In "Lady Lazarus," Sylvia Plath transmutes domestic images into the macabre as she glorifies the narrator's self-determined encounters with death: "A sort of walking miracle, my skin/ Bright as a Nazi lampshade,/ My right foot/ A paperweight,/ My face a featureless, fine/ Jew linen." Plath transforms victim into heroine but not without sacrificing believability. Suicide is not a heroic act. She admits that it's not even partic
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