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Street Haunting
Six short stories and / or essays, extracted from The Crowded Dance of Modern Life (1993) and Selected Short Stories (1993).
176 pages, Hardcover
First published January 1, 1930
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About the author
Virginia Woolf
1,824 books28.7k followers(Adeline) Virginia Woolf was an English novelist and essayist regarded as one of the foremost modernist literary figures of the twentieth century.
During the interwar period, Woolf was a significant figure in London literary society and a member of the Bloomsbury Group. Her most famous works include the novels Mrs. Dalloway (1925), To the Lighthouse (1927), and Orlando (1928), and the book-length essay A Room of One's Own (1929) with its famous dictum, "a woman must have money and a room of her own if she is to write fiction."
During the interwar period, Woolf was a significant figure in London literary society and a member of the Bloomsbury Group. Her most famous works include the novels Mrs. Dalloway (1925), To the Lighthouse (1927), and Orlando (1928), and the book-length essay A Room of One's Own (1929) with its famous dictum, "a woman must have money and a room of her own if she is to write fiction."
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Displaying 1 - 30 of 238 reviews
April 26, 2025
4,5*
O olho não é um mineiro, nem um mergulhador, nem um explorador em busca de tesouros enterrados. Leva-nos a flutuar suavemente corrente abaixo: descansando, parando, o cérebro dorme, talvez enquanto ele vê.
Foi um encanto este curto passeio com Virginia Woolf pelas ruas da minha adorada e saudosa Londres, ainda que aqui seja a cidade de há quase cem anos. Com o pretexto de precisar de comprar um simples lápis, a autora deixa o tão almejado quarto que seja seu em Bloomsbury...
Assim que pomos um pé fora de casa, entre as quatro e as seis horas de uma bela tarde, largamos o eu pelo qual os amigos nos conhecem, e tornamo-nos parte daquele vasto exército republicano de vagabundos anónimos cuja companhia é tão agradável, depois de termos estado no retiro daquele quarto só nosso. Porque neste permanecemos rodeados de objectos que expressam, de modo eterno, a singularidade dos nossos temperamentos e reforçam as memórias da nossa experiência.
...e decide espairecer percorrendo vários locais icónicos da capital inglesa como Oxford Street, a Strand e as margens do Tamisa.
As montras que admira são como portais para mundos paralelos, em que pode imaginar como é, por exemplo, ser uma anã numa sapataria ou estar numa festa numa noite de Junho, depois de mirar uma joalharia.
O culminar de toda esta evasão é, evidentemente, um alfarrabista, com um sem-fim de possíveis viagens e uma miríade de personagens aventureiras.
Há livros por todo o lado; e sempre aquela sensação de aventura que nos satisfaz. Os livros em segunda mão são livros selvagens, livros sem-abrigo, vieram juntos como grandes rebanhos das mais variegadas espécies e têm um encanto que não encontramos nos livros domesticados das bibliotecas. De resto, nesta miscelânea agrupada ao acaso é sempre possível tropeçar num qualquer forasteiro que, com sorte, pode vir a tornar-se no nosso melhor amigo à face da Terra.
Gosto muito de obras peripatéticas, mas “Fantasmagorias” funciona quase como o oposto. Em vez de adquirir conhecimento enquanto caminha, Virginia Woolf procura esvaziar a mente, abster-se de pensar e deixar-se levar pela beleza e pela imaginação.
O olho não é um mineiro, nem um mergulhador, nem um explorador em busca de tesouros enterrados. Leva-nos a flutuar suavemente corrente abaixo: descansando, parando, o cérebro dorme, talvez enquanto ele vê.
Foi um encanto este curto passeio com Virginia Woolf pelas ruas da minha adorada e saudosa Londres, ainda que aqui seja a cidade de há quase cem anos. Com o pretexto de precisar de comprar um simples lápis, a autora deixa o tão almejado quarto que seja seu em Bloomsbury...
Assim que pomos um pé fora de casa, entre as quatro e as seis horas de uma bela tarde, largamos o eu pelo qual os amigos nos conhecem, e tornamo-nos parte daquele vasto exército republicano de vagabundos anónimos cuja companhia é tão agradável, depois de termos estado no retiro daquele quarto só nosso. Porque neste permanecemos rodeados de objectos que expressam, de modo eterno, a singularidade dos nossos temperamentos e reforçam as memórias da nossa experiência.
...e decide espairecer percorrendo vários locais icónicos da capital inglesa como Oxford Street, a Strand e as margens do Tamisa.
As montras que admira são como portais para mundos paralelos, em que pode imaginar como é, por exemplo, ser uma anã numa sapataria ou estar numa festa numa noite de Junho, depois de mirar uma joalharia.
O culminar de toda esta evasão é, evidentemente, um alfarrabista, com um sem-fim de possíveis viagens e uma miríade de personagens aventureiras.
Há livros por todo o lado; e sempre aquela sensação de aventura que nos satisfaz. Os livros em segunda mão são livros selvagens, livros sem-abrigo, vieram juntos como grandes rebanhos das mais variegadas espécies e têm um encanto que não encontramos nos livros domesticados das bibliotecas. De resto, nesta miscelânea agrupada ao acaso é sempre possível tropeçar num qualquer forasteiro que, com sorte, pode vir a tornar-se no nosso melhor amigo à face da Terra.
