Virginia Woolf Books

This handy, little book is a fascinating look at Virginia Woolf and her monumental book, "A Room of One's Own." This book begins with a chronology of Woolf's life, launches into a biography of her, and then looks at Woolf and her book, their world and their relationship. This is a great book, one that everyone should read. It's short and easy to understand, so it's not just for students. Do yourself a favor and buy this book!

I had to read this in class, and it was great. Nothing I was able to find did half the job this book did! I would definatly recommend it...

Wow, I'm really surprised that there aren't more reviews of this wonderful book.

"A Room of One's Own" was the first book that turned me onto Virginia Woolf (and I highly recommend that book, too).

However, I love "Women and Writing" for a wholly different reason. It's in this book that Woolf's essay on "the angel in the house" is included.

Are you a woman who's dreamt of becoming a writer? Go no further until you read Woolf's comments about the angel in the house. That phrase came from a Victorian-era poem by 19th Century poet Coventry Patmore. It's a sugary-sweet (and quite sickening) poem about the self-effacing woman who gives her whole being to her husband; so much so that there's nothing left of her own soul. Ick.

Woolf writes, "It was she [the angel in the house] who bothered me and wasted my time and so tormented me that at last I killed her...She was intensely sympathetic. She was utterly unselfish. She sacrificed herself daily...The shadow of her wings fell on my page; I heard the rustling of her skirts in the room. I took my pen in my hand...she slipped behind me and whispered [to me], 'My dear, you are a young woman...Never let anybody guess that you have a mind of your own. Above all, be pure.'

"And she made as if to guide my pen...

"I turned upon her and caught her by the throat. I did my best to kill her... Had I not killed her she would have killed me. She would have plucked the heart out of my writing..."

Powerful stuff.

I'm a full time writer who doesn't think too highly of wanna-be writers who spend all their time learning to write and reading about writing and thinking about writing.

However, if you're only going to read a handful of books about the craft, I recommend "A Room of One's Own" and this book, "Women and Writing."

Rose
author, The Houses That Sears Built

Barrett brought together several of Woolf's writings and criticisms about women and writing. It's a fascinating collection that expands one's view of Virginia Woolf as a writer and as a thinking, highly intelligent woman. Her reviews of some of her contemporaries or such writers as Jane Austen, George Eliot, and the Brontës are thought-provoking and revealing about Woolf's inner life. Coupled with Barrett's insightful introduction, this book is a welcome addition to anyone's Woolf collection or to those interested in women as writers. It expands a bit on the notions presented in her famous "A Room Of One's Own".

If I had only one word to sum up this book it would have to be "depressing". Even the author/narrator sounded depressed as he read this book in a monotonous tone. I found this story a very difficult one to stick with as the book was populated with people who were unhappy, suicidal and unsatisfied with their lives. It left me feeling extremely gloomy. I most definitely will not be renting the movie as I don't care to relive the story again.

After finishing "The Hours," I perused the critics' reviews on the back cover. I was sincerely disappointed that all the critics got out of the book was that Cunningham proves the relevance of literature in ordinary life. Cunningham's in-depth exploration of a day in the lives of three women examines much more profound themes, such as disappointment and satisfaction in daily life, the meaning of happiness, the need to "play a role" in order to continue regular social interaction, and the feeling of entrapment by one's life. All of these themes are sincerely considered, and while Cunningham uses Virginia Woolf as one of the means to achieve his ends, "The Hours" is a work that stands on its own.

'The Hours' is certainly a unique, audacious piece of literature. The author attempts to dissect the enigmatic Virginia Woolf and her most famous creation, Mrs Dalloway, then projects the results into the lives of characters living in America many years later. Although the stories all hang together thanks to superlative prose, I'm not entirely sure what the author was trying to say about mankind (or womankind). I'm sort of left scratching my head, but smiling at the same time. I also found it to be a bit odd that nearly all the characters were gay or had some naughty near gay interlude. For me it almost 'The Hours' seem farcical.


Bottom line: certainly deserving of the Pulizer prize. Highly recommended.

Good book but in bad condition. They definitely did not take care of this one whereever it was stored

This is an exceptionally well crafted and well written novel, deserving of the Pulitzer Prize. The author ties together the stories of three very different women living in three very different time periods, but who share a common lineage. And, more importantly, the women share the ultimate quandary of the human condition: getting through the hours of the day in some meaningful way.

Suicide pervades all three stories. I don't agree that the book is ultimately a downer, especially given the affirming character of Clarissa, who seems to get through the hours in a positive and admirable way.

The most haunting story is that of Lara -- the 1950's housewife with the "perfect" husband and home who is deeply dissatisfied and alienated. Is the author holding her up as what-not-to-do, as a negative foil to Clarissa's more positive approach to life? Perhaps, though I find Lara somehow attractive and wish her story were more developed in the novel. Ms. Moore's performance of the character in the movie, which is largely faithful to the book, perhaps also influences me and makes the character more intriguing.

A first rate novel. The movie is also first rate. I recommend both.

I almost put this book down after the first 100 pages. The writing was difficult to get into and I kept thinking to myself, "is it worth the bother?"

I am SO glad that I did persist through the book, because it certainly was worth it. Woolf's writing is very lyrical and flows so freely (and so scattered!) that I sometimes had to re-read sentences multiple times to make sure I'd understood things correctly. It was slow going compared to my usual reading; but it was so beautiful! There's a passage in the book where Mr. Ramsey is reading, and it explains my approach to the book rather well:
"He read...as if he were guiding something, or wheedling a large flock of sheep, or pushing his way up and up a single narrow path; and sometimes he went fast and straight, and broke his way through the bramble, and sometimes it seemed a branch struck at him, a bramble blinded him, but he was not going to let himself be beaten by that; on he went, tossing over page after page."

