Δευτέρα ή Τρίτη και άλλα διηγήματα

by Virginia Woolf, Παλμύρα Ισμυρίδου (Translator)

Τα έργα που περιλαμβάνονται σ’ αυτόν τον τόμο καλύπτουν όλο το εύρος της συγγραφικής πορείας της Βιρτζίνια Γούλφ. Η επιθυμία της, όπως τη διατύπωσε το 1908, να «συμβάλει στην αναμόρφωση του μυθιστορήματος και να συλλάβει χίλια δυό πράγματα που ακόμα ξεγλιστρούν, να τα περιλάβει στο σύνολό τους και να διαμορφώσει άπειρες παράξενες φόρμες», την ώθησε να πειραματιστεί καθ΄ όλη τη διάρκεια της σταδιοδρομίας της όχι μόνο με το μυθιστόρημα αλλά και με ποικίλες μορφές του διηγήματος. Το 1917, σχολιάζοντας εκ νέου πόσο «υπερβολικά αδέξιο και ασφυκτικό» ήταν το μυθιστόρημα, προσέθετε : «Πιστεύω ότι θα πρέπει να επινοήσει κανείς μια εντελώς νέα μορφή. Ούτως η άλλως, είναι πολύ διασκεδαστικό να πειραματίζεσαι με αυτές τις μικρές φόρμες...».

Επειδή η Γούλφ δοκίμαζε διαρκώς νέες αφηγηματικές μορφές, τα σύντομα πεζά της παρουσιάζουν τεράστια ποικιλία. Ορισμένα διηγήματά της, όπως τα «Συμπαγή αντικείμενα» και «Η κληρονομιά», είναι διηγήματα με την παραδοσιακή έννοια του όρου, συνθέσεις με σταθερή αφηγηματική δομή και στέρεους χαρακτήρες. Άλλα διηγήματα, όπως «Το σημάδι στον τοίχο» και «Ένα μυθιστόρημα που δεν γράφτηκε», αποτελούν μυθοπλαστικούς στοχασμούς των οποίων οι μετατοπίσεις της αφηγηματικής σκοπιάς και η λυρική πρόζα θυμίζουν τα αυτοβιογραφικά δοκίμια ορισμένων συγγραφέων του 19ου αιώνα, προπάντων του Ντε Κουίνσυ. Κάποια άλλα, εντούτοις, που θα μπορούσαν να χαρακτηριστούν «σκηνές» η «σχεδιάσματα», πιθανώς οφείλουν πολλά στον Τσέχοφ, ο οποίος μας βοήθησε να δούμε, γράφει η Γούλφ το 1919, ότι οι «ανολοκλήρωτες ιστορίες είναι θεμιτές». Σε ορισμένα έργα ο αφηγητής λειτουργεί ως παρατηρητής του εξωτερικού κόσμου, ενώ σε κάποια άλλα βρίσκεται μέσα στο μυαλό των προσώπων και αποτυπώνει την αντίληψη που έχουν για τον εαυτό τους και για τον κόσμο.

«Δεν θα ξεχάσω ποτέ», είπε στην Ethel Smyth, «τη μέρα που έγραψα το “Σημάδι στον τοίχο’’ – μια κι έξω, σαν να πετούσα ελεύθερη έπειτα από ένα διάστημα που το μόνο που έκανα ήταν να σπάω πέτρες». Έπειτα από δύο χρόνια περίπου ολοκλήρωσε το «Ένα μυθιστόρημα που δεν γράφτηκε» ανακαλύπτοντας, όπως δήλωσε εκ των υστέρων, «πως μπορούσε να περικλείσει τη συσσωρευμένη πείρα της σε μια φόρμα που θα τη χωρούσε».

Τα διηγήματα που περιλαμβάνονται στο Δευτέρα ή Τρίτη αντανακλούν τους πολλούς τρόπους με τους οποίους απελευθερωνόταν από τις συμβάσεις, τόσο όσον αφορά τις αφηγηματικές τεχνικές όσο και τη σκέψη, και ανακάλυπτε την αφηγηματική φωνή που θα έφερε εμφανώς τη δική της σφραγίδα.

Genres: Short Stories, Classics, Fiction, Feminism, Literature, British Literature, 20th Century

128 pages, Paperback

First published January 1, 1921

About the author

(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."

Reviews

[Jaidee · Rating 4 out of 5]

4.5 "meandering, layered, impactful" stars !!

