judgment of Plath's treatment of this
material--difficulties which are clearly exhibited by the respected critic
George Steiner, who in 1965 applauded "Daddy" as "The 'Guernica'
of modern poetry," yet later, in 1969, declared that the extreme nature of
Plath's late poems left him "uneasy": "Does any writer, does any
human being other than an actual survivor, have the right to put on this
death-rig?" It is important to study both why and how the Holocaust
appears in Plath's poetry, because our reaction to it as readers and the
strategies Plath uses to approach it are tied to a wider problem relating to
the place of the Holocaust in our culture. If we understand this, it is
possible to place the disturbing appearance of the Holocaust in Plath's poems
in its proper context, and to see this effect as symptomatic of a more general
problem she recognizes, a conflict about the very uses of poetry itself. The
problem of Plath's utilization of the Holocaust can be broadly divided into two
parts: the motives behind her use of such material, and the actual appearance
of it in her poetry. I will show that her motives were responsible, and that
the often unsettling appearance of the Holocaust in her later poems stems from
a complex of reasons concerning her divided view about the uses of poetry and
the related conflict she explores between history and myth - a conflict which
finds its ultimate focus in her consciousness of the importance of remembering
such an event, but also of the voyeurism implicit in attempts at remembrance.
Although
critics such as Jacqueline Rose and Margaret Dickie Uroff have gone some way toward arguing that Plath was
genuinely and consistently interested in political issues, little attention has
been given to the link between such political concerns and the Holocaust. In
Plath's academic life (the influence of which is neglected at cost by many
critics and biographers), the Holocaust was a topic in both high school and
college. A schoolmate recalls how Plath's history teacher at
In contrast
to the emotional impact of this introduction, Plath's college professors
encouraged the reasoned linking of Nazism with current political concerns.
Erich Fromm's The Fear of Freedom (1941), a set text in one history course
Plath took at
The impact
of Fromm's book on Plath lies in its combination of psychology and history in a
way that appears to have influenced her combination of the two in her later poetry.
While accepting that Nazism's rise was "molded
by socio-economic factors," Fromm saw it as rooted in a
"psychological problem" that also affected (albeit in a lesser way)
American society. His exploration of Nazism concentrates on how "the Nazi
system express[es] an extreme form of the character
structure which we have called 'authoritarian,'" and he examines in detail
examples of neurotic symptoms that are evident, in an extreme form, in Nazism.
In Plath's poem "Daddy," the controversial lines "Every woman
adores a Fascist, / The boot in the face, the brute /
Brute heart of a brute like you" are trying to make a similar, though
gendered, point. Throughout the poem, the speaker and "daddy,"
masochistic and sadistic figures respectively, appear dependent upon each
other, and both figures' connections to Nazism (as Jew and Fascist) link their
dependence on each other (lack of individuation) to Fromm's theorization. In
the speaker's consciously disturbing over-statement that "Every woman
adores a Fascist," Plath asserts that, while the archetypal male figure
appearing in the rest of the poem (as father and lover) connotes the escape
from freedom through sadism, the female figure's adoration of the Fascist is an
extreme result of a stereotypically feminine escape from the feelings of
aloneness associated with freedom, through masochistic strivings. Freedom, for
the archetypal "feminine" figure in "Daddy," is freedom
from the authoritarian father figure. Political realities (in the form of
Nazism) and psychological difficulties (in the form of neurosis) are
inescapably linked for Fromm and for Plath. Thus Plath's lines in
"Daddy" are both psychological and political. They are psychological
not because "Daddy" is about Plath's relationship with her father,
but in the sense that Plath uses the situation depicted in the poem to explore
the dynamics of her attitude toward individualism. Her intellectual and moral
approval of individualism is set against a consciously explored ambivalence in
her desire for such freedom, an ambivalence which is summed up in the final
line, so that "Daddy, daddy, you bastard, I'm through" may mean
either that the speaker is "through with daddy" or free from him, or
that she is (in relation to the imagery of the black telephone in stanza 14)
through to him, having made a final and inescapable connection with
him--having, in short, given up her freedom.