Woolf's brier patch of words is thick and convoluted, but it was completely worthwhile picking it apart in spite of the slow start.

A beautifully and thoughtfully written novel examining and comparing life and art during the WWI era in Great Britain and contrasting those who experience life primarily through deeds and action (Mrs. Ramsay) and those who primarily experience life through thought and reflection (Mr. Carmichael)--and the underlying contempt and misunderstanding each has for the other.

Virginia Woolf's novel "To the Lighthouse" is about the inner psyche of the Ramsay family and friends as they progress over a ten year period. It is written in an stream-of-consciousness style except for an interlude between the two major time periods. I did not find this book very interesting. Although there is a lot of prose on the pages, I found that in the end I knew very little about the major characters. This book just wasn't worth the read for me.
For those of you who don't like "spoilers" (there is one shocker at the end of the first time period), don't read the introduction by Eudora Welty found in this version. It reads like a book report and essentially summarizes the entire plot.

Lauded as a staple of the modernist canon, Woolf's stream-of-consciousness novel of alienation is better appreciated for its exquisitely delicious prose and her ability to invoke the tragic beauty of striving for intimacy and immortality (symbolized by the eponymous lighthouse), only to find it always just beyond one's grasp. Is there a sadder line anywhere in Western literature than when Mrs. Ramsey is tucking her young son James into bed? "In a moment he would ask her, `Are we going to the Lighthouse?' And she would have to say, 'No: not tomorrow; your father says not.' Happily, Mildred came in to fetch them, and the bustle distracted them. But he kept looking back over his shoulder as Mildred carried him out, and she was certain that he was thinking, we are not going to the Lighthouse tomorrow; and she thought, he will remember that all his life."

The idea of Virginia Woolf's fiction being read aloud effectively has struck me as an impossibility. The very interiority of Woolf's style seemed to suggest that readers hear the narrative voice within themselves. This reading proves me dead wrong. Virginia Leishman's reading--and interpretation--added much to my passion for a novel I have always loved. Readers--and listeners--new to Virigina Woolf need to be able to listen for long stretches of time in order to follow the stream of consciousness that propels the story. This commitment will be amply rewarded.

I am glad I purchased this. I will listen to it many, many times.

This book reminded me of the 1988 presidential debate between Walter Mondale and George Herbert Walker Bush when a frustrated Mondale finally asked Bush, "Where's the beef?" after a famous Wendy's commercial. That is the first thing that popped into my head when I finished this book. I didn't have a clue what it was about nor did I care. It was only because I was in a book club that I persevered.

It is only a single London day in June, 1923, after World War I, and Mrs. Dalloway is out shopping for flowers for her big party to be given that evening. Even the Prime Minister will be coming because Clarissa Dalloway's husband, Richard, is a minor cog in the government. Virginia Woolf was originally going to call her breakthrough novel The Hours, a title Michael Cunningham used in his tribute novel to Mrs. Dalloway. The pealing of Big Ben and other chimes striking the hours segue this chapterless novel into different character spheres, different memories or thoughts. Big Ben's leaden circles of sound move out, widen, and wrap other characters into the narrative.
Using James Joyce's then-new technique of stream of consciousness, Woolf explores the minds of a number of her characters. Clarissa's character is probed in great detail, not only as she sees herself but also as many other characters see her.
Septimus Smith is wandering around London that June day, a veteran suffering from post traumatic stress disorder, what was then called being shell-shocked. Though they pass close by each other, Septimus and Clarissa never meet. When she hears word of this stranger's suicide through a famous doctor at the party, it has a profound effect upon her. Septimus is probably closer in his mental state to Virginia Woolf herself than to Clarissa Dalloway, but the ripples of meaning, like the reverberations of the chiming, caused by his death make her neglect her party. Clarissa, who seemed so unfeeling and superficial, turns out to have too much feeling.
This is not easy reading. Woolf wrote many essays and portions of this book are more essayistic than fictional narrative.
The story has a fluidity as one character's life and mind blends and segues into another. One character after another takes center stage in the narrative. Peter Walsh, Clarissa's old beau, passes Septimus in Regents Park, and the narrative passes from Septimus to Peter in the way that a baton would be passed in a relay race.
In the party scene I was reminded of Joyce's "The Dead" in Dubliners. Mrs. Dalloway is a richly textured book that can be reread many times. At different stages of the reader's life it will take on new meanings. Clarissa Dalloway is like a chameleon that you can never truly pin down.

Nine Lives Too Many
The Daemon in Our Dreams
The Rice Queen Spy
Clawed Back from the Dead

For the longest time, I thought I disliked Virginia Woolf's work. Typically, I am not a fan of "stream of consciousness," and being that "To the Lighthouse" was my first read, Woolf left me not wanting for more. However, in a Queer Theory course in my graduate studies, "Mrs. Dalloway" was assigned and I absolutely loved it. In fact, upon finishing this work, I ordered all of Woolf's works.
Not only is the work hauntingly beautiful and melancholy, but also rather daring. The book takes place in the course of one day in London, yet somehow, the reader becomes familiar with lifetimes of relationships, some of them homosexual relationships. Woolf's work here is gorgeously poetic.
The book generated a lot of discussion because it has so much to offer to many different kinds of readers. I once swore I would never read Woolf again, but this book has made me recant the error of my ways.
If you are a fan of poetic prose, read this book. I intend to read it again and again.

This was the first Woolf novel that I read and i am glad that it was. I was a college freshman who had just seen The Hours. I was immediately drawn to this author. After reading it the first time, it is possible to know what the basic story is about: a woman giving a party and wondering about the choices she has made in the past. But each reading helps bring out so many details that are easy to miss. People may claim this is a hard read, but Mrs. Woolf's books were NEVER meant to be read quickly. The word usage and details are so precise that is should be read slowly to appreciate it more. A great book to start getting into Woolf.

