Pollan points out that humans have subsisted on a variety of diets over time. Indeed, omnivores can eat nearly anything, and omnivores of the American-in-the-twenty-first-century variety have almost endless choice. From processed and pre-made to whole and organic foods, there are more possibilities for how to nourish ourselves than ever before. So Pollan goes to the trouble to help us out in making those choices. How nice of him.

More to the point, The Omnivore's Dilemma and Pollan's 2008 book In Defense of Food debunk the "nutritionism" that dominates the American relationship with food. We obsess over carbs, calories, fats, saturated fats, trans fats, omega-3, protein, vitamin C, and a host of other nutrients- to the exclusion of concerning ourselves with the foods themselves and the pleasure in eating them. The American eater, Pollan suggests, fails even to notice the difference between whole and processed foods, so concerned is he with the nutrients they contain.

What makes Pollan's two books most beautiful—and apt for a post on this blog—is that they're a gateway back to a different gastronomical era, when foods were whole, and hand-made, and nutritious, and when they were shared over a table as a staple aspect of community. That revered food writer of the twentieth century, M.F.K. Fisher, once wrote,

I still think that one of the pleasantest of all emotions is to know that I, I with my brain and my hands, have nourished my beloved few, that I have concocted a stew or a story... to sustain them against the hungers of the world.

Some of the most enchanting scenes of modern literature have taken place around a well-laid table. The pivotal scene of Virginia Woolf's To the Lighthouse was the ecstatic, candle-lit dinner. And that's no surprise. Woolf did famously pronounce that "one cannot think well, love well, sleep well, if one has not dined well."

Pollan's investigation helps us re-focus our understanding of food, and what we eat and why. If Fisher and Woolf are on to something, then it's worth the long, hard look into our eating habits to find a path back to real pleasure at the table.

Virgínia Woolf, To the lighthouse (1927)

Read more in The Guardian about U.S. success in attracting the papers of men and women of letters.

Virginia Woolf's papers are available at several sites. They include the New York Public Library's Berg Collection, Smith College, Washington State University, Victoria University, the British Library, and the University of Sussex.

Clique aqui para saber os detalhes sobre o curso Viagens e Deslocamentos pela Literatura com Ricardo Lísias. De 21 a 24 de Julho.

Centro Universitário Maria Antônia: Rua Maria Antônia, 294. Tel.: 32557182 (ramal 32/33)

Por Darlene Carvalho

"A woman must have money and a room of her own."

--Virginia Woolf

My niece is allowing Melody and Aisha to "nap."

My feminism professor once told our class of how she spent her entire childhood avoiding "women's tasks," like cooking, cleaning, and sewing, in order to spite her brothers. But she soon realized how foolish that was when she wasn't able to take care of herself. "I could not sew a button onto my own shirt!"

Some lovers of Orlando posted their responses to critics who recently panned the novel.

Meanwhile, a query posted on the VW Listserv elicited a number of scholarly references regarding Sally Potter's film adaptation of the novel.

Among them were these from Gulshan Taneja of the University of Delhi's English department and editor of In-between: Essays & Studies in Literary Criticism:

• Peter Naccarato, "Straightening Woolf's Queer Text: Sally Potter's Orlando." In-between: Essays & Studies in Literary Criticism, 14.2 (September 2005): 107-20. Taneja says this was a special issue devoted to Orlando.
• Alison Graham-Bertolini, in an appendix to her article, "The ‘Becoming' of Orlando: The Deleuzian Perspective," includes a discussion of the Potter film. It can be found in In-between: Essays & Studies in Literary Criticism 14.2 (September 2005): 153-165.
• Potter's "Notes on the Adaptation of the Book Orlando" from Professor Rose Norman's Web site.

Here are a few more Orlando resources, scholarly or not, that you can find online:

• Orlando the Film: Bibliography posted by Dr. Norman.
• "Reading Readers in Virginia Woolf's Orlando: A Biography" by Kathryn N. Benzel. Get it here.
• "Gypsies and Lesbian Desire: Vita Sackville-West, Violet Trefusis, and Virginia Woolf" by Kirstie Blair. Click here.
• "Virginia Woolf's Orlando: The Book as Critic" by Kelly Tetterton. Go here.
• "An off-beat adaptation: Orlando" by Timotheos Roussos. Find it here.
• A common reader's self-described online "shrine" to the Potter film.
• The movie trailer.

Other resources on Orlando can be found here and here.

I write all this in a casual tone, because I know I still have a number of articles to read, and (I've been promised) lots and lots of editing: including some gaping logical holes in my introduction. Then there's the defense presentation to prepare, and I definitely need a new title; however,

the writing

is

done.

I'm so exhausted, I'm not even going to footnote this one.