As well as
this staple American interest in individualism, Plath's other central political
concern, as for most of her generation, was the prospect of nuclear war. With
the cold war at its height in the late 1950s, the potential for a different,
nuclear genocide made concerns about the Holocaust immediately relevant. The
literary critic A. Alvarez (who was also a friend of Plath) notes that he
"suggested (in a piece for the Atlantic Monthly, December 1962) that one
of the reasons why the camps continue to keep such a tight hold on our
imaginations is that we see in them a small-scale trial run for a nuclear war …
Then there are those other curious, upside-down similarities: the use of modern
industrial processes for the mass production of corpses, with all the attendant
paraphernalia of efficiency, meticulous paperwork, and bureaucratic
organization; the deliberate annihilation not merely of lives but of
identities, as in some paranoid vision of mass culture." Elie Wiesel, a respected commentator on and survivor of the
Holocaust, writing in the 1980s, also connects the genocide carried out by the
Nazis and the more universal potential genocide of nuclear war: "Once upon
a time it happened to my people, and now it happens to all people. And suddenly
I said to myself, maybe the whole world, strangely, has turned Jewish.
Everybody lives now facing the unknown. We are all, in a way, helpless."
Other, later writers go further in their linking of anti-Semitic and
potentially nuclear holocausts, such as Robert Jay Lifton
and Eric Markusen, whose study The Genocidal Mentality: Nazi Holocaust and Nuclear Threat
explores detailed similarities between the way the Nazi system of the Holocaust
and the nuclear narrative work. Plath, in "Mary's Song" (1962), also
connects the past atrocity of the Holocaust and the future threat of nuclear
destruction, exploring the double-edged nature of technological "progress"
that allows both space flight and efficient genocide--historically of the
Jewish people, potentially of the whole world.
For Plath,
the main link between the Holocaust and a potential nuclear war was the
mind-numbing rhetoric that both "final solution" and cold war
discourses employed. The widely publicized trial of
Adolf Eichmann (1961-62) showed the importance of such a use of language in the
smooth running of the Nazi genocide machinery. Hannah Arendt notes, in her
report on the Eichmann trial: "all correspondence referring to the matter
was subject to rigid 'language rules.' … the prescribed code names for killing
were 'final solution,' 'evacuation' … and 'special treatment.' … for whatever
other reasons the language rules may have been devised, they proved of enormous
help in the maintenance of order and sanity in the various widely diversified
services whose co-operation was essential in this matter." As a student at
Smith, Plath marked Fromm's general comments on this subject of rhetoric and
aggression in Escape from Freedom with a determined "yes!":
"Never have words been more misused in order to conceal the truth than
today. Betrayal of allies is called appeasement,
military aggression is camouflaged as defense against
attack [Plath's emphasis]." Plath's concern resurfaced in the period just
before she wrote her Holocaust poems, during the Khrushchev-Kennedy stand-off,
when she writes, both in her letters to her mother and in "Context,"
a piece published in London Magazine in 1962, about her fear of such a
dissembling and dangerous "doubletalk."
Yet Plath's
concerns with the Holocaust were not purely disinterested, academic connections
between past and present threats. Her awareness of the interconnection between
the private and the political in her interest in the Holocaust is evident in a
BBC radio interview she gave in 1962. When asked why she treats the Holocaust
in her poetry, she declares, "In particular, my background is, may I say,
German and Austrian … and so my concern with concentration camps and so on is
uniquely intense. And then, again, I'm rather a political person as well, so I
suppose that's what part of it comes from." One might add, as James Young
argues, that she also felt "she shared the era of victimhood, victimized
by modern life at large as the Jews and Japanese had been victimized by
specific events in modern life." Plath's personalized treatment of the
Holocaust stems, then, from a combination of two motives: her very
"real" sense of connection (for whatever reasons) with the events,
and her desire to combine the public and the personal in order to shock and cut
through the distancing "doubletalk" she saw in contemporary conformist,
cold war America.
