Trading books...

I've let Boswell and Johnson rest for a while, in exchange for The Death and Life of Sylvia Plath. The first chapter begins at the end, as it were, when she seals off her children's room with duct tape after leaving them milk and bread, and then lays her head deeply into her gas oven. She was thirty years old, just like me. I told my husband the story. He said I couldn't commit suicide yet--I haven't published anything.