Virginia Woolf (1882 - 1941) was a well known writer, critic, feminist, and publisher. This was her fourth novel.

I read her first novel "The Voyage Out" before buying the present book, then skipped her second novel - which is considered to be a flop - then read "Jacob's Room," her third, then "Mrs. Dalloway," her fourth, and then "To The Lighthouse."

"The Voyage Out" is simple and straightforward work and it might remind the reader of a Jane Austen novel, but it set on a ship and then at a remote location. It is over 400 pages long, and has an Austen theme. After her second novel - which did not do very well - Woolf decided to be more risky and creative with the next book. She changed her style and approach to the novel and Woolf uses the stream of consciousness technique to bring a sense of the chaos and shortness of a young man's life around the time of World War I, Jacob's life, i.e.: from the pandemonium of Jacob's life as portrayed by Woolf through the use of the stream of the consciousness technique, we eventually have clarity in the novel. She carries this writing style on into the similarly chaotic story in the novel "Mrs. Dalloway."

She carries this writing style on into the similarly chaotic story "Mrs. Dalloway." Mrs. Dalloway, or simply Clarrisa Dalloway the character, was used in her first novel "The Voyage Out" but only as a minor character who the protagonist, Rachel, meets on a sea voyage. Mr. Dalloway makes a pass at Rachel and kisses her. Woolf brings them back in force here with their own novel.

The present story is set in the summer in post WWI London and it revolves around a few days in the life of Mrs. Dalloway. She has a party and during that period an old suitor, Peter Walsh, makes his return appearance from an overseas job posting in India, and does so after thirty years. Part of the story involves her thoughts about that relationship and her life choices. The second plot element is mental illness and the appearance of Septimus Warren Smith and his Italian wife Lucrezia. He is a war survivor but is suffering from depression. The third element is her present husband and his love for her.

The compressed in time and chaotic story which involves Clarrisa, her husband, Peter Walsh, and Septimus, lends itself to the stream of consciousness technique. Some make comparisons with Joyce and his stream of consciousness novel "Ulysses." In any case, Woolf uses it to advantage here. Finally, Woolf is an author who promoted aesthetic purity in fiction. But here she uses the novel as a chance to attack the care for the mental illnesses.

This is an excellent novel written by Woolf at her prime. Her approach lends itself to the subject and it is quite effective. If you want to read a conventional novel by Woolf, then I recommend her first novel, "The Voyage Out."

Freud gives his pessimistic take on human nature and expands this formula to society as a whole. I am not sure if his argument is sound based on the fact that he went from the micro-individual to a macro view of society, but his argument was quite convincing based upon the amounts of aggression seen throughout world history, such as constant war, greed, slavery, genocide, the inquisition, scape goats, etc. etc. If anything this book made me rethink and revise my views on society and politics as a whole. It is a short read so I strongly recommend it.

i got this book 2nd i ordered 3 at the same time. i was so happy to get it. the book arrived promptly and in good condition.