Edward
Alexander expresses a common concern when he writes of his unease at the sort
of connections made not only by Plath but also by other writers who talk of an
"era of victimhood" or who specifically connect Jewish and potential
nuclear holocausts: "stealing the Holocaust … [is the process of] reduc[ing] Jews from the status
of human beings to that of metaphors for other people's sufferings … we must
keep steadily before our mind's eye the truth that, as Cynthia Ozick once wrote, 'Jews are not metaphors - not for poets,
not for novelists, not for theologians, not for murderers, and never for anti-semites.'" Alexander's fear is that once the Holocaust
and its Jewish victims become mythical metaphors for suffering, it is easy to
extend such metaphoric treatment into the very anti-Semitic stereotyping that
resulted in the Holocaust itself. This very genuine concern does not, however,
take into account the impossibility of regulating the relationship between
history and subjectivity. As Young declares, "To question whether or not
the suffering of the Holocaust should be cast as a type implies that we have
some sort of legislative control over which events figure others, which events
enter consciousness." Yet to accept the impossibility of legislating
against the metaphorizing of the Holocaust does not
mean that all judgment about the deployment of such material should be
suspended. In relation to Plath's poetry, then, it is important to evaluate how
effectively or appropriately Plath treats the Holocaust, and whether, indeed,
she actually confronts the problem of metaphorizing
in her deployment of such material.
While I
have shown that Plath's motives for including Holocaust material in her poetry
were responsible, the Holocaust appears only briefly in her work. Not only does
Plath use such material within a short space of time, but in the poems in which
the Holocaust does appear, it is treated almost tersely. Such dual brevity
lends credence to the widespread view, noted by Rose, "that politics
appears only opportunistically, as a form of self-aggrandizement" in her
poetry. Apart from Plath's oblique treatment of the subject in the earlier poem
"The Thin People" (1957), Holocaust imagery appears only in the poems
she wrote between October and November 1962, just after her separation from Ted
Hughes and her return from Devon to
While it is
relatively straightforward to chart the complex reasons behind the abrupt
chronological appearance of the Holocaust in Plath's poems, the briefness of
the appearance of such material within individual poems poses more complicated
problems. Certainly, as Young notes, Plath's poems are not strictly about the
Holocaust (in the way the poems of survivors such as Primo Levi are), although,
as I argued earlier with reference to the influence of Erich Fromm, neither are
they as resolutely private as they often appear. Accepting this, however, and
notwithstanding her genuine sense of connection to the cultural impact of its horrors,
the Holocaust appears in Plath's poems in references that are often emblematic,
seemingly untransformed by poetic craft. In "Daddy," for instance, it
is not so much the style of "light verse" and the connection of the
very personal to the very extreme horrors of, in Seamus Heaney's
terms, "the history of other people's sorrows" that causes unease.
Rather, Plath combines myth and history (Electra, vampirism, and voodoo rub
shoulders with the Holocaust) in such a way that the history of Nazi
persecution of the Jews appears almost one dimensional in comparison to the
flexibility of her treatment of the poem's mythic and psychoanalytic aspects.
In
"Fever 103" (1962), this uneasy combination of history (here, in the
form of
In contrast
to [the] sustained and vivid images, the historical-political image transitions
in the center of the poem appear violently swift and
lack the resonance of the mythic imagery. Concerns about modern science are
explored when the "Hothouse baby in its crib" becomes "The
ghastly orchid /… // Devilish leopard," of which the reader is told (in
relation to the drawbacks of such scientific wonders), "Radiation turned
it white / And killed it in an hour." These
startlingly swift metaphoric transitions, while working in complete contrast to
the more sustained progression of the frame of the poem, nevertheless appear to
cohere, both together and to the rest of the poem. The lurching transition to
"Greasing the bodies of adulterers / Like
The
contrast between the resonance and diversity of Plath's use of myth and the
single dimensions of her use of history in the form of the Holocaust and
If, then, this is the root of the dilemma about Plath's treatment of the
Holocaust, what were the reasons behind Plath's reversal of
Secondly,
in describing the Holocaust and nuclear bomb as the "larger things,"
Plath appears to perceive such historical events in expressly mythic terms. Jon
Harris, in trying to determine why, in the decades following World War II, very
little poetry was written about the Holocaust in
This
problem of the relationship between myth and recent history is central to the
difficulties surrounding literature and the Holocaust. Aharon
Appelfeld writes: By its nature, when it comes to
describing reality, art always demands a certain
intensification, for many and various reasons. However, that is not the case
with the Holocaust. Everything in it already seems so thoroughly unreal, as if
it no longer belongs to the experience of our generation, but to mythology.