Gosto muito de obras peripatéticas, mas “Fantasmagorias” funciona quase como o oposto. Em vez de adquirir conhecimento enquanto caminha, Virginia Woolf procura esvaziar a mente, abster-se de pensar e deixar-se levar pela beleza e pela imaginação.
August 24, 2016
Introduction & Notes, by Stuart N. Clarke
--The Common Reader
Bad Books
--The Anatomy of Fiction
--Wilcoxiana
--Trousers
--A Letter to a Lady in Paraguay
--The Week End
--Miss Mitford
--'Clara Butt: Her Life Story'
--The Dream
The British Empire
--The Royal Academy
--Thunder at Wembley
Class
--Middlebrow
--Introductory Letter to Margaret Llewelyn Davies
--The Niece of an Earl
--Lady Dorothy Nevill
--'Queen Alexandra the Well-Beloved'
--Royalty
Lives of the Obscure
--Dr Bentley
--Laetitia Pilkington
--Jones and Wilkinson
--All About Books
--The Rev. William Cole: A Letter
--Archbishop Thomson
--Miss Ormerod
Education
--Two Women
--Why?
--The Leaning Tower
Places
--Peacehaven
--America, which I Have Never Seen . . .
--Great Men's Houses
--Street Haunting: A London Adventure
Notes
--The Common Reader
Bad Books
--The Anatomy of Fiction
--Wilcoxiana
--Trousers
--A Letter to a Lady in Paraguay
--The Week End
--Miss Mitford
--'Clara Butt: Her Life Story'
--The Dream
The British Empire
--The Royal Academy
--Thunder at Wembley
Class
--Middlebrow
--Introductory Letter to Margaret Llewelyn Davies
--The Niece of an Earl
--Lady Dorothy Nevill
--'Queen Alexandra the Well-Beloved'
--Royalty
Lives of the Obscure
--Dr Bentley
--Laetitia Pilkington
--Jones and Wilkinson
--All About Books
--The Rev. William Cole: A Letter
--Archbishop Thomson
--Miss Ormerod
Education
--Two Women
--Why?
--The Leaning Tower
Places
--Peacehaven
--America, which I Have Never Seen . . .
--Great Men's Houses
--Street Haunting: A London Adventure
Notes
August 22, 2023
Mais um testemunho do amor que V. Woolf sentia pela sua cidade de eleição. Sublime este pequeno texto, que deve ser lido lentamente para melhor saborearmos cada palavra, cada frase e cada parágrafo .
Assim que terminei voltei à primeira página para tornar a banquetear-me com o seu estilo irrepreensível e sensibilidade superior.
Adoro-a Sra. Woolf!
Assim que terminei voltei à primeira página para tornar a banquetear-me com o seu estilo irrepreensível e sensibilidade superior.
Adoro-a Sra. Woolf!
March 31, 2023
Someone challenged Virginia Woolf to write a single bad sentence in her life and she failed miserably. I am in love with her, her ideas in all of these essays were so beautiful, and her blending of fiction and non-fiction, making her non-fiction lyrical and intriguing is so so awesome.
March 5, 2019
Entrei numa biblioteca e, ao invés de espreitar o catálogo, percorri com os dedos as secções que mais me interessavam, começando na literatura portuguesa e terminando numa amálgama denominada "Outros Géneros". Encontrei este pequeno livro ao acaso e trouxe-o comigo, não imaginando que o prazer desta leitura fosse suplantar muitos outros que tive nos últimos anos; lê-se de um trago e logo sentimos vontade de o reler. O prefácio da autoria de Maria Etelvina Santos (também tradutora) articula-se elegantemente com o pequeno artigo de Virginia Woolf: nele se tece uma ligação entre as deambulações londrinas de Woolf e os escritos de Baudelaire (e da mítica figura do flanêur), a escrita sensorial de Cesário Verde e as incursões citadinas de James Joyce em Ulisses. Nele se aborda, também, uma questão que me seduz: a mudança de paradigma do século XIX para o século XX - o afastamento (literário) das paisagens campestres, bucólicas e idílicas e o nascimento de um olhar que privilegia as grandes metrópoles, o seu bulício e movimento interno, as suas cores (os cinzentos, os castanhos, os tons mais pesados), a máquina pesada da industrialização e todas as mudanças sociais e culturais que daí advêm.
Sob o pretexto de comprar um lápis, numa janela temporal bem delimitada ("entre a hora do chá e a do jantar"), a autora sai de casa num dia de Inverno para se passear por Londres e apreciar as suas dinâmicas. O artigo não é mais do que um olhar atento, curioso, deliciado, sobre a realidade citadina, sobre as inúmeras personagens que se cruzam consigo e que consegue vislumbrar... e é perfeito por isso mesmo. A profusão de movimento, a forma como linhas de pensamento se mesclam umas com as outras e com a realidade exterior são-nos já familiares de obras como "Mrs. Dalloway" ou "Os Anos": a cidade está no mesmo plano de acção das personagens/narrador/observador, nós somos também a cidade e cada batimento cardíaco do nosso corpo reflecte-se no que nos rodeia (e vice-versa). A chegada à loja onde, finalmente, o lápis será comprado, é descrita com uma sensibilidade e compaixão incríveis, apenas possível a um artista que seja capaz de realmente mergulhar na interioridade dos outros seres humanos: "É sempre uma aventura entrar num espaço desconhecido, porque a vida e a personalidade dos que o ocupam vão infundindo nele as suas características, de tal modo que, assim que entramos, passamos a respirar novas formas de emoção. Aqui, nesta papelaria, é certo que estiveram pessoa a discutir. Sentia-se a sua raiva no ar. Ambos se calaram; a mulher - é evidente que eram marido e mulher, ambos com alguma idade -, retirou-se para uma sala nas traseiras; o marido, cuja testa abaulada e os olhos esféricos ficariam bem no frontispício de um fólio isabelino, ficou para nos atender". A cena continua: ambos se acalmam, o homem precisa de ajuda para encontrar os lápis, a mulher auxilia-o e, em silêncio, a paz vai sendo lentamente restituída.