2016 Honorable Mention Read

Tomorrow we leave for Belize. I just came back from a 45 minute walk in my dark and cool and breezy neighbourhood while listening to Portuguese Fado. I sit here and decide not to think about too much what I will write for this review as I have written a sentence or two as I read all eight stories in this volume today while I lived quietly, thoughtfully and emotionally today. I did not answer texts or emails today. I pretended we were at our country home. I barely spoke to my partner today but kissed him and smiled at him while he worked.

I read Virginia Woolf. I took a warm bath. I made a delicious pasta salad and baked ham. I packed our suitcases. I read Virginia Woolf. I brushed the cat and already missed him. I listened to Madama Butterfly in its entirety while I reorganized two of our closets. I read Virginia Woolf. I missed my father and mother today and so I had a little cry. I thought about an old friend and wondered if she was happy. I read Virginia Woolf. I double checked and then triple checked our suitcases. I contemplated early retirement in New Mexico. I nuzzled my partner's neck. I read Virginia Wolf. I thought about our upcoming nine days in Belize and was happy. I hear my partner's soft snores and I am happy. I read Virginia Woolf for the first time and was mostly astounded. I am writing this review and I am at peace.

I will list the stories, my rating and a sentence I jotted down after reading each story.

1. A Haunted House ( 4.5 stars )

A pair of romantic spirits add love to a home through delicacy and mischief.

2. A Society ( 4.5 stars )

A group of young women meet regularly to discuss their observations of men and their own feminine natures.

3. Monday or Tuesday ( 3.5 stars )

A heron flies and observes.

4. An Unwritten Novel ( 4.5 stars )

The flights of fancy of a young woman on a train.

5. The String Quartet ( 5 stars )

Snippets of conversation and the mind's meanderings during a Mozart String Quartet performance.

6. Blue & Green ( 5 stars )

What the fuck? 3 pages of gorgeousness.

7. Kew Gardens ( 5 stars ) **my favorite in collection

The exquisite contrast of the life of insects and humans in a beautiful public garden.

8. The Mark on the Wall ( 3 stars )

A blemish on the wall leads to all sorts of thinking.

I am honored to have finally read Virginia Woolf. This book made my day today extraordinarily special and yet I can have these days much more often. I need to stop and listen to my thoughts, my feelings and soak up my surroundings and realize the richness of the everyday. I will go and pray and have a sleep. I will read more Virginia Woolf very soon.

[sAmAnE · Rating 4 out of 5]

کتاب رمان نانوشته
ولی بعد از زندگی، این ساقه‌های سبز رنگ و کلفت هستند که رفته رفته نازک و کوتاه می‌شوند و گل‌ها را در هنگام فرو افتادن بر روی خاک به رنگ سرخ در می‌آورند. آخر چرا اینجا به دنیا آمدیم و آنجا به دنیا نیامدیم؟ چرا انقدر ناامید و نالان و ناتوان هستیم که نمی‌توانیم راهمان را در این کوره راه ظلمانی پیدا کنیم و باید مدام در تاریکی به دنبال ریشه گیاهان و انگشتان پای غول‌ها باشیم؟ با این وضعیت شاید پنجاه سال زمان لازم باشد تا بتوانیم درخت‌ها را از زن‌ها و مردها یا چیزهای دیگر تشخیص بدهیم. در کل، هیچ چیز به غیر از روشنایی و ظلمت وجود نداشته که ساقه‌های کلفت آنها را از هم جدا کرده‌اند. درست مثل لکه‌هایی از گل رز با رنگ‌های متفاوت و بی‌رنگ که هرچه می‌گذرد تیره و تارتر به نظر می‌رسد ولی آخر چرا...
.
احمد اخوت در کتاب جویس در تعطیلات می‌نویسد ویرجینیا وولف داستانی با عنوان رمان نانوشته دارد. راوی این داستان یک زن است که احتمالاً نویسنده است و سوار بر قطار می‌خواهد از لندن به جایی در جنوب برود. در کوپه‌ی او چند مسافرند و همه سعی می‌کنند سرشان به کار خودشان باشد و چشم‌هایشان به هم نیفتد. فقط یک زن به روبرویش نگاه می‌کند. راوی روی این زن متمرکز می‌شود و اسمش را مینی‌مارش می‌گذارد.
راوی_نویسنده بر اساس شواهد ظاهری، به سبک شرلوک هلمز، زندگی این زن را مجسم می‌کند و در ذهنش می‌سازد. هرچند این زن به قول راوی از "زمره‌ی بچه‌های متولدنشده‌ی ذهنی و نامشروع است"، اما به هرحال وجود دارد. سرانجام گرچه بیشتر حدس‌ها و نتیجه‌گیری‌های راوی اشتباه از کار در می‌آید و او به این نتیجه می‌رسد که زندگی پیچیده‌تر