10 July 2008 ~ St. Catharines

In the course of researching ladies in profile sporting obscenely large Princess Leia jewelry, the same obsessive boat shape in lots of different colors with little bits of calligraphy beside each one, Virginia Woolf, Japanese pipe smoking beauties, and how to balance a tray of plastic fruit whilst modeling a curious bikini top, I recently happened across an amazing resource that satisfies my every requirement. The New York Public Library runs a great digital gallery chalk full of incredible images from their expansive holdings. However, a warning: Do not visit this site late at night in need of rest or before attempting to fix yourself a wee supper, as you will accomplish neither one.

That said, and now that you’ve gotten a taste of the loveliness, I heartily encourage you to go take a look. And, if you call San Francisco home, I suggest you take your image scavenging to the next level by visiting the Prelinger Library in person some time. That is where the real treasure awaits….Now, you ask, does this have anything at all to do with a tiny metal-clad shop in the Mission? Certainly.

        Ainda que não seja uma verdade absoluta, também está longe de ser um absurdo. As opiniões acerca de quem é o melhor obviamente variam e nunca convergiram para um consenso, pois uma afirmação deste tipo precisa ser contextualizada, uma vez que não existe o autor sem o leitor. E quem julga é o leitor.

Bem, o fato é que Tolstoi é uma leitura envolvente não apenas pelo inegável poder narrativo - e isso sim se pode afirmar - mas pela sensibilidade com que ele constrói seus personagens. Seja qual for o contexto, seja qual for o conflito, seja qual for o caráter, Tolstói é preciso em todos.

        Recentemente li, assim meio que por acaso, "Felicidade Conjugal", novela maravilhosa reunida em conjunto com "O Diabo" em uma edição da L&PM. Um livrinho de dez ou doze pilas que adquiri num dia em que estava de bobeira sem nada pra ler.

        E é essa a dica: está de bobeira? quer satisfação garantida? Tolstói é o cara. Ou ao menos é um deles.

The show invites viewers to appreciate the erratic machinations of the human mind. Our emotions, ideas, environment, background, obsessions, and choices combine in infinite degrees to create the unpredictable events of our lives.

I'm especially drawn to the lead character, Detective Bobby Goren, compellingly embodied by Vincent D'Onofrio. His eccentricities, observational skills, and deductive prowess might make you wonder what he (and the show's writers) would notice about you. Trained in psychology, Goren deals with his mother who was plagued by emotional disease before her demise, and he constantly wrestles with his own demons.

Goren's subtly alluring charm stems from his desire to accomplish more than catch the culprits. He's interested in understanding why people do what they do -- quite possibly in an attempt to better understand himself. And in his pursuit of self-comprehension we might discover a beginning point for our own journey of self-discovery.

In the engrossing episode Gone, Goren tracks a paranoid chess master, David Blake, suspected of murdering a young woman who arrived in New York in order to visit her fiancé's family. As a boy, Blake blossomed with a prodigious gift for chess. He became a grand master and, subsequently, a pawn in US-USSR chess diplomacy during the 1970s. At one point, Blake broke the US embargo on Cuba by visiting the island to play in a tournament in which he ultimately won a million dollar prize.

By violating the embargo, Blake became subject to seizure of his assets and criminal prosecution. Being a genius, he invented ways to hide for over two decades. Meanwhile, he was unable to do the one thing he loved most -- play chess at the highest levels. Any public appearance would have resulted in his immediate arrest. His inability to find an outlet matching his creative impulse drove Blake mad.

At the story's climax, Goren places Blake in check causing the grandmaster to contemplate his next move while in police custody. In the dénouement, the ever-insightful Goren quips to his partner Alexandra Eams, "When you keep people from doing what they do best, it makes them insane."

You may not know a rook from a bishop, but you might feel the stifling inability of fully expressing yourself. Many people live emotionally fused lives, believing that their will is what's best for others. A son loves painting, but father wants him to be a doctor. A daughter has a passion for math, but her parents push her into business administration. A couple believes that God loves all people, but their religious authorities instruct them to keep their faith quiet.

Your heart cries out for a particular form of articulation but society, relationships, and institutions continually suppress your unique creativity. Without having what Virginia Woolf called "a room of one's own," frustration grows into irritation, anxiety, and despondency.

Perhaps this partially explains the intense disquiet felt in various religious communities. The common theme announced weekly affirms that our highest purpose is to glorify God, and we achieve that end primarily through the vehicle of the church, performing its rites and liturgies, and affirming the traditions of the particular fellowship. We're left to tacitly infer that what we do best is maintaining the inner functions, financial health, and public appearance of the institution. We serve best, supposedly, when become human batteries energizing the matrix.

But what happens when what we do best comes into variance with the official policy? The hierarchy says that a twelve year old girl was born to become the wife of a fifty year old man. Or you can't play the guitar because God approves of acapella music only. Or you can't speak in public gatherings because you don't have a Y chromosome. Or you must abandon the one night you have a week to spend with you family so that you can attend a group meeting. Must we persistently sacrifice our individuality for a supposedly greater good? When does the greater good include us?