For all the celebrated shortcomings of his theories, Sigmund Freud remains, even in retrospect, the most influential thinker of the 20th century, a giant among the giants of that now by-gone era of late modernity. He still must be regarded as the most perspicuous among positivistic and systematic students of human nature and the most devoted, at least in the consistency of his ideas. His rubric for the self-referential category, "ego", is used almost universally, regardless of culture, language, or learning. Who among us hasn't used the term? Very few thinkers in any age can claim such rapid and profound widespread assimilation of their ideas as Freud. He was also first among the moderns, really the first since Montaigne, to formally prioritize self-knowledge among all types of knowledge, and, reverting to a very ancient idea, perceive the telos or fruit of the attainment of knowledge as therapeutic. While James and other contemporaries focused on elaborating the principles of the new science of human nature, founded on behavioral rather than traditionally metaphysical grounds, Freud undertook the project of their application, in a simple and accessible manner on as broad a scale as possible. Nowhere in his oeuvre is this delineation of the explanatory power of the application of psychological theory to central social problems or queries more transparent than in Civilization and Its Discontents.
Surprising to many coming to Freud for the first time, is that his writing, for the most part, exhibits such clarity that it can be read and understood, within the limits of their comprehension, by children. I remember reading a bit of The Interpretation of Dreams at age fourteen and getting something out of it. But more than accessibility accounts for the impact of Freud's ideas. If a science of human nature is in its infancy, in his nascent structuralist model, Freud gave it a language if not a new paradigm that could be universally acquired. But personally, exclusive of Totem and Taboo, I find his later works, The Future of An Illusion, Civilization and Its Discontents, and the vastly underrated, Moses and Monotheism, to be far more interesting and relevant than the better known early works where he develops his psychological theories.
The quintessential late modern (an era that begins philosophically with publication of Hume's Dialogues Concerning Natural Religion and the incendiary works of Tom Paine), Freud appears to write The Future of An Illusion as a defense, an apologia, if you will, of his atheism. He begins by designating Civilization and Its Discontents an extension of this argument. He cannot be merely, tritely arguing didactically for atheism. What he is saying in the preliminary stage of the argument amounts to this: Up to now, traditional religion has been our primary lense for viewing human, thus social, action. But what if, and one must grant at least the possibility, God, Christ, et al, is a mass delusion or rationalization? Could not a science of human nature, a systematic inward scrutiny, provide a more productive perspective on our problems? Is not the human project something other than, even more than, a divinely ordained, fatalistically fulfilled apocalyptic end? And, looking at the human condition (he writes in 1930), there is no denying a new way looking is desperately needed, for perhaps our very survival.
The next claim in the argument is that all societies promise justice. Yet, as individuals, we inevitably protest the "civilizing" process a society takes to deliver some degree of justice to its members. Freud claims that this process necessarily does violence to the individual. The individual is bound by civilization to his/her fellows and, in this process, the natural desires are limited, restricted, and bent by the whim of an external, collective will, " . . . which aims at binding the members of a community together in a libidinal way as well and employs every means to that end." We are naturally resentful. We want it all. Especially sex, with whomever we deign to mount or be mounted by. But Freud buys further into psychological egoism: " . . . men are not gentle creatures who want to be loved, and who at the most can defend themselves if they are attacked; they are, on the contrary, creatures among whose instinctual endowments is to be reckoned a powerful share of aggressiveness." "Man's natural aggressive instinct, the hostility of each against all and of all against each, opposes this programme of civilization . . . whose purpose is to combine single human individuals, and after that families, then races, peoples and nations, into one great unity, the unity of mankind."
Hobbesian as a social theorist, he's absolutely Nietzschean when he debunks the Socratic "Archimedian Point of Good" and Agape or Christian Altruism as ideals of civilization which can never be happily achieved, sources of frustration, guilt, despair, and worse yet. "We may reject the existence of an original, as it were natural, capacity to distinguish good from bad. What is bad is often not at all what is injurious or dangerous to the ego; on the contrary, it may be something desirable and enjoyable to the ego. Here, therefore, is an extraneous influence at work, and it is this that decides what is to be called good or bad." The "civilizing programme" thus sets itself up as a sentinel within the individual psyche, in opposition to the natural tendencies to self-gratification. [Then] " . . . the sense of guilt is clearly only a fear of loss of love, `social' anxiety." "Civilization has to use its utmost efforts in order to set limits to man's aggressive instincts and to hold the manifestations of them in check by psychical reaction-formations. Hence, therefore, the use of methods intended to incite people into identifications and aim-inhibited relationships of love, hence the restriction upon sexual life, and hence too the ideal's commandment to love one's neighbor as oneself - a commandment which is really justified by the fact that nothing else runs so strongly counter to the original nature of man."
Abiding by the Amazon rules, I won't be a spoiler. What I wish to point to is how Freud acted as a conduit for some of the most influential and disturbing modes of thought, general acceptance of which the popularity of the `psychological' approach he spearheaded encouraged. A few of his conclusions thus call for review. " . . . may we not be justified in reaching the diagnosis that, under the influence of cultural urges, some civilizations, or some epochs of civilization - possibly the whole of mankind - have become `neurotic'." "The fateful question for the human species seems to me to be whether and to what extent their extent their cultural development will succeed is mastering the disturbance of their communal life by the human instinct of aggression and self-destruction." The continuing influence of these pioneering insights renders Civilization and It's Discontents a must read for any who wish to come to grips with structures of thought which have crucially contributed to current malestorm.

Freud has some interesting and possibly somewhat valid ideas but behind it all I fear that it is more one man's opinion of how the world works than what things are really like in actuality. The perennial problem with Freud is that a lot of what he says cannot be proved scientifically. The most important things in life like love and God aren't scientific but they (usually) never claimed to be, unlike Freudian theory. As someone who knows a bit of history and politics, I find Freud's analysis of civilization to be more about what his own inner urges projected upon the world than what is actually out there. His treatment of the sexual instinct as being something tamed and frustrated by civilization may be true for him and others but is probably not true generally. There are males who really don't want unlimited sex with everything. The problem is that Freud over-generalizes his own experience and ancedotal evidence into a universally applicable theory.

His treatment of religion is particularly superficial and reductionistic. In essence, he elavates the irrationality of the id in man to the point where if one took him seriously, one would doubt both Freud's supposed rationality and his or her own. The great error is modern psychology is that people can be known fully the same way chemicals or animals could be known. The truth is that people cannot be known this way. One has to geto to know them. They are not generalized objects but unique subjects.

Freud continued writing into his old age. The three books* of this period are highly suitable for the general reader, that is, every seeker of knowledge.In 1930 when he was 74, He wrote "Civilization and Its Discontents" which, in its first words, scolds us gently. Our judgments are faulty. We fail to recognize and respect greatness; we allow ourselves to be misled--our oceanic, sensation of eternity to be misdirected. The subject matter in this book touches such diversities as the world's problems, religion, happiness and guilt with the deft hand.
Louis Menand's introduction contains valuable information on Freud's work, and Peter Gay's "Brief Life" tells of the author's origins and life. This book may be called "popular" in the best sense of that word.
*The Future of an Illusion, Civilization and Its Discontents & Thomas Woodrow Wilson a Psychological Study

This is a great read for anyone who is interested in the field of Psychology or Philosophy or anyone that is interested in Freud, whether an avid reader or new to his works. This book takes an amazing look and analysis of the world of religion and its effects on civilization and the individual, which can still be applied to our present civilization. Anyone who can appreciate the work of great thinkers will definitely enjoy this work. My only complaint is that it is so short.

I decided to buy this book after having seen it referenced by many contemporary thinkers (e.g. Daniel Dennett) in their books. Sigmund Freud, the famous Austrian psychiatrist, writes about mankind's struggle with religion and considers what civilization or society would be like if weaned of it. His arguments - bear in mind this book was first published in 1927 - are of the kind a modern-day informed atheist might secretly wonder. I found myself nodding in agreement with a number of Freud's matter-of-fact observations about religion.

For example, he says that mankind will likely focus their energies and learn to adapt to the (harsh) realities of this life if they withdrew their expectations from the vacuous promises of the hereafter. The style of writing is clear but a little weird at times, especially when he pretends to be another party and questions himself on the ideas being argued. In summary, Freud appears to have believed that mankind, in the not-too-distant future will have found a way to go about his daily life without believing in gods or the supernatural and that science will have a significant role in it. I particularly like the last paragraph of the book which states: "No, our science is no illusion. But an illusion it would be to suppose that what science cannot give us we can get elsewhere."