Thence comes the need to bring it down to the human realm. This is not a
mechanical problem, but an essential one … I do not mean to simplify, to
attenuate, or to sweeten the horror, but to attempt to make the events speak
through the individual and in his language.
Many
critics who explore the "literature of atrocity" recognize this
conflict, between the "naturally" mythic nature of the events, and
the need, difficult in practice, to remove them from such an easily assimilated
mythology. Irving Howe, for instance, writes, "it
is a grave error to make, or 'elevate,' the Holocaust into an occurrence
outside of history, a sort of diabolic visitation, for then we tacitly absolve
its human agents of their responsibility." Yet, as Harris recognizes,
there are equal dangers in trying to "de-elevate" the Holocaust:
The
problem, in fact, is twofold; first we must accept that the horrors were so
extreme that they seem to belong to another world entirely, not the one we regularly
write poetry about.Secondly, in claiming that we can
conceive of the horror of the Holocaust, we lay ourselves open to the
accusation that by imposing a critical form and structure on it we are ipso
facto justifying it: by attributing a rationale of any sort to it, we admit
that the Holocaust could be seen as a rational act.
This problem
which Plath's treatment of the Holocaust exhibits, of exploring or representing
the inconceivable (the mythic horror of the Holocaust) with the conceivable (be
it a conceivable subject, such as personal difficulties, or a conceivable
form), is also apparent in the Hollywood films produced at the time (as well as
many similar cinematic treatments from then on, with the notable exception of Shoah [1983]). Annette Insdorf
describes the difficulties inherent in cinematic treatments of the Holocaust,
citing John J. O'Connor (a New York Times television critic), who writes:
"The Diary of Anne Frank and Judgment at
It is these
problems surrounding the conventionalization and metaphorizing
of the Holocaust that not only inform Plath's late poems but are enacted by
them. Lawrence Langer's tentative answer to the way out of the impasse between
the impact of the Holocaust and the ethical problems associated with its
depiction is through a creativity which works to collapse the distinction
between history and the present, metaphor and subject. Langer writes of an
episode in Jerzy Kosinki's
The Painted Bird: "Episodes like the gouging out of the eyes seek to
induce a sense of complicity with the extremity of cruelty and suffering in
modern experience, from which history (with its customary distinctions between
"then" and "now"), conspiring with the reader's reluctance
to acknowledge such possibilities, unconsciously insulates us. The art of
atrocity is the incarnation of such possibilities through language and
metaphor." Plath's late poems try to work in a similar way, "inducing
a sense of complicity" by combining the events with an intimate tone and
material. Yet instead of trying directly to present the cruelty of the
Holocaust itself, the feeling Plath's poems generate is one of complicity in
the easy assimilation of such past cruelties. Her poems try to avoid the
anonymity and the amnesia contingent on the "them and us" and
"then and now" distinctions that characterize the perception of
history by highlighting her use of the Holocaust as metaphor. In such poems,
readers are meant to feel uncomfortable with the suprapersonal,
mythical depiction of Jewish suffering, feeling somehow implicated (because of
their traditional identification with the lyric persona) in the voyeurism such
an assimilation of the Holocaust implies. This feeling of implication that
Plath's poems generate may be viewed in broad terms as their success. Such
poems are culturally valuable because the appearance of the Holocaust in them
is like a "boot in the face"--certainly, few readers leave them
feeling "complacent instead of concerned or disturbed."