Costumamos ouvir dizer que "a vida não se aprende nos livros". Meio a brincar, meio a sério, eu costumo ser contestatária e gosto de dizer que aprendi a viver sobretudo através dos livros e com os livros: "Deambulações pelas ruas de Londres" é um bom exemplo disso, a escrita de Woolf tem sido fulcral para a forma como hoje vivo as cidades e para a forma como o meu olhar se demora por tudo quanto me rodeia.
Sob o pretexto de comprar um lápis, numa janela temporal bem delimitada ("entre a hora do chá e a do jantar"), a autora sai de casa num dia de Inverno para se passear por Londres e apreciar as suas dinâmicas. O artigo não é mais do que um olhar atento, curioso, deliciado, sobre a realidade citadina, sobre as inúmeras personagens que se cruzam consigo e que consegue vislumbrar... e é perfeito por isso mesmo. A profusão de movimento, a forma como linhas de pensamento se mesclam umas com as outras e com a realidade exterior são-nos já familiares de obras como "Mrs. Dalloway" ou "Os Anos": a cidade está no mesmo plano de acção das personagens/narrador/observador, nós somos também a cidade e cada batimento cardíaco do nosso corpo reflecte-se no que nos rodeia (e vice-versa). A chegada à loja onde, finalmente, o lápis será comprado, é descrita com uma sensibilidade e compaixão incríveis, apenas possível a um artista que seja capaz de realmente mergulhar na interioridade dos outros seres humanos: "É sempre uma aventura entrar num espaço desconhecido, porque a vida e a personalidade dos que o ocupam vão infundindo nele as suas características, de tal modo que, assim que entramos, passamos a respirar novas formas de emoção. Aqui, nesta papelaria, é certo que estiveram pessoa a discutir. Sentia-se a sua raiva no ar. Ambos se calaram; a mulher - é evidente que eram marido e mulher, ambos com alguma idade -, retirou-se para uma sala nas traseiras; o marido, cuja testa abaulada e os olhos esféricos ficariam bem no frontispício de um fólio isabelino, ficou para nos atender". A cena continua: ambos se acalmam, o homem precisa de ajuda para encontrar os lápis, a mulher auxilia-o e, em silêncio, a paz vai sendo lentamente restituída.
Costumamos ouvir dizer que "a vida não se aprende nos livros". Meio a brincar, meio a sério, eu costumo ser contestatária e gosto de dizer que aprendi a viver sobretudo através dos livros e com os livros: "Deambulações pelas ruas de Londres" é um bom exemplo disso, a escrita de Woolf tem sido fulcral para a forma como hoje vivo as cidades e para a forma como o meu olhar se demora por tudo quanto me rodeia.
October 15, 2015
اون چیزی که مسلمه اینه که من با واقع گرایی وسواس گونه ی وولف در این داستان ها نمی تونم ارتباطی برقرار کنم. زکاوت هایی گاه و بی گاه از خودش نشون میده در نوع نگاهش به چیزها و اگر قوتی درش باشه برای من این نگاهشه. نگاهی که یه جورایی آینده ی بدون فراروایت ها رو به تصویر می کشه؛ نگاهی که آشکارا پیوندی با خودکشی هم درش هست
کلا خوندنش برام سخت بود
در مورد ترجمش چیزی نمی گم؛ چون خصوصا در داستان های اول هر جا مشکلی در فهم بود و به اصلش هم مراجعه کردم گره ای از کارم باز نشد و ابهام و گنگی باقی ماند
داستان های "خیابان گردی در لندن" و "اشیاء نایاب" رو بیشتر دوست داشتم البته نه در حد شاهکار یا چیزی تو اون مایه ها
November 25, 2015
I read this because I had to write an essay on the short story "A Gap of Sky" by Anna Hope which is brilliantly inspired by this. I didn't have to include Virginia Woolf but when I discovered the connection between the two, I was completely awestruck. I still am. Woolf's writing style is so mesmerizing and beautiful, it makes me want to sing from the top of my lungs.
October 17, 2017
Raccolta di saggi, di argomento prevalentemente letterario, tratti dai due Common Reader, da The Death of the Moth e da The Moment, con come corollario il celebre Una stanza tutta per sé.
Farsi prendere per mano da Virginia Woolf e seguirla - quando si riesce - nel mondo della letteratura, passando da Jane Austen ai problemi derivanti dal leggere gli autori russi in traduzione, imparando Come dobbiamo leggere un libro e riflettendo sullo sviluppo del romanzo negli Stati Uniti, oppure passeggiando per le strade di Londra alla ricerca di una matita e della visione di scorci di vita cittadina, è un piacere enorme. L'acutezza del pensiero e della visione dell'Autrice è fenomenale, e lo stile è magistrale. Purtroppo, ma la colpa è del lettore, non sempre si riesce a seguirla, soprattutto perché non si conoscono gli autori e i testi di cui parla. La stella mancante è imputabile al procurato senso di ignoranza e conseguente imbarazzo.
