"Dying is an art, like everything else. I do it exceptionally well. I do it so it feels like hell. I do it so it feels real. I guess you could say I've a call"
About this Quote
Plath takes the most private, unspeakable subject and frames it with the cool swagger of craft. “Dying is an art” lands like blasphemy against the sentimental language that usually surrounds death; it’s a flex, a grim little credential. The shock isn’t only that she claims mastery, but that she speaks in the register of performance: “I do it exceptionally well.” The line carries the bright, poisonous irony of an artist describing technique, as if repeated self-destruction were a practiced routine with reviews attached.
The subtext is control. By turning dying into something that can be learned, repeated, perfected, she refuses the role of passive victim and instead inhabits the part of auteur. But that control is unstable, almost theatrical. The repetition of “I do it” mimics a rehearsal mantra, insisting on agency while simultaneously suggesting compulsion. And the pivot from “exceptionally well” to “hell” and “real” exposes the double bind: it’s a performance that hurts, and it’s a performance that insists on authenticity. If it “feels real,” it’s because she’s staking a claim against a world that keeps misreading female pain as melodrama.
Context matters: “Lady Lazarus” was written late in Plath’s life, in the aftermath of attempts and institutional scrutiny, when the poet’s body and biography had already become public property. The clipped rhyme and near-casual bravado work like a defensive grin, daring the audience to watch. “I’ve a call” turns vocation into doom: not just talent, but summons. Art here isn’t redemption; it’s the language she uses to make catastrophe legible on her own terms.
The subtext is control. By turning dying into something that can be learned, repeated, perfected, she refuses the role of passive victim and instead inhabits the part of auteur. But that control is unstable, almost theatrical. The repetition of “I do it” mimics a rehearsal mantra, insisting on agency while simultaneously suggesting compulsion. And the pivot from “exceptionally well” to “hell” and “real” exposes the double bind: it’s a performance that hurts, and it’s a performance that insists on authenticity. If it “feels real,” it’s because she’s staking a claim against a world that keeps misreading female pain as melodrama.
Context matters: “Lady Lazarus” was written late in Plath’s life, in the aftermath of attempts and institutional scrutiny, when the poet’s body and biography had already become public property. The clipped rhyme and near-casual bravado work like a defensive grin, daring the audience to watch. “I’ve a call” turns vocation into doom: not just talent, but summons. Art here isn’t redemption; it’s the language she uses to make catastrophe legible on her own terms.
Quote Details
| Topic | Mortality |
|---|---|
| Source | "Lady Lazarus" (poem), Sylvia Plath; published in Ariel (1965). Opening lines read: "Dying is an art, like everything else. I do it exceptionally well. I do it so it feels like hell. I do it so it feels real. I guess you could say I've a call." |
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