While the
ultimately inconceivable nature of the horror of the Holocaust means that Plath
cannot mobilize the kinds of overt reflexivity apparent in her treatment of
traditional myth in, for example, "Electra on Azalea Path," her poems
that deal with the Holocaust also work to comment on metapoetic
concerns. In "Lady Lazarus," for example, Plath collapses the
"them and us" distinction by confronting readers with their voyeurism
in looking at the subject of the poem. To apply Teresa De Lauretis's
theorizing of the cinematic positioning of women to Plath's poem, in "Lady
Lazarus," the speaker's consciousness of her performance for the readers
(who are implicitly part of the "peanut-crunching crowd") works to
reverse the gaze of the readers so that they become "overlooked in the act
of overlooking." By extension, in her parodic
overstatement (Lady Lazarus as archetypal victim, archetypal object of the
gaze) Plath highlights the performative (that is,
constructed rather than essential) nature of the speaker's positioning as object
of the gaze, and so (to extend Judith Butler's terms), Lady Lazarus enacts a
performance that attempts to "compel a reconsideration of the place and
stability" of her positioning, and to "enact and reveal the performativity" of her representation. This sense of performativity and the reversal of gaze likewise extends,
in "Lady Lazarus," to compel reconsideration not only of the
conventional positioning of the woman as object, and of the voyeurism implicit
in all lyric poetry, but also of the historical metaphors as objects of the
gaze. Readers feel implicated in the poem's straightforward assignment and metaphorizing of the speaker in her role as object and
performer, and contingently are made to feel uncomfortable about their similar
easy assimilation of the imagery (of the suffering of the Jews) that the
speaker uses. In "Daddy," a similar relationship between reader,
speaker, and metaphor is at work. Like "Lady Lazarus,"
"Daddy" does not attempt to depict the suffering directly for our
view (an impossible task, for the reasons given above) but works by confronting
readers with, and compounding the problematic distinctions and connections
between, the private and the historical (our lives and their suffering). In
other words, readers' reactions of unease, discomfort, and outrage are
necessarily a response to the surface, the poem itself, rather than to the
events the poem uses as metaphors for its subject (be it about individualism,
freedom, or memory), because the events themselves are not graspable. The poem
is effective because it leaves readers in no clear or easy position in relation
to the voyeuristic gazes operating within it (of reader at speaker, reader at
poet, poet at speaker, and all at the events which are metaphorized)
and able to take no unproblematic stance regarding the uses of metaphor
involved.
Ultimately,
then, George Steiner's divided attitude toward Plath's treatment of such
material most adequately and accurately represents the effect and effectiveness
of Plath's project--a project meant to confront readers with their implication
in the viewing and metaphorizing of others' lives and
suffering, and aimed at foregrounding the complex instability of the boundaries
between myth and reality that forms the root of the problematic placement of
the Holocaust in our society. The reason such reflexivity, and its resulting
complexity, is so often missed is because Plath's conflict between the idea of
poetry as timeless mythic object or as political and/or personal communication
remains unresolved, or, indeed, unresolvable, due to
the modern relation between history and myth. Her critics often fail to see
Plath's balanced ambivalence and appear trapped in one of two extremes of
judgment about the meanings of, and motives behind, her poetry. Two interpretations
of "Getting There" (1962) sum up this divide. Judith Kroll reads the
poem "as the enactment of a willingly undertaken purgatorial ritual, in
which the true self, purified by Lethe of all false encumbrances [of the past]
finally emerges . . . [d]iscarding the 'old bandages'
. . . [in] a symbol[ic]
resurrection." In this interpretation, indeed, the Holocaust has been
abused for its immediate value as a metaphor for the past. Margaret Dickie Uroff, however, perceives
the poem as expressing a view opposed to that read by Kroll. She writes:
"the train that drags itself through the battlefields of history
ultimately becomes the 'black car of Lethe,' a symbol of the forgetfulness of
the past. It becomes a cradle, nurturing a new generation of killers: the pure
baby who steps from it will perpetuate murder because she has forgotten the
world's past history of murderousness." These two readings reflect Plath's
own foregrounding of her culturally situated conflict about the uses of poetry,
between the mythic desire that poetry transcend history and the
"committed" purpose that it name history and thus remember it. An
understanding of the "boot in the face" effect of Plath's treatment
of the Holocaust, then, enables the recognition that the dissonances between
history and myth in her poetry are not an aesthetic problem but work to
prohibit complaisance about the definitions of--and the relationship
between--myth, history, and poetry in the post-Holocaust world.
Source: Al Strangeways, "'The Boot in the Face': The Problem of
the Holocaust in the Poetry of Sylvia Plath," in
Contemporary
Literature, Vol. XXXVII, No. 3, Fall, 1996, pp.
370-90.