Di particolare interesse - sarà per deformazione esistenziale o per gli accidenti biografici dell'Autrice? - la riflessione sulla malattia: ci stupisce il fatto che alla malattia non sia stato assegnato, assieme all'amore, alla guerra e alla gelosia, un posto fra i supremi argomenti della letteratura. Tra il serio e il faceto, la Woolf reclama romanzi sull'influenza, poemi epici sulla febbre tifoidea, odi alla polmonite e liriche dedicate al mal di denti: ovvero, attenzione non solo all'anima, ma anche al corpo - e non limitatamente ai casi in cui entrano in gioco gola o sesso. Analizza impietosamente i rapporti tra esseri umani, rilevando che, in assenza della salute, di simpatia e comprensione si può benissimo fare a meno: l'illusione di un mondo in cui gli esseri umani siano profondamente legati fra loro da comuni bisogni e timori, è illusione che svanisce con la malattia. Si riscopre una certa solitudine: gli esseri umani non fanno tutta la loro strada, mano nella mano, insieme agli altri. In ognuno di noi c'è una foresta vergine; una distesa di neve che non è stata ancora segnata nemmeno dall'impronta di un uccello- Lì viaggiamo da soli, e non vogliamo compagnia. Essere sempre compresi, sempre accompagnati, sempre compatiti, sarebbe intollerabile. Ma quando sis ta bene, questa piacevole finzione dev'essere mantenuta, e lo sforzo rinnovato: lo sforzo di comunicare, civilizzare, compatire, coltivare il deserto, educare il nativo, lavorare insieme di giorno e la sera divertirsi. Quando si è malati, invece, la funzione cessa. Un saggio assai originale, questo Quando si è malati.
Farsi prendere per mano da Virginia Woolf e seguirla - quando si riesce - nel mondo della letteratura, passando da Jane Austen ai problemi derivanti dal leggere gli autori russi in traduzione, imparando Come dobbiamo leggere un libro e riflettendo sullo sviluppo del romanzo negli Stati Uniti, oppure passeggiando per le strade di Londra alla ricerca di una matita e della visione di scorci di vita cittadina, è un piacere enorme. L'acutezza del pensiero e della visione dell'Autrice è fenomenale, e lo stile è magistrale. Purtroppo, ma la colpa è del lettore, non sempre si riesce a seguirla, soprattutto perché non si conoscono gli autori e i testi di cui parla. La stella mancante è imputabile al procurato senso di ignoranza e conseguente imbarazzo.
Di particolare interesse - sarà per deformazione esistenziale o per gli accidenti biografici dell'Autrice? - la riflessione sulla malattia: ci stupisce il fatto che alla malattia non sia stato assegnato, assieme all'amore, alla guerra e alla gelosia, un posto fra i supremi argomenti della letteratura. Tra il serio e il faceto, la Woolf reclama romanzi sull'influenza, poemi epici sulla febbre tifoidea, odi alla polmonite e liriche dedicate al mal di denti: ovvero, attenzione non solo all'anima, ma anche al corpo - e non limitatamente ai casi in cui entrano in gioco gola o sesso. Analizza impietosamente i rapporti tra esseri umani, rilevando che, in assenza della salute, di simpatia e comprensione si può benissimo fare a meno: l'illusione di un mondo in cui gli esseri umani siano profondamente legati fra loro da comuni bisogni e timori, è illusione che svanisce con la malattia. Si riscopre una certa solitudine: gli esseri umani non fanno tutta la loro strada, mano nella mano, insieme agli altri. In ognuno di noi c'è una foresta vergine; una distesa di neve che non è stata ancora segnata nemmeno dall'impronta di un uccello- Lì viaggiamo da soli, e non vogliamo compagnia. Essere sempre compresi, sempre accompagnati, sempre compatiti, sarebbe intollerabile. Ma quando sis ta bene, questa piacevole finzione dev'essere mantenuta, e lo sforzo rinnovato: lo sforzo di comunicare, civilizzare, compatire, coltivare il deserto, educare il nativo, lavorare insieme di giorno e la sera divertirsi. Quando si è malati, invece, la funzione cessa. Un saggio assai originale, questo Quando si è malati.
December 30, 2022
Aa a longtime lover of Virginia Woolf, I think the main takeaway I got from this is that I like her fiction more than her essays. There are some beautiful phrases here - there's no denying Woolf was a total master of her craft, but there's also a few essays in the collection that I found rather drab and tedious.
She's always a joy to read, though. And the good essays in this collection are outstanding. Just a shame that some of the others are a bit flat. 3.5
She's always a joy to read, though. And the good essays in this collection are outstanding. Just a shame that some of the others are a bit flat. 3.5
August 19, 2024
"'Do you mind my thinking of the past?' 'Why should I mind, Simon? Doesn't one always think of the past, in a garden with men and women lying under the trees? Aren't they one's past, all that remains of it, those men and women, those ghosts lying under trees... one's happiness, one's reality?'" (Kew Gardens, 17).