At 67 pages the size of Reader's Digest magazine (not including the biographical introduction), this little blue book is moderate-level reading for anyone interested in the psychology of religious beliefs. It is also a nice addition to any library. I personally, bought this edition because it is rather difficult to find where I live.

This is a very slim text that addresses some very big issues. I would recommend it as part of any Freud collection and also for any collection on religion. Certainly a requirement that one have at least a primer on Freudian concepts so the nature of Illusion can be placed into some kind of meaningful context.

This book describes religion as a universal mental illness, which says it all. As such, Freud predicts a time when we can rise above it.

"Religion would thus be the universal obsessional neurosis of humanity; like the obsessional neurosis of children, it arose out of the Oedipus complex, out of the relation to the father." If this is true, then Freud supposes that "a turning away from religion is bound to occur with the fatal inevitability of a process of growth, and ...we find ourselves at this very juncture in the middle of that phase of developement."

It is worth reading quickly, as it makes the same few points over and over.

In his 27 Feb 2006 review of Freud's The Future of an Illusion, Roger Schmeeckle misrepresents Freud's explanation (on pages 38-42 of this Norton publication) between Illusion and Delusion.

Roger correctly identified Freud's concept of Delusion as "something that is believed that is not true" -- but then oversimplifies by stating that Freud said an Illusion is "something that may be true or false, but is believed because we want to believe it."

This oversimplification ignores what Freud goes on to say, "Illusions need not be necessarily false - that is to say unrealizable or in contradiction to reality. For instance, a middle-class girl may have the illusion that a prince will come and marry her. This is possible; and a few such cases have occurred. That the Messiah will come is much less likely. Whether one classifies this belief as illusion or something analogous to delusion will depend on one's personal attitude."

The point being, that while the "absolute" truth or falsity of an illusion is debatable - common sense and reason enable us to infer or deduce where the truth actually lies. For instance, it IS possible that the Sun will rise in the west tomorrow (as I am unable to prove something false which has yet to occur), but I would be a fool and utterly devoid of reason and intellect to presume that it will occur.

Roger then asserts that Freud was "not so much atheistic as irreligious." That Freud was irreligious is certain (what atheist wouldn't be) -- but I do not understand how anyone can read The Future of an Illusion and not easily conclude that the author was a confirmed atheist. The entire work is a testament to atheism. Accordingly, it is absurd to suggest that because Freud does not simply state "I do not believe in God" there is reason to infer that he may have believed in one.

Roger continues by arguing that Freud had a "bias" or "prejudice" against religion, whereby Freud's "wish" for there to be no God led him into his own Illusions of atheism. This is quite a stretch and a distortion of Freud's dissertation -- which has at its core the fundamental assertion of reason and the power of the intellect to overcome humankind's infantile and primitive need for "wish fulfillment" in the form of a protective and benevolent God.

And in a final shot, Roger accusing Freud of being a prisoner of his times -- a subject of "materialistic determinism" -- and for not having investigated or being familiar with "the evidence and reasoning of those who defend their own religious belief."

Yet, that Freud was all too familiar with and understanding of the nature and roots of religious beliefs is the hallmark of The Future of an Illusion. That he might have been a "materialistic determinist" is unknown to me -- but that he was a genius as well as great "Humanist" with a profound regard for and understanding of the Human Race seems clear.

To quote Emily Dickinson (1830-1886):
"If I read a book
and it makes my whole body so cold no fire can ever warm me,
I know *that* is poetry.
If I feel physically as if the top of my head were taken off,
I know *that* is poetry.
These are the only ways I know it.
Is there any other way?" [Emphasis added]

Ah ... Jeannette Winterson ... I know *that* is poetry.

i still not receive this item, i have wait for a month already!!

remember all those years ago when i first read sexing the cherry, and i couldn't beleive such loveliness could happen? and then the passion. i couldn't speak for days. i just couldn't. what was there left to say? remember? remember how i couldn't read anything for months? i do. and still i roll this one around in my mouth, too. still delicious. still amazing. still it bashes me upside the everything and causes my heart to shake.

I should explain the title. As Jeanette will explain within the pages, art not only /objects/ with our safe notions of what we consider to be good or normal to our perceptions, but also art is also an /object/ to be handled, manipulated, and explored by our souls, with all the effort we would put into whatever coporeal object our hands might hold and seek to understand.

Having told you this, that the title encompasses so much of the book, does not mean that it does not need to be read now. Much the opposite. Though almost every essay comes back to these points, some essays deal with the subject in regards to a certain book, or just the act of creating art itself. As an artist, as any writer/painter/poet/? is, I found this to be a call to arms, in a way, inspiring me by assisting my mind in delineating exactly what I wish to create. If you are creative, read this collection.

Jeanette Winterson, writes in a very lucid manner on a topic that can quickly become an extremely nebulous and splintered subject. She begins with a story of her travels to Amsterdam, where she is haunted by a painting in a window. This never happened to her before, as Winterson was always a wordsmith. The unexpected discovery-the idea that a painting has the power to touch her so deeply and so powerfully-troubles her deeply and she cowers initially, as if she saw a ghost.

This anecdote serves to create the tone of the book, an intense and honest meditation into art and art making. Winterson, weaves us through her meditation through a very readable style and by using very general terms. She simultaneously addresses the novice, to those well versed in the concepts of art history and theory of art criticism. I say this because the questions, what is art?, what is the fuction of art?, why practice art?, are basic questions that can be addressed by all levels of understanding-and it is those questions Winterson addresses. Though she begins with visual art she reverts to her expertise in the form of literature. But, the concepts are easily translated into the other art forms.