Let's assume that glorifying God might be what we do best. It's a simple category error to conflate the glorification of God with the perpetuation of institutionalized religion. Jesus noted that the Sabbath had been made for humanity and not the other way around. Ideological enforcement of Sabbath regulations drove people to the point of madness so that they couldn't celebrate the healing of a blind man or the feeding of hungry humans. Today, ideological enforcement of our religious traditions elicits similar lunacy.

How can we stop the insanity? The book of Revelation ends with a buoyant vision. A river of life proceeds from the divine throne. The river irrigates the Tree of Life whose fruit and leaves provide and promote healing. Here is God's therapeutic word. Healing of heart, mind, and soul. We can begin to experience this healing by recognizing that God takes no pleasure in burdening you to the brink of psychosis. God's concern is about your freedom, not your bondage. Your liberation, not your repression. Your flourishing, not your shrinking. Once we see this, we will stop confusing creedal dogmatism with God's will.

If glorifying God is what we do best, what does that really mean? Once again, we look to Jesus who describes glory as loving God with all that we are and loving others likewise. This recognition reframes entirely our normal thought patterns concerning the substitution of stale religion for vibrant living. Importantly, it's open to an infinite variety of expressions. Your incarnation of love creates new life as you breathe fresh air into our world.

You may already be aware of what you do best. If not, spend time with your heart and discover it. Live awake so that you can know what you do best, and then do it. Don't remain unconscious to your highest and deepest life passions. God takes as much pleasure in gardening as singing on the praise team. Meanwhile, grant that same life-giving freedom to others. Don't imprison them, thereby driving them round the bend. Listen to their hearts so that you can help them encounter God's inner divine healing.