Sweet barista at the most pompous coffee shop in Paris (literally, a "nut butter atelier") complimented me on my choice of literature yesterday. Can we be best friends?
Sweet barista at the most pompous coffee shop in Paris (literally, a "nut butter atelier") complimented me on my choice of literature yesterday. Can we be best friends?
February 19, 2024
"We pin them down to one meaning, their useful meaning, the meaning which makes us catch the train, the meaning which makes us pass the examination. And when words are pinned down they fold their wings and die"
May 18, 2019
Una raccolta di saggi sulla letteratura, sul modo di scrivere e di leggere, parlando di autori russi, statunitensi e ovviamente inglesi.
Nell'introduzione mi ha colpito molto la descrizione che si fa della Woolf, a mio parere azzeccata: Lady e farfalla vagabonda, romanziera nuova, saggista di lucidità settecentesca e libertà tipicamente novecentesca.
Ho trovato la lettura un po' lenta, il primo saggio effettivamente non incoraggia a continuare, ma anche se ogni tanto mi perdevo e dovevo tornare indietro per ritrovare il filo del discorso, nel complesso ho apprezzato molto questo libro che mi ha avvicinato ancora di più a questa autrice tormentata.
Nell'introduzione mi ha colpito molto la descrizione che si fa della Woolf, a mio parere azzeccata: Lady e farfalla vagabonda, romanziera nuova, saggista di lucidità settecentesca e libertà tipicamente novecentesca.
Ho trovato la lettura un po' lenta, il primo saggio effettivamente non incoraggia a continuare, ma anche se ogni tanto mi perdevo e dovevo tornare indietro per ritrovare il filo del discorso, nel complesso ho apprezzato molto questo libro che mi ha avvicinato ancora di più a questa autrice tormentata.
December 3, 2017
“Books are everywhere; and always the same sense of adventure fills us. Second-hand books are wild books, homeless books; they have come together in vast flocks of variegated feather, and have a charm which the domesticated volumes of the library lack. Besides, in this random miscellaneous company we may rub against some complete stranger who will, with luck, turn into the best friend we have in the world.”
Her writing style is so mesmerizing!
If you’re looking for something short that can transport you, then, my friend, this’s what you’re looking for!
Her writing style is so mesmerizing!
If you’re looking for something short that can transport you, then, my friend, this’s what you’re looking for!
October 9, 2022
The number of books in the world is infinite, and one is forced to glimpse and nod and move on after a moment of talk, a flash of understanding, as, in the street outside, one catches a word in passing and from a chance phrase fabricates a lifetime.
Just finished reading this for class. I've always loved of Woolf's use of stream of consciousness and her writing style and this was no exception.
Just finished reading this for class. I've always loved of Woolf's use of stream of consciousness and her writing style and this was no exception.
March 13, 2016
Tanto a idea coma a edición son fermosísimas, mais o texto deixoume incómoda: o paseo de Virxinia por Londres recordoume demasiado a unha visita ó zoo, onde os animais atrapados son as clases baixas e a visitante é unha escritora privilexiada.
March 11, 2023
I LOVED THIS BOOK!
.
Let me start off by saying that I don’t really read classics. It’s not that I don’t like them but I just enjoy fantasy or romance more. But I saw this book and it was a clothbound edition so I had to get it;)
I am so glad I did!
.
I really really love Woolf’s style of writing. She has something so unique and feminine (but at the same time powerful) in the way she can narrate.
One of the chapters in this book is about women in literature and, of course, that was my favorite one. She tells the stories of so many women in such a wonderful and exquisite way, I just knew she would be one of my favorite authors when I finished it.
.
This is an amazing book for people who are just getting into classics. It’s very easy and at the same time educational. I really love this one🫶🏼
.
Let me start off by saying that I don’t really read classics. It’s not that I don’t like them but I just enjoy fantasy or romance more. But I saw this book and it was a clothbound edition so I had to get it;)
I am so glad I did!
.
I really really love Woolf’s style of writing. She has something so unique and feminine (but at the same time powerful) in the way she can narrate.
One of the chapters in this book is about women in literature and, of course, that was my favorite one. She tells the stories of so many women in such a wonderful and exquisite way, I just knew she would be one of my favorite authors when I finished it.
.
This is an amazing book for people who are just getting into classics. It’s very easy and at the same time educational. I really love this one🫶🏼
July 8, 2022
Me siento infinitamente agradecida por haber podido acompañar a Virginia a comprar un lápiz (entre otras cosas) por las calles de Londres.
No lo recomiendo a nadie a quien no le guste los pasajes descriptivos, pues este libro no es más que una sucesión de ellos. Eso sí, escritos de manera exquisita, con los que Virginia Woolf deja lucir su pluma en un derroche de símiles y palabras escogidas que nos transportan al Londres que dibuja con mimo.
No lo recomiendo a nadie a quien no le guste los pasajes descriptivos, pues este libro no es más que una sucesión de ellos. Eso sí, escritos de manera exquisita, con los que Virginia Woolf deja lucir su pluma en un derroche de símiles y palabras escogidas que nos transportan al Londres que dibuja con mimo.
September 19, 2025
This was deliciously exquisite (coming from somebody who has never read anything by Virginia Woolf before). I wish I could write my (non-academic) essays like her. The "Street Haunting: A London Adventure" uses such brilliant metaphors and visual imagery, which created a profoundly captivating atmosphere.
