by Sylvia Plath
First American Edition | Harper & Row | 1976

Written for Plath’s own children, The Bed Book is an imaginative and whimsical story that posits the beds we sleep on are more than just furniture. They are the vehicles of our dreams, sending us off on wild adventures in space, at the North Pole, and under the sea.
It is fully adaptable to the needs of all small children. Be it pocket-sized for easy travel, jet-fueled for far-off trips, or perfectly bounceable (the ultimate characteristic of any bed).
O who cares much
if a Bed’s big or small
or lumpy and bumpy—
who cares at all
as long as its springs
are bouncy and new
Too often Plath is painted as a tragic heroine. Burdened by lifelong depression she often struggled to balance her creativity with the demands of real life. Her semi-autobiographical novel, The Bell Jar, which recounts her young adulthood in New York City, was published just one month before her suicide at age 30. This, along with her fraught marriage to, and separation from, the poet Ted Hughes, has added a mythic morbidity to her legacy.
And yet, all too often we forget, that though she struggled with marriage and motherhood, Plath had two children with Hughes–Frieda and Nicholas. Her love for them is readily apparent in The Bed Book and the three other children’s books she wrote for them.
We already know Plath’s story ends in tragedy. So does Nicholas’–he commits suicide at age forty-seven, after struggling with his own depression. Frieda, however, is alive and well. She’s an author and an artist–with eight poetry collections, a memoir, and seven children’s books to her name.
So I’d like to think that Plath’s legacy lives on in her daughter. Specifically, in the choice to write stories for children, like her mother did for her. Because the dreamlands of our beds that lives in our heads, become our truest memories of childhood.