Finally, we might ask what God does best. Jesus provides an intriguing answer in his prayer. "And the glory which you gave me I have given them, that they may be one just as we are one" (John 17:22). God glorifies us. Because no one prevented God from doing what he does best, he lives in perfect success of his good work through Christ, and we all share in that blessing no matter how crazy it seems (1Corinthians 1:25).
~~~~~~~~~~
Originally published on June 30, 2008. (c) Presence International. Parousia is a free Transmillennial publication of Presence. To receive Parousia in your inbox each week click here.

"Tenho medo do choque provocado pelas sensações que sobre mim se abatem, pois não posso lidar com elas do mesmo modo que vocês - sou incapaz de fazer com que um momento se funda noutro. Para mim, são todos violentos, separados; e, se me deixar derrubar pelo choque do salto efetuado pelo momento, vocês cair-me-ão em cima, acabando por me despedaçar. Não tenho qualquer objetivo em vista. Não sei correr de minuto a minuto, de hora a hora, misturando-os através de uma qualquer força natural até constituírem aquela massa indivisível a que vocês chamam vida. Dado terem um objetivo em vista, será sentarem-se junto a alguém, será uma idéia, será uma beleza? (não sei), os vossos dias e as vossas horas passam com a doçura dos ramos das árvores que se vão balançando ao vento, e com a suavidade do verde das florestas, por onde os cães de caça vão perseguindo um determinado odor. Contudo e no que me diz respeito, não há um único cheiro, um único ser a quem possa seguir. Para mais, não possuo rosto. Sou como a espuma que passa a rasar pela areia, ou como um raio de luar, que ora cai nesta lata vazia ora neste fio de alga, ou ainda num osso ou numa embarcação semicarcomida. Sou transportada para o interior das grutas e comprimida contra as paredes dos corredores como se fosse papel, e tenho de pressionar a mão, libertar a parede com toda a força, pois só assim me poderei. Mas, e dado que aquilo que mais quero é encontrar um refúgio, finjo ter um objetivo em vista..."

(As ondas, Virginia Woolf)

Encontro-me em uma das fases mais complicadas da minha vida, por mais que eu nutre esperanças e forças, uma tristeza me invade e toma conta dos meus pensamentos e quase paralisa as minhas ações... tanta coisa para pensar, para consertar, para conversar, tantos pingos nos "ís" para colocar... espero que essa fase passe logo! Enquanto ela não passa, fico por aqui... beijos azuis em cada um de vocês! ;)

But in other news, I spent a lovely afternoon at the Maryland Tillman abode and was given the privilege of collaborating on the curriculum for a high school homeschool American literature course. I also got to meet the new kitty-in-law, who was adorable. Oh, I was in heaven - cats, families, books. I am not certain how much of the American literature course I will get to teach this year, but I am very excited about it. I can't wait to finish the MA and be able to teach full time. It's nice to think both that I now know what I like to do and that I am reasonably qualified to do it, neither of which have happened before. 

The Tillman visit was pretty much the most exciting thing that's happened around here lately as most days are passed either reading at home or reading at the Writing Center. As many of you know (many? are there many of you yet, readers?), I am preparing to take a comprehensive literature exam in January, so I am reading as much as I possibly can. My blog posts will probably center mostly around this task, which may seem (and probably is) one of the most boring topics for a blog - BUT just think how useful it will be to you, dear reader: *you* will never need to read Robinson Crusoe because *I* will be uniquely qualified to tell you that you needn't bother. Right? 

I fear I'm not very good at this blogging business. How do you do it? Oi. I will try. Much love to you all!

My daughter and her friend are also avid campers, and what I love about camping in the Harbor Islands is that it's relatively easy to get to.  Yes, it's a pain to carry all of our tents, sleeping bags, and other camping equipment on public transportation, but it's well worth it once you get there.  We took the T to Long Wharf, then took a ferry to Georges Island, then a shuttle to Bumpkin Island and found a nice campsite right next to the beach.  For those looking for a respite from busy city life, I highly recommend making the trip out to the Harbor Islands, for camping or even just a relaxing day trip.  Although Boston's skyline is visible from Bumpkin, once you're out there, it's not difficult at all to really feel away from the hussle and bussle of the city, and the fact that the camping is so primitive (no running water, electricity, etc.) really adds to the overall experience, in my opinion. 

In fact, on my Links page, I've listed the Harbor Islands as an ideal location for a mini retreat, and someday I would love to facilitate a group retreat on Bumpkin, Grape, or Lovells, the three islands that currently offer camping.  (I haven't been to Grape Island yet, but my boyfriend and I will be camping there for one night in mid August and are looking forward to it!)

Speaking of retreats, I recently bought a copy of Jennifer Louden's The Woman's Retreat Book and started reading it while on Bumpkin.  Although I'm not very far into it yet, what I've read to date has really resonated with me, and the whole idea of being on retreat really appeals to me, in much the same way that Virginia Woolf's notion of "a room of one's own" resonates with me, as both a woman and a writer.  All of us need time and space to take care of ourselves and be nurtured and refreshed.  For most of my life I've been taught that this is selfish, that a woman should never put her own needs above those of her child, spouse, etc., but in fact, doing so helps one to become a better mother, wife, friend, artist, etc.  If we don't carve out this time for ourselves, we become depleted, run down and burnt out.  I've been there, and I know many of you reading this have, too.