Woolf engages with quintessential modernist space and its celebration of impermanence, change, and anything new. Should you desire to dive deeper into this, I highly recommend the following chapter from an edited collection:
https://www.cambridge.org/core/books/...
The only thing that bothered me is that I think that the start is stronger than the end, the essay kinda drags a bit and loses its initial spark, thus 4 ☆.
Woolf engages with quintessential modernist space and its celebration of impermanence, change, and anything new. Should you desire to dive deeper into this, I highly recommend the following chapter from an edited collection:
https://www.cambridge.org/core/books/...
The only thing that bothered me is that I think that the start is stronger than the end, the essay kinda drags a bit and loses its initial spark, thus 4 ☆.
June 1, 2010
"Street Haunting" is a collection of six stories by Virginia Woolf selected and published by Penguin Books in 2005 to celebrate their 70th birthday.
This collection is a perfect starting place for the reader who knows she ought to read Woolf but has shied away in awe of Woolf's reputation as "brilliant but difficult." Okay, okay, "A Room of One's Own" is also a great place to start, but that's not the revolutionary stream of consciousness, poetic, haunting, Modernist fiction that she's celebrated for. These stories are. And they are short. And perfect.
My favorite was "Street Haunting: A London Adventure." I never lived in 1920s London but she took me right there, onto the streets, into the squares, gazing at the rugs in the shop window, flipping through books in the second-hand bookstore, spying on the people ("the innkeeper quarrelled so violently with his wife that we all leant out into the courtyard to watch"), picking up ragged scraps of conversation (...if you don't think I'm worth a penny stamp, I said...") and just loving it all. Oh, to be in London again, searching for a lead pencil. Or myself?
Or perhaps my favorite was "The Mark on the Wall"? Who hasn't seen that? What is it? A hole? Made by a nail? What hung on that nail? A portrait? A seascape? Yes, a seascape in winter. A winter storm tossing a fishing boat? They all died. All? Well, maybe one survived, just....But that's not it. It's just a piece of dust. How boring my musings are compared to hers.
This collection is a perfect starting place for the reader who knows she ought to read Woolf but has shied away in awe of Woolf's reputation as "brilliant but difficult." Okay, okay, "A Room of One's Own" is also a great place to start, but that's not the revolutionary stream of consciousness, poetic, haunting, Modernist fiction that she's celebrated for. These stories are. And they are short. And perfect.
My favorite was "Street Haunting: A London Adventure." I never lived in 1920s London but she took me right there, onto the streets, into the squares, gazing at the rugs in the shop window, flipping through books in the second-hand bookstore, spying on the people ("the innkeeper quarrelled so violently with his wife that we all leant out into the courtyard to watch"), picking up ragged scraps of conversation (...if you don't think I'm worth a penny stamp, I said...") and just loving it all. Oh, to be in London again, searching for a lead pencil. Or myself?
Or perhaps my favorite was "The Mark on the Wall"? Who hasn't seen that? What is it? A hole? Made by a nail? What hung on that nail? A portrait? A seascape? Yes, a seascape in winter. A winter storm tossing a fishing boat? They all died. All? Well, maybe one survived, just....But that's not it. It's just a piece of dust. How boring my musings are compared to hers.
June 8, 2014
Les grands romans de Virginia Woolf sont des merveilles d'architecture. C'est dans ses nouvelles, ou ce qui en tient lieu, que son art tout particulier de la divagation poétique prend toute la place. C'est le cas, et c'est même le propos de "Street Haunting".
C'est l'histoire d'un flux de conscience qui décide d'aller acheter un crayon. Ce n'est pas un sujet, c'est un prétexte, assumé comme tel dès les premières lignes, à faire l'éloge du vagabondage vespéral dans les rues de Londres et, précisons : l'hiver.
Marcher dans la rue, c'est offrir son attention aux passants et aux boutiques, et chaque croisement, chaque regard peuvent devenir l'occasion d'une rêverie, et offrir un sujet d'écriture. L'éloge de la promenade devient par conséquent très vite celui de cette disponibilité d'esprit, et de ce passage inattendu d'une idée à l'autre, qui sont au coeur de l'écriture woolfienne. Ainsi réceptif à tout ce qui l'entoure, le moi en devient poreux et insituable : c'est le génie de Woolf écrivain. Les circonvolutions de ses phrases passent d'une chose à l'autre à la recherche d'une vérité qui ne se trouve pas, comme le veut la tradition, dans le concept immuable, mais précisément dans le mouvement éphémère, et qu'on trouve non en calculant, mais en se promenant par les rues.
C'est l'histoire d'un flux de conscience qui décide d'aller acheter un crayon. Ce n'est pas un sujet, c'est un prétexte, assumé comme tel dès les premières lignes, à faire l'éloge du vagabondage vespéral dans les rues de Londres et, précisons : l'hiver.
Marcher dans la rue, c'est offrir son attention aux passants et aux boutiques, et chaque croisement, chaque regard peuvent devenir l'occasion d'une rêverie, et offrir un sujet d'écriture. L'éloge de la promenade devient par conséquent très vite celui de cette disponibilité d'esprit, et de ce passage inattendu d'une idée à l'autre, qui sont au coeur de l'écriture woolfienne. Ainsi réceptif à tout ce qui l'entoure, le moi en devient poreux et insituable : c'est le génie de Woolf écrivain. Les circonvolutions de ses phrases passent d'une chose à l'autre à la recherche d'une vérité qui ne se trouve pas, comme le veut la tradition, dans le concept immuable, mais précisément dans le mouvement éphémère, et qu'on trouve non en calculant, mais en se promenant par les rues.