However, in her opinions of what is beauty and what is art, Winterson can seem a bit idealistic in her views of art and art making. She professes to be a little out of sync with current society(her confession)-which could be taken as a person who revers the past and therefore is a bit 'old school' in her approach to the topic, however, she does not pretend to be a final authority on the topic either.

But,the 'beauty' of this book is it can be a starting point and a gentle guide for the novice into the ongoing conversation of art and art history as well as an eloquent reminder of fundemental concepts in a splintered conversation of art theory and criticsm.

I read this mainly to gain a little more insight into Virginia Woolf-the-person because of an essay I was writing on "To the Lighthouse." It didn't really provide me with the biographical detail or psychological penetration I was craving - but then, I doubt that was Nicolson's intent. Instead he offers a curiously airy yet affectionate series of character sketches, a handful of priceless anecdotes and some incidental musings, all of which amounts to an entertaining reflection on Woolf's life and personality but actually makes her more mysterious and unknowable in certain ways. It's memoir vs biography, I guess; Nicolson tends to regard Woolf from the point of view of a bemused bystander, fond of her but not overly engaged with her - but at the same time, he feels no need to make much sense of her suicide, for instance. He just dips in and out of what interests him, not striving for deeper meaning or cogency when it does not suit him, and this makes it a dissatisfying book for someone not already well acquainted with Woolf's biography.

That said, this is an enjoyable read. Nicolson is supremely English, in quite a charming way - his prose is coolly elegant with an occasional flash of wit or moment of restrained warmth, and he never declares anything outright, just insinuates or suggests (not unlike Woolf herself). His attitude to his subject is both touchingly and infuriatingly respectful. I think he was so terrified of being scurrilous, of exploiting his position as Vita Sackville-West's son, that this book comes off as over-polite, over-careful; he whets our interest but refuses to supply the goods. It's a pity, because he really does have an unique perspective.
Still, I reccommend it. It's a quick read, and a nice way to spend an afternoon.

This is really a great book, written with such love from a man who truly knew Ms Woolf.

If you want to know about Ms Woolf I highly recommend this book.

In this "Penguin Life" Nigel Nicolson provides a balanced, affectionate and eloquent introduction to the life of Virginia Woolf. Nicolson provides us with the major events, the major players, the family background, and Bloomsbury. He also introduces the reader to some of the controversies (e.g., the extent and effect of her sexual abuse by her half-brothers.) The picture that emerges is one of a brilliant and complex woman -- difficult, loving, deeply insightful, wrong-headed, sympathetic, prickly, loyal, jealous, witty, snobbish, and liberal.

Nicholson is an editor of Woolf's letters and the son of Vita Sackville-West, with whom Virginia Woolf had an affair. Nicolson's having known and liked Virginia Woolf adds a personal touch without compromising objectivity.

Nigel Nicolson is uniquely qualified to write a brief biography of Virginia Woolf. First, he is one of the most important caretakers of her written work, having edited her letters for publication. Second, as a small boy, he actually knew Virginia Woolf. Third, his mother was Vita Sackville-West, one of the major figures in Virginia's life, the object of her affections, one of her closest friends, and the basis for the main character in ORLANDO. This could well be, in fact, one of the last books written about Virginia Woolf by someone who actually knew her.

Perhaps as a result of his unusual connection with her, this biography has an aura of the real Virginia Woolf that many do not. As Nicolson puts it early on, while for many she was "Woolf," for him he was always "Virginia." He knew her before she was the icon she was later to become. Auden said of Yeats that upon his death "he became his admirers," and Woolf has certainly undergone a similar transformation, and frequently books deal one her deal not with who she was, but who they need her to be. Nicolson's portrait is a remarkably rich and concrete one, a splendid portrait of an amazingly gifted and complex individual. He captures her gift for friendship and kindness along with her need to sometimes hurt others with her words. He deals with her openness to love between men or women along with her near dread of actual sexual involvement with either (indeed, most biographies point up the fact that while she had several romantic attachments, her sex life was nonetheless almost nonexistent). He contrasts her feminism with her restricted view of how far women's rights should extend (she was never able to break out of her class bound views on the lower classes) with her apathy to politics in general. He makes vivid her huge capacity for enjoying life while invoking the struggles she underwent to stay sane enough to do so. He also provides a sympathetic portrait of her marriage to Leonard Woolf, who was simultaneously her biggest supporter, her caretaker and nurse, and greatest devotee. If Leonard sometimes emerges as a bit codependent, one can forgive him because he seemed capable of giving a great deal while still producing a prodigious amount of work himself. They seemed, improbably, to have a remarkably good marriage, given her mental problems.

Nicolson also provides good insight into Virginia's struggles with mental health, even making her suicide seem less an act of despair than an insistence on ending life when it still was more or less sane (she killed herself largely because she thought she was about to go insane again, was about to succumb to the hallucinations that had plagued her on more than one occasion in the past, with one difference: she was convinced that if she became insane again, she would not reemerge from it again as she had in the past). Her's was a suicide not of despair but of a fear of losing her humanity.

