Plath Profiles vol. 11
told, the story’s theme was a trope
of that era, the beatnik era. Its two-
dimensional rendering—like a fable
it has no subplot, and the narrator
has no past, no friends or family, and
never mentions money—and tone-
deaf religious references did not
appeal to any of the publishers Plath
sent it to. The story was not
published in her lifetime. Plath in
October 1960 disparaged “Johnny
Panic” as “a sort of mental hospital
monologue ending up with the
religious communion of shock
treatment” (Letters vol. 2, 530).
Plath until “Johnny Panic” labored
to write fiction about adolescents or
young couples. Her journals of
summer 1958 show her struggling to
take a step forward. “Johnny Panic”
is Plath’s step forward, tied by
subject and date of composition to
the secretarial job begun in
October. Plath wrote on December
16, 1958 that the story was
complete and polished. She did not
have high hopes for it, calling it
“queer and quite slangy,” (Journals,
441), a voice she does not yet
recognize as her own—not at all. In
February 1959 Plath wrote in her
journal that she will have made a
step forward when she writes a story
for Ladies’ Home Journal (471).
The story’s narrator, however, is a
new figure in Plath’s fiction: an adult
wage-earning female, age 33, older
than Plath, nourished by her
employment and retaining her
personal agency even while taking
dictation. She keeps an
uncompromising sense of mission in
an anti-creative environment. Plath’s
fictional clericals, including the
secretary in the 1962 verse play
Three Women, are not unhappy
workers yet recognize their
workplaces as fundamentally
inhumane, and transgress by saying
so.
From February through April 1959
Plath worked at a second part-time
job, in which she did use
speedwriting. On May 2 she wrote in
one day The Bed Book, a children’s
book (Journals, May 3, 1959, 480).
On May 31 she wrote in her journal,
“I have written six stories this year,
and the three best of them in the
last two weeks!” (Journals, 486). The
three includes “This Earth Our
Hospital,” later published under her
new title, “The Daughters of
Blossom Street.” It is again a first-
person hospital story, but realistic
and without flair. A group of hospital
secretaries responsible for the
paperwork about the hospital’s
dying and dead cannot bring
themselves to acknowledge
morbidity when facing it—which
even their lowly office boy can do.
The story’s narrator is one of the
secretaries, and no different. In
November when she sold the story