September 2, 2015
کتاب های دست دوم وحشی و بی خانمانند؛ مثل پرهای گوناگون بال پرنده ای کنار هم جمع شده باشند و جاذبه ای دارند که کتاب های جدید کتابخانه ها فاقد آنند
January 22, 2016
This collection of six essays and stories is trademark Virginia Woolf. It's full of long sentences, stream of consciousness, and obsessive attention to detail. It's evocative and mundane at once. My first read-through was slow and often boring, but once I finished I felt compelled to read the whole thing over again.
The title essay, Street Haunting, explores "the greatest pleasure of town life in winter - rambling the streets of London." The narrator leads us through the city's various encounters until we reach the "excuse" for our journey - the purchase of a pencil - and return home. Unfortunately the narration of an everyday errand is uncomfortably lessened by scenes of drawn out ableism.
Kew Gardens, the second essay, is similar, except it takes place in July at a crowded park. One has the impression of Virginia Woolf perched on a park bench, observing flowers, animals, and people passing by, inventing motivations for each and copying down their dialogue with embellishment.
The Mark on the Wall also gives an image of the author, this time at home. It reads like a journal entry as she muses idly about the strange round object across the room. At the end of the essay, it's revealed to be a snail...a symbol - like moths, colorful flowers, and mahogany sideboards - that appear in several of the other essays as well.
Our first short story comes in the form of Solid Objects, about a man who forfeits political ambition to focus on an unusual collection of - literally - rubbish. This is my second favorite entry, and I love the symbolism of a protagonist who trades something physically intangible that seems concrete to others (status/career) for something solid but intangible to others (a collection of physical objects).
The next story, Lappin and Lapinova, may be the most traditional/accessible of the collection, but it's also the most subversive. A newlywed has a difficult time adjusting to life as a wife - until she invents a fantasy world for the couple to inhabit. This is a distinctly feminist story with layers of depth, and yet it is also universal and understandable without analysis. It's currently one of my favorite short stories in this or any other collection.
Finally, we have the shortest essay, The Death of the Moth. Watching a moth beat against a window on a beautiful day, the narrator is moved to pity for the insignificant life before her, and then by the insignificant death.
As I mentioned, many of the same symbols are scattered between the six entries, but its unclear how deliberate that may be. These essays were not originally compiled side by side, so perhaps the only connection is Virginia Woolf's subconscious. One theme, however, that runs through each is the dignity versus indignity of life. The smallest creatures - snails, dragonflies, rabbits and moths - embody the same struggle against death and indecency that the human characters contend with, and no one escapes unscathed. Disabled people and the elderly serve (in these essays) as absurd proof of decay, and yet they fight against those things too. There's an inescapable sense of not only death, but the cycle of death that traps its prey well before the day they pass away. It feels like there's no way to beat it, to "win." Political ambition does not satisfy; bearing a big family doesn't ensure love or immortality. Marital bliss fades and friends depart. Bodies and minds break down.
My two favorite stories, Solid Objects and Lappin and Lapinova, explore characters who try to escape this cycle. John simply drops out of the political rat race, choosing to explore a hobby that gives him pleasure. Rosalind constructs a false world to cope with the cage of marriage. Neither option works. Both characters find themselves cut off from others, alienated from friends and family. They have forfeited their futures in the attempt to thwart death, much like the moth who rallies valiantly at the window but finds himself overcome at last by the "oncoming doom."
Woolf acknowledges this problem in the very first essay. Each of us has a physical self, trapped in time, bound by duty, and another self, who dreams of distant places and grand adventures - or shirks them. Which is the true self? she asks. And then, grimly, answers: "[F]or convenience' sake a man must be whole. The good citizen when he opens his door in the evening must be banker, golfer, husband, father; not a nomad...a mystic...a pariah."
Yet she also allows one possible escape, perhaps predictable for an author and essayist: "But here, none too soon, are the second-hand bookshops. Here we find anchorage in these thwarting currents of being; here we balance ourselves after the splendours and miseries of the streets."
Literature is a way to fight the indignity of reality. Writing is a way to defy death. When Woolf speaks of the "unknown traveller" who "wrote it all down stiffly, laboriously for sheer love of it" and whose very essence can now be purchased for eighteenpence, I can't help but think of the book in my hands and the author on my mind. The six "prosy, busy, and matter-of-fact" stories in Street Haunting are Virginia Woolf's own successful attempt to capture life around and inside her long after, like the moth, she "seemed to say, death is stronger than I am."
The title essay, Street Haunting, explores "the greatest pleasure of town life in winter - rambling the streets of London." The narrator leads us through the city's various encounters until we reach the "excuse" for our journey - the purchase of a pencil - and return home. Unfortunately the narration of an everyday errand is uncomfortably lessened by scenes of drawn out ableism.
Kew Gardens, the second essay, is similar, except it takes place in July at a crowded park. One has the impression of Virginia Woolf perched on a park bench, observing flowers, animals, and people passing by, inventing motivations for each and copying down their dialogue with embellishment.