I have to state that I find the comments by one the previous reviewers (Rebekah) absolutely incomprehensible. The complaint is made that Nicolson criticized Woolf's feminism and was guilty of a "macho attitude." These are absolutely stunning complaints, since one of the very mild criticisms that Nicolson makes through the work is that instead of being a liberal, Virginia was actually fairly tied to her class, that she did hold to views of women's suffrage, but only for women of the upper middle class. One will search in vain in his pages for views of the kind that she allots to him. It is true that he wants to correct views that do not take an accurate view of her feminism, views that do not see how deeply she was rooted in a particular class. The only rational reading of the book and Nicolson's position is that he seems disappointed that she did not take her feminist beliefs far enough and that she was not as a whole especially interested in politics. Besides, it is exceedingly odd to accuse the offspring of a lesbian mother and a gay father as being "old-fashioned." Again, Nicolson absolutely nowhere either by word or by intimation criticizes Woolf's feminism. Indeed, if one actually reads the book, it is clear that Nicolson has a far more contemporary view of women and politics than did Virginia Woolf. One does gain a sense that Nicolson had lived a long and rich life (he died this past fall at the age of 87), but I think most readers will look in vain for the old-fashioned ideas (and certainly the machismo) wrongly ascribed to him.

This is not the best biography on Virginia Woolf. For one thing it is far, far too brief to do even a cursory job. For instance, her friendship with Roger Fry is almost gestured at, her relationship with her sister Vanessa is given little space, and in all descriptions are kept to a minimum to keep to the publisher's guidelines for the series. Nonetheless, I'm quite impressed with what he achieves in such a short amount of space. Although not one of the more complete biographies, it is nonetheless one of the best at giving an almost tangible picture of Virginia.

One thing to know before buying or reading this book is that it is written by a man who was born in the early 1900's and still holds many of the old-fashioned beliefs of that time. It is irritating to listen to Nicolson berate Virginia's feminist beliefs, argue that her statements about women's disadvantages were not true and basically undermine what many readers admire her for - her progressive and liberal point of view. It is not what I bought this biography for. I wanted to know more about Virginia, not Nicolson's macho attitude. For the most part the biography is very good, it would just be a lot better if he kept his opinions to himself.

Virginia Woolf (1882 - 1941) was a well known writer, critic, feminist, and publisher. This was her last novel, and it is a departure for Woolf from prior styles, and many like the novel. It is interesting, but falls short of being a masterpeice.

As background information, I read most of her work starting with her first novel "The Voyage Out" published in 1915, skipped her second novel - which is considered to be a flop, Night and Day from 1919 - and then read "Jacob's Room," her third, then went on and read "Mrs. Dalloway," her fourth, and next read "To The Lighthouse," etc. Also, I read some of Woolf's non-fiction.

"The Voyage Out" is simple and straightforward work and it might remind the reader of a Jane Austen novel, but it set on a ship and then at a remote location. It is over 400 pages long, and has an Austen theme. After her second novel - which did not do very well - Woolf decided to be more risky and creative with the next book. She changed her style and approach to the novel and Woolf uses the stream of consciousness technique to bring a sense of the chaos and shortness of a young man's life around the time of World War I, Jacob's life, i.e.: from the pandemonium of Jacob's life as portrayed by Woolf through the use of the stream of the consciousness technique, we eventually have clarity in the novel. She carries this writing style on into the similarly chaotic story in the novel "Mrs. Dalloway" and most of her later writings - including the present novel - her last written just before her suicide. The subsequent books, including the present novel, are shorter and use the stream of consciousness technique.

The story is a bit similar to "To The Lighthouse" in the setting. It has a rural setting, a home in the country, and it is about a community play held at the home. The story describes some of the family members at the home, the other members of the community, and also, and interestingly here, much of the novel describes the play itself.

I guess what is disappointing here is the structure or plot compared to her best novel, "To The Lighthouse." In that novel, the reader is fully engaged with that story and it is a compelling read, and hard to put down. That book, along with "Jacob's Room," moves the reader emotionally. That is missing here. The novel is short and has a low key "Midsummer Night's Dream" quality. Nothing dramatic happens "between the acts" of the play that one would call interesting or compelling or highly emotional. The reader waits for something to happen - as in her other works - but it never occurs. Also, it lacks sympathetic characters. The story seems very hazy and undefined, and it seems to lack direction. The play itself is interesting and it is unusual to see the play worked into the story. That is a sign of Woolf's genius. But it is not enough to carry the novel and make it a masterpiece.

As a "common reader," as Woolf describes us, we readers of her books, I think her best fiction is "To The Lighthouse" - that is a masterpiece - and her best non-fiction is "A Room of One's Own." I like the Oxford version of the latter published along with "Three Guineas."

"Between the Acts" was the last novel Virginia Woolf wrote, and it appropriately feels like a swansong; a sorrowful farewell to a country on the eve of a war that very well might have spelled its devastation. While it uses the modernist experimentation that characterized "To the Lighthouse," it is very easy to follow, but still invites several rereadings to explore its depths more fully.

The novel takes place on a single day in June of 1939 at an English country manor called Pointz Hall, owned by the Olivers, a family with such sentimental ties to its ancestry that a watch that stopped a bullet on an ancient battlefield is deemed worthy of preservation and exhibition. Every year about this time, the Olivers allow their gardens to be used by the local villagers to put on a pageant for raising money for the church. This year, the pageant is supposed to be a series of tableaux celebrating England's history from Chaucerian times up to the present.

The Olivers themselves are tableaux of sorts, each a silent representation of some emotion separated from the others by a wall of miscommunication. Old Bartholomew Oliver and his sister, Lucy Swithin, both widowed, are now living together again with much the same hesitant relationship they had as children. Oliver's son Giles is a stockbroker who commutes to London and considers the pageant a nuisance he has no choice but to suffer. Isa, his discontented wife, feels she has to hide her poetry from him and contemplates an extramarital affair with a village farmer.

Attending the pageant is a garrulous woman named Mrs. Manresa, who is either having or pursuing an affair with Giles. She has brought with her a companion named William Dodge, whose effeminate sexual ambiguity is noticed with reprehension by Giles and with curiosity by Isa. The somewhat romantic interest Isa shows in Dodge implies that she knows Giles would be annoyed less by her infidelity than by his being cuckolded for a fop like Dodge.