However, I also realize that many of you, like me, can't afford to spend a lot of money traveling to fancy retreat centers, spas, resorts, etc.  Does this mean that retreats are out of the question for us?  No, absolutely not!  For instance, reserving a campsite on one of the Harbor Islands is extremely cheap, and the ferry tickets are reasonably priced, too.  You don't have to travel far to reap the benefits of a retreat.  For those who prefer a real bed to sleeping outdoors on the ground, another option is to explore youth hostels (which, despite the name, are for people of any age, not just young people).  In August, in addtion to camping with my boyfriend on Grape Island, I'll be traveling alone to Nantucket and the Cape for two separate mini-retreats, both times staying at a Hostelling International youth hostel.

Another option - one which is currently being touted by Mayor Menino - is to vacation at home.  Why spend lots of money to travel to a different city and stay in hotels when you can turn your own home into a retreat and vacation in your own backyard?  Again, the key to a successful and nourishing retreat is not how much money you spend, but the intention behind it.  If you approach the experience with the right attitude and sense of reverence, there's no reason why it can't be spiritually and psychologically restorative, nourishing your body, mind, and soul.

Also, as I mentioned in an earlier post, I've recently been laid off from my job, and my last day was Friday, June 20th (the first day of summer, which seems significant somehow).  Rather than be depressed by the loss of my job, I'm actually quite happy to be unemployed.  I'm going to miss having a steady paycheck, of course, but I'm looking forward to starting massage school at Cortiva in a few weeks and forging a new vocation for myself, one which is better suited to my interests and talents and will eventually allow me to be my own boss and have more freedom and flexibility in my life.

In fact, the other book which I'm currently reading is called Making a Living Without a Job: Winning Ways for Creating Work That You Love by Barbara Winter, which I highly recommend to anyone who's tired of the rat race and wants to become "joyfully jobless" by creating a custom career for herself or himself.

I'll write more about both of these books in future posts, as well as discuss in greater depth the concepts of retreat and vocation, which have been occupying my thoughts a lot lately during this time of transition.

P.S.  For those of you in the Boston area who are interested in Maggie Jackson's new book, I just found out today that she'll be discussing Distracted at the Brookline Booksmith in Coolidge Corner at 7 pm on Thursday, July 17th.

Första bokstaven ut blir W. Utmaningen är att nämna en bok OCH en författare på bokstaven. Någon som ni gillar, avskyr, skrattar åt, gråter till, skräms av. Ja, listan kan göras lång men motivera ditt val så vi vet om vi ska hänföras eller skrämmas bort. Jag hoppas att det finns någon sommarlovs-/semesterfirandes boknörd därute som vill delge sina val!

Författare på W... hm... svårt val men det får bli Rebecca West. Jag älskar hennes självbiografi i tre delar, om sin utfattiga uppväxt där den älskade modern ansåg att musikalitet var det viktigaste (viktigare än mat på bordet) och pappan åkte i fängelse för sina principer/yttrandefriheten. West uppfinner en bror också, som egentligen inte fanns. Förra sommaren läste jag 1200-sidors-eposet Black Lamb and Grey Falcon om Jugoslavien, det tog tre veckor. (Börja inte med den!)

Bubblare: Alice Walker, Jeanette Winterson, Fay Weldon. UPPDATERING: Virginia Woolf, hur kunde jag glömma? Mrs Dalloway, Mot fyren, Orlando...

Boken då. Det finns nästan inga i min hylla/som jag kommer på, så det får bli lite lite småfusk: (The) Woman Detective, av Katherine Gregory Klein. Om förmödrarna till Sara Paretsky, Kay Scarpetta, Annika Bengtzon, Rebecka Martinsson.

Jag önskar mig en kategori "litterär figur" också, då skulle jag välja Wimsey, lord Peter.

"Första bokstaven ut blir W. Utmaningen är att nämna en bok OCH en författare på bokstaven. Någon som ni gillar, avskyr, skrattar åt, gråter till, skräms av. Ja, listan kan göras lång men motivera ditt val så vi vet om vi ska hänföras eller skrämmas bort. Jag hoppas att det finns någon sommarlovs-/semesterfirandes boknörd därute som vill delge sina val!"

En bok på W: Tja, jag tänker direkt på en dikt. We are seven

William Wordsworth är författaren och det blev många W, så även om det blev en dikt blev ändå på något sätt W-kvoten fylld.

We are seven är vacker och den visar på hur kristallklart barnet tänker. Den går att använda inom momentet romantiken och eleverna brukar uppskatta den, själv tycker jag väldigt mycket om den och den dyker ofta upp i mitt huvud när jag för diskussioner med min egen son. Jag tycker mig ha rätt i en fråga och han säger att nej du mamma så är det inte. Visst har han oftast rätt för det självklara är klart som korvspad. Bara att jag inte själv såg svaret. Det ligger framför mig, "så klart så är det" tänker jag då.  

En författare på W: Den jag direkt tänkte på är Virginia Woolf. Ett fascinerande författaröde och trots detta eller på grund av detta skrev Virginia många och intressanta böcker. Hennes sätt att skriva fastnade och boken Mot fyren har gjort ett stort intryck på mig. Jag använder mig också av Virginia i min undervisning. Kvinnliga författare från dåtid till nutid är ett moment som jag tar upp i årskurs 9 och där ingår Woolf såklart.

Os títulos estão dispostos em ordem alfabética.

D
Diálogo no Monte Pentélico, Um

P
Phillys e Rosamond

R
Retrato de uma Londrina

S
Segunda ou Terça-feira

Woolf, Virginia. A Room of One's Own. Selected Works of Virginia Woolf. London: Wordsworth, 2005. 531-634.

Though I haven't written much on Virginia Woolf of late [i], I have been continuing my plan to read her major works. I finished A Room of One's Own as I was recovering from my ear infexions last month, and am currently working my way through The Years. Reading is slow, what with Ben, articles (on Ben), Derrida essays, and my repeated efforts to create an argument that brings all these together in a cohesive whole [ii]. Woolf, though, proves consistently hilarious rest from Ben and theory.