The Mark on the Wall also gives an image of the author, this time at home. It reads like a journal entry as she muses idly about the strange round object across the room. At the end of the essay, it's revealed to be a snail...a symbol - like moths, colorful flowers, and mahogany sideboards - that appear in several of the other essays as well.
Our first short story comes in the form of Solid Objects, about a man who forfeits political ambition to focus on an unusual collection of - literally - rubbish. This is my second favorite entry, and I love the symbolism of a protagonist who trades something physically intangible that seems concrete to others (status/career) for something solid but intangible to others (a collection of physical objects).
The next story, Lappin and Lapinova, may be the most traditional/accessible of the collection, but it's also the most subversive. A newlywed has a difficult time adjusting to life as a wife - until she invents a fantasy world for the couple to inhabit. This is a distinctly feminist story with layers of depth, and yet it is also universal and understandable without analysis. It's currently one of my favorite short stories in this or any other collection.
Finally, we have the shortest essay, The Death of the Moth. Watching a moth beat against a window on a beautiful day, the narrator is moved to pity for the insignificant life before her, and then by the insignificant death.
As I mentioned, many of the same symbols are scattered between the six entries, but its unclear how deliberate that may be. These essays were not originally compiled side by side, so perhaps the only connection is Virginia Woolf's subconscious. One theme, however, that runs through each is the dignity versus indignity of life. The smallest creatures - snails, dragonflies, rabbits and moths - embody the same struggle against death and indecency that the human characters contend with, and no one escapes unscathed. Disabled people and the elderly serve (in these essays) as absurd proof of decay, and yet they fight against those things too. There's an inescapable sense of not only death, but the cycle of death that traps its prey well before the day they pass away. It feels like there's no way to beat it, to "win." Political ambition does not satisfy; bearing a big family doesn't ensure love or immortality. Marital bliss fades and friends depart. Bodies and minds break down.
My two favorite stories, Solid Objects and Lappin and Lapinova, explore characters who try to escape this cycle. John simply drops out of the political rat race, choosing to explore a hobby that gives him pleasure. Rosalind constructs a false world to cope with the cage of marriage. Neither option works. Both characters find themselves cut off from others, alienated from friends and family. They have forfeited their futures in the attempt to thwart death, much like the moth who rallies valiantly at the window but finds himself overcome at last by the "oncoming doom."
Woolf acknowledges this problem in the very first essay. Each of us has a physical self, trapped in time, bound by duty, and another self, who dreams of distant places and grand adventures - or shirks them. Which is the true self? she asks. And then, grimly, answers: "[F]or convenience' sake a man must be whole. The good citizen when he opens his door in the evening must be banker, golfer, husband, father; not a nomad...a mystic...a pariah."
Yet she also allows one possible escape, perhaps predictable for an author and essayist: "But here, none too soon, are the second-hand bookshops. Here we find anchorage in these thwarting currents of being; here we balance ourselves after the splendours and miseries of the streets."
Literature is a way to fight the indignity of reality. Writing is a way to defy death. When Woolf speaks of the "unknown traveller" who "wrote it all down stiffly, laboriously for sheer love of it" and whose very essence can now be purchased for eighteenpence, I can't help but think of the book in my hands and the author on my mind. The six "prosy, busy, and matter-of-fact" stories in Street Haunting are Virginia Woolf's own successful attempt to capture life around and inside her long after, like the moth, she "seemed to say, death is stronger than I am."
Read
December 15, 2023Snagged this lovely essay collection in Spazio Sette Libreria and finally sat down and finished it.
Virginia Woolf is a master train conductor, except you’re not on straightforward tracks you’re just threading through vivid conversations and small rabbit trails and relatable observation, and at the end you get off and you’re slightly windswept but have enjoyed the ride anyway.
Virginia Woolf is a master train conductor, except you’re not on straightforward tracks you’re just threading through vivid conversations and small rabbit trails and relatable observation, and at the end you get off and you’re slightly windswept but have enjoyed the ride anyway.
April 10, 2025
Ich glaube ich bin verliebt in Virginia Woolfs writing?!🤭😻
Ihre Essays waren alle 5 Sterne und super captivating, aber fand die short stories teilweise etwas slow und nicht so entertaining, deshalb nur vier Sterne 😋 #shoutout an Maja (danke, war nh gute book choice hihi 😜)
Ihre Essays waren alle 5 Sterne und super captivating, aber fand die short stories teilweise etwas slow und nicht so entertaining, deshalb nur vier Sterne 😋 #shoutout an Maja (danke, war nh gute book choice hihi 😜)
June 27, 2025
As always from Woolf, a beautifully written, engaging short essay. It dropped down to 3.5 stars just because of its incredibly dated narration, which can only be attributed to the times, but I did find it a lot more noticeable compared to other works by Woolf, both fiction and non-fiction
Read
August 8, 2024"We do not know our own souls, let alone the souls of others. Human beings do not go hand in hand the whole stretch of the way. There is a virgin forest in each; a snowfield where even the print of birds' feet is unknown. Here we go alone, and like it better so. Always to have sympathy, always to be accompanied, always to be understood would be intolerable." (77)
January 28, 2025
4,25⭐
What an amazing collection of thoughts
What an amazing collection of thoughts
October 8, 2024
Haunting the streets
May 28, 2023
fun & interesting to read at times but also sometimes got a bit hard to follow
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