The other principal character is not an Oliver at all, and this is Miss La Trobe, the harried writer and director of the pageant. At first, she appears to serve the mere purpose of comic diversion, as she frustrates herself over details that nobody in the audience notices anyway; however, when the pageant is over, a new aspect of her character is revealed, one that has made her an outcast among the village women. Nevertheless, she graciously accepts the role of a struggling, misunderstood woman artist, and in this sense, she echoes the character of Lily Briscoe in "To the Lighthouse," as does Isa with her repressed poetry.

At the end of the pageant, to celebrate the "present," Miss La Trobe has planned something special and startling: She has the players flash mirrors onto the audience as if to say, "Look what England has become. Shameful, isn't it?" Likewise, with this novel Woolf holds up a mirror to humanity, reflecting our unhappiness in her characters. It's not a cheerful notion, but it's a fitting one to sum up the career of a writer like Woolf, one of our greatest chroniclers of sadness.

This under-appreciated work is slowly gaining the recognition it deserves from Woolf critics... but I would say that, since I wrote my dissertation on it! Woolf's fiction is never light reading, but Woolf lovers will here find a masterful synthesis of descriptive power, her exhaustive knowledge of English history and literature, her feminism, her passionate hatred of war and her conviction that only aesthetic experience can enable humanity to question the status quo and *perhaps* create a better world... interested readers might consider reading it alongside The Years, Three Guineas, Moments of Being, the last volumes of the diary, or such Woolf essays as "Thoughts on Peace During an Air Raid," as well as Shakespeare's Tempest. This slim novel speaks volumes; it is a work of mature genius by one of the 20th century's greatest writers.

Much of the writing is beautiful and evocative, but it's hard to know what's going on. The summaries posted here have more "plot" in them than is easily gleaned from the book. Because the stream of consciousness leaps from character to character, it's hard to know the relationships let alone see who is flirting with whom and why it matters. You do figure it out but it takes too long to figure out which characters go with which names.

There is a lovely portrait of an English village in 1939, and the heartbreaking innocent pageant of English history portrayed, but really, you can get such atmosphere from the series Mystery-- and there you get a plot as well. I think this is not a good introduction to Woolf, as it takes certain kinds of experimentation and heightens it. At least with Mrs. Dalloway you see things for the most part from one point of view and come to care about it.

I enjoyed this, but then I'm in theatre, so I enjoyed all of the description of the pageant. This is a little bit like reading the equivalent of a home movie, it's pretty, but you don't know the people portrayed well enough to really care.

I just finished the most amazing book I've read this year (After Sputnik Sweetheart though) and its called "Between The Acts" by Virginia Woolf. This was the last work of a gifted genius and the first that I read of this author. Amazing! Simply Superlative to the core!

The story goes like this:

Written in 1939 - the year Woolf Died..."Between the Acts" is a masterpiece in its own genre. Lyrical and highly poetic, this is one of its own.

The story goes like this:

On a single day of June, 1939--with the war imminent but virtually unperceived--the action takes place at Pointz Hill, an English country house. It revolves about a pageant played upon the lawns by the local villagers. Despite her necessity, the solitary, thick-legged, masculine Miss La Trobe,who knew how "vanity made all human beings malleable," is not one of the principal characters. The chief actors are the members of the Oliver household. The head of the house is old Bartholomew Oliver, who like so many retired English soldiers has only his India to cling to. He marvels at his widowed sister's orthodoxy. ("Deity," as he supposed, "was more of a force or a radiance, controlling the thrush and the worm, the tulip and the hound;
and himself too, an old man with swollen veins.") This aging sister, Mrs.Swithin, who would have become a clever woman is she could ever have fixed her gaze, is the most sympathetic figure in the book. Living with the older Olivers are Isa, the poetry-quoting daughter-in-law, temporarily attracted to a gentleman farmer, and Giles, the stock broker son, handsome, hirsute,
virile and surly.

To this special group are added buoyant, big-hearted Mrs. Manresa, "a wild child of nature" for all that her hands are bespattered with emeralds and rubies, dug up by her thin husband himself in his ragamuffin days in Africa. Uninvited she drops in at luncheon, bringing along with the picnic champagne a maladjusted, putty-colored young man named William Dodge, whom Giles contemptuously sizes up as "a toady, a lickspittle, not a downright plain man of his senses, but a teaser and a twitcher, a fingerer of sensations;picking and choosing; dillying and dallying; not a man to have a straightforward love for a woman."

William tries dallying with Isa, and Giles, partly to annoy his wife, pays court to the full-blown charms of sparkling Mrs. Manresa, who confesses she loves to take off her stays and roll in the grass.

the cream of "Between the Acts" lies between the lines--in the haunting overtones. And the best of the show--the part one
really cares about--happens between the acts and immediately before the pageant begins and just after it is over. So the play is not really the thing at all. It is merely the focal point, the hub of the wheel, the peg on which to hang the bright ribbons and dark cords of the author's supersensitive perceptions and illuminated knowledge. It is in her imagery,
in her "powers of absorption and distillation" that her special genius lies. She culls exotic flowers in the half-light of her private mysticism along with common earthgrown varieties and distills them into new essences. Her most interesting characters move in an ambiente of intuition. With half a glance they regard their fellow-mortals and know their hidden failures. They care less for the tangible, the wrought stone, than for fleeting thought or quick desire.

"Between the Acts" has no more ending, no more conclusion than English history. The pageant is played out, the guests depart, night falls.

The physical embodiment of Virginia Woolf is no more, but her inimitable voice remains to speak to generations yet unborn. The first line of her last book begins, "It was a Summer's night and they were talking"--The last paragraph ends: "Then the curtain rose. They spoke."

A Must Read for Everyone!!