Woolf's skill at irony -- satire and just plain sarcasm -- is adept: a problem I find intriguing considering one her repeated advice to or indictments of female novelists and writers is the problem of including anger in one's work. Comparing the writing of Austen and Charlotte Brontë, Woolf declares Austen the finer writer:

perhaps it was the nature of Jane Austen not to want what she had not. Her gift and her circumstances matched each other completely. But I doubt whether that was true of Charlotte Brontë, I said, opening Jane Eyre and laying it beside Pride and Prejudice.

I opened it to Chapter Twelve and my eye was caught by the phrase, 'Anybody may blame me who likes.' What are they blaming Charlotte Brontë for? I wondered. And I read how Jane Eyre used to go up on to the roof when Mrs. Fairfax was making jellies and looked over the fields at the distant view. And then she longed -- and it was for this that they blamed her -- [...] 'for a power of vision which might overpass that limit; which might reach the busy world, towns, regions full of life I had heard of but never seen: that then I desired for practical experience than I possessed. [...] When thus alone I not unfrequently heard Grace Poole's laugh...

That is an awkward break, I thought. It is upsetting to come upon Grace Poole all of a sudden. The continuity is disturbed. One might say, I continued, laying the book down beside Pride and Prejudice, that the woman who wrote those pages had more genius in her than Jane Austen; but if one reads them over and marks that jerk in them, that indignation, one sees that she will never get her genius expressed whole and entire. Her books will be deformed and twisted. She will write in a rage where she should write calmly. She will write foolishly where she should write wisely. She will write of herself where she should write of her characters. She is at war with her lot. How could she help but die young, cramped and thwarted? (605-606)

I have found this passage puzzling for awhile. Charlotte Brontë's writing might end up auto-biographical and more "deformed" than Austen's work, but if it is, it is justifiably so.

Woolf spends the first two books of A Room of One's Own contrasting the rooms, dining halls and the intellectual company at the male-dominated Oxbridge University and the women's Fernham College. While male scholars have access to university libraries, women are denied this access (unless accompanied by a male chaperone). Too, male scholars are consistently better fed and given better living conditions than women, and thus possess all the material conditions that foster free intellectual thought and interesting, innovative writing.

Similarly, in what may be the most frequently-discussed chapter of Woolf's essay, Judith Shakespeare (Chapter Three) commits suicide when the material and legal conditions of her society prevent her from following the same career as her illustrious brother (a fate that is prescient of Woolf's own suicide in 1941). Brontë/Jane Eyre's frustration, then, at being denied the intellectual freedom and experiences that men possess, seems a position with which Woolf herself would sympathise; to hide that anger under a "perfectly natural, shapely sentence" (611), as Woolf claims Austen does, seems an unethical and insincere approach to Austen's characters and her audience.

Admittedly, a female writing when she is angry (particularly in Woolf's society) might find herself facing charges of irrationality, or writing due to emotion [iii]; however, such anger might also act as revelatory gesture, exposing the oppressive social conditions for women. The reader must ask, then, what is to be lost by writing angrily. For Woolf, anger, by a male or female writer is simply rhetorically ineffective:

But while I pondered I had unconsciously, in my listlessness, in my desperation, been drawing a picture where I should, like my neighbour, have been writing a conclusion. I had been drawing a face, a figure. It was the face and the figure of Professor von X engaged in writing his monumental work entitled The Mental, Moral, and Physical Inferiority of the Female Sex. He was not in my picture a man attractive to women. [...] His expression suggested that he was labouring under some emotion that made him jab his pen on the paper as if he were killing some noxious insect as he wrote, but even when he had killed it that did not satisfy him; he must go on killing it; and even so, some cause for anger and irritation remained. [...] Whatever the reason, the professor was made to look very angry and very ugly in my sketch, as he wrote his great book upon the mental, moral and physical inferiority of women. Drawing pictures was an idle way of finishing an unprofitable morning’s work. Yet it is in our idleness, in our dreams, that the submerged truth sometimes comes to the top. A very elementary exercise in psychology, not to be dignified by the name of psychoanalysis, showed me, on looking at my notebook, that the sketch of the angry professor had been made in anger. Anger had snatched my pencil while I dreamt. But what was anger doing there? Interest, confusion, amusement, boredom—all these emotions I could trace and name as they succeeded each other throughout the morning. Had anger, the black snake, been lurking among them? Yes, said the sketch, anger had. It referred me unmistakably to the one book, to the one phrase, which had roused the demon; it was the professor’s statement about the mental, moral and physical inferiority of women. My heart had leapt. My cheeks had burnt. I had flushed with anger. There was nothing specially remarkable, however foolish, in that. One does not like to be told that one is naturally the inferior of a little man [...] Soon my own anger was explained and done with; but curiosity remained. How explain the anger of the professors? Why were they angry? For when it came to analysing the impression left by these books there was always an element of heat. This heat took many forms; it showed itself in satire, in sentiment, in curiosity, in reprobation. But there was another element which was often present and could not immediately be identified. Anger, I called it. But it was anger that had gone underground and mixed itself with all kinds of other emotions. To judge from its odd effects, it was anger disguised and complex, not anger simple and open [...] I knew that he was angry by this token. When I read what he wrote about women—I thought, not of what he was saying, but of himself. When an arguer argues dispassionately he thinks only of the argument; and the reader cannot help thinking of the argument too. If he had written dispassionately about women, had used indisputable proofs to establish his argument and had shown no trace of wishing that the result should be one thing rather than another, one would not have been angry either. One would have accepted the fact, as one accepts the fact that a pea is green or a canary yellow. So be it, I should have said. But I had been angry because he was angry. (582-584)

Though Woolf confesses to her anger during her reading experience, her transcription of the event is rational, and indeed, self-reflective: her commentary on men's treatment of women in literature and science is made through an interrogation of her own responses to the texts she reads. Her critique, though satirical, progresses logically through her line of thought, and involves textual examples (that is, "proof") to convince her readers. [iv]

Indeed, throughout A Room of One's Own, Woolf maintains control over her work, and despite her fear that the topic "women in fiction" will be too variable to cover adequetly in a series of lectures, manages to discuss "women and what they are like, [...] women and the fiction that they write; [...] women and the fiction that is written about them, [and] all three [...] inextricably mixed together," (565) and does so in a logically unfolding narrative. Her comparative meals at Oxbridge and Fernham lead Woolf to wonder "Why did men drink wine and women water? Why was one sex so prosperous and the other so poor? What effect has poverty on fiction? What conditions are necessary for the creation of works of art?" (579). In order to research these questions, Woolf visits the British Museum where she encounters the book by Professor X which causes her anger; to allay this emotion, Woolf muses that contemporary conditions for women have improved signifcantly since Brontë's time, a musing which leads her to consider a social history of women, the writing conditions and products of Shakespeare, Austen, and Brontë, to compare the evolving literary styles of women, as well as the genres open to women in her society. Having predicted that opportunities for women will only become increasingly available, Woolf then offers her suggestion of how literature ought to develop, a suggestion which, considering the topic of Orlando, and her praise of both Shakespeare and Austen for refusing to allow their circumstances and mind to enter their writing (a character she labels "integrity"), is unsurprising:

And I went on amateurishly to sketch a plan of the soul so that in each of us two powers preside, one male, one female; and in the man’s brain the man predominates over the woman, and in the woman’s brain the woman predominates over the man. The normal and comfortable state of being is that when the two live in harmony together, spiritually co–operating. (623-624)

Woolf's suggestion for the cultivation of the "androgynous mind" is one that attempts to relieve the oppression of one gender not by inverting the power relationship between men an women, but by eliminating this power relationship: that is, Woolf suggests eliminating the cause of anger between men and women altogether.

Realistically, however, Woolf also suggests that a leveling of gender will not occur for span of decades, as women must actively labour to overcome their present state in which they are "dreadfully ignorant" (632), and they must do so from within their material and social limitations. This is a process which, she predicts, will take another century, at least. While it's heartening to note that many of Woolf's predictions about burgeoning gender equality have been realised, it can also be dismaying to realise that Anglo-American feminist literary criticism has tended to ignore or reject Woolf, reconsigning her to the obscurity which left her frustrated and angry.

End Notes:

[i] of late. It seemed incongruous writing about her during Ben's birthday week, that old misogynist.

[ii] a cohesive whole. A process which follows the pattern: type, delete, type, delete, delete, expletives, head-on-desk-in-despair-utter-utter-despair, walk the dog, type type delete.

[iii] due to emotion. A declamation which is itself unfair, given that males, as Woolf notes at various points in her essay, are permitted to write angrily without being declared similarly irrational. Woolf cites the example of a male scholar naming Rebecca West an "arrant feminist" for writing that men are "snobs": in response to which Woolf offers the indignant observation that "The exclamation, to me so surprising—for why was Miss West an arrant feminist for making a possibly true if uncomplimentary statement about the other sex?—was not merely the cry of wounded vanity; it was a protest against some infringe ment of his power to believe in himself" (585).

[iv] her readers. In this way, Woolf is comparable to Austen who, though she is often satirical and sarcastic, is never irrational.

25 June 2008 ~ Niagara Falls

El hecho de vivir en un piso 14, con amplias vistas te da para mucho. El tiempo pasa, las nubes se quedan, los vencejos de mi alero comen mosquitos y se observa la vida.

Un día ves una inquietante señal en la hierba (también conocida por su nombre técnico de agrograma ) del Monte Banderas, muy al estilo M. Night Shyamalan, y esperas que sea un montaje artístico porque, de lo contrario, será que un "Incidente" esta a punto de abatirse sobre nuestra perezosa Villa.

Al día siguiente y mirando el que se presume será el nuevo ensanche de lujo observas a Aitor Mazo rodando su opera prima en los vetustos pabellones abandonados de Zorrozaurre. Es un alivio descubrir que aquello que parece un campamento rumano expulsado de los extrarradios de Roma por Berlusconi, son sólo cineastas buscando sitios que parezcan anclados en los años 50 del pasado siglo.

Y así, sin mover ni dos grados la visión, en mi querido bosque urbano nacido del derrumbe de una factoría observas como, no contentos con ponernos a los sufridos habitantes de Zorroza, una y dos incineradoras de basura,  (Zabalzikina I y II a.k.a. como ZabalGarbi) también nos regalan  con las vistas de  un nuevo vertedero incontrolado en la vecina península de Zorrozaurre.

Los periodistas llevamos un cotilla dentro y vemos noticias hasta desde la ventana.

(Top) Julia Margaret Cameron,"Julia Jackson," albumen print, ca. 1867; (Bottom) George Charles Beresford, "Virginia Woolf," platinum print, 1902

While on the subject of Julia Cameron. .  . (see Alice of the Pure Unclouded Brow) I couldn't help noticing the many portraits of a contemporary of Alice Liddell, a pure pre-Raphaelite beauty, Julia Prinsep Jackson (above left).  Julia Jackson was one of Cameron's favorite sitters; she happened also to be her neice, daughter of Cameron's sister Maria.   Julia Jackson (1846-1895) married Sir Leslie Stephen (widely considered the "father" of the Bloomsbury group) and they begat Virginia Stephen (1882-1941), who later married Leonard Woolf.  V. Woolf's looks were distinctive—those bug-y eyes!— and the portrait above of her has been pretty widely circulated. So, when I chanced upon the Cameron portrait of Jackson and learned of the relationship between the two women, I hit my forehead in an "DUH!" gesture. How obvious could it be? Unfortunately for Virginia she didn't inherit her mother's overall beauty.  Julia Jackson died when Virginia was just 13 and this was to haunt her for many years.

Some other interesting tidbits:

Julia Jackson Stephen first married at age 19 or so Herbert Duckworth, a barrister, who died tragically a few years into their marriage.  Herbert Duckworth might have been a descendent of William the Conquerer, but that illustrious lineage wouldn't have passed to Virginia. His descendants are related to Princess Diana. Virginia was, however, descended on her mother's side from a page in Marie Antoinette's court.  

Julia Jackson also posed for Edward Burne-Jones, the pre-eminent pre-Raphaelite painter; we know that she was the model for the head of the virgin in  his Adoration of the Magi. 

Sir Leslie Stephens' (Virginia's father) was a widower when he met Julia Jackson Duckworth. His first wife was the daughter of author William Makepeace Thackeray (Vanity Fair).

In 1926, Virginia Woolf (1882-1941) wrote an introduction to Julia Margaret Cameron's posthumously-published Victorian Photographs of Famous Men & Fair Women, and that brings the whole family tree full circle. 

In the June 22 issue of The Sunday Times, however, critics and writers have named their most-loathed novels. And two of them are Woolf's.

Here are their conflicting comments about Woolf's work in the article "Critics Choose Their Most-Loathed Books":

• From Stephen Amidon, novelist, fiction reviewer, and former journalist:
  "The Waves by Virginia Woolf is everything a novel should not be – and so much less. After the triumphs of Mrs. Dalloway and To the Lighthouse, and the fascinating experimentation of Orlando, Woolf decided to change tack with this “playpoem” and wound up sinking into a putrid morass of unreadability. Beloved of American academics – which ought to tell you something right there – the book fairly accurately simulates the experience of sitting next to a pretentious old windbag on a flight to Australia. "

• From John Carey, The Sunday Times chief books critic:
  "My redmist book is Virginia Woolf’s Orlando, the acme of Bloomsburyish poppycock, a self-flattering appropriation of English literature and history, distilled from Woolf’s temporarily addled brain by the heat of her infatuation for the aristocratic Vita Sackville-West. Should be sold with a sick bag attached.

These writers would benefit from reading another article just posted to the VW Listserv, "Reviews Resonate as PR, Summary Can't." Written by Todd Shy, it was published in the June 22 News Observer. 

In it, Shy cites Woolf's essay, "Hours in a Library," as a model for book review writing. In her 1916 essay, Woolf describes the difficult process of writing a good review, one that sees the book, as well as what the book is seeing.

Lists such as the one printed in the June 22 Sunday Times aren't designed to do either. Instead they seem to be the literary version of the Jerry Springer show. 

Many writers will proclaim that they do their best work in silence and solitude, in a special room or section of a room in their home that is equipped specially for the purpose of writing. Others, with more resources, have a cottage or retreat to which they escape, where they are able to isolate themselves from the rest of the world.

Laptops have changed a lot for writers, have made it easier to "get away from it all"; to sit in a coffee shop and write or in a quite garden.

But many of us like the safe and comforting ritual of a special place.

Virginia Woolf certainly did have a room of her own, well two actually. In Sussex, she had this small writing room in the garden constructed out of a wooden tool shed below a loft. It had big windows and a view of the Downs across to Mount Caburn.

Read more about it.

A beautiful movie based upon a magnificent book based upon an extraordinary life.

We're baking the cake to show that we love him.
Otherwise he won't know we love him?
That's right

Very well, London then. We go back to London.

I don't think two people could have been happier then we've been.

Dear Leonard. To look life in the face, always, to look life in the face and to know it for what it is. At last to know it, to love it for what it is, and then, to put it away. Leonard, always the years between us, always the years. Always the love. Always the hours.

Here is the real Virginia talking--an excerpt from a broadcast that she made on April 29, 1937.

Mrs. Dalloway said
she would by the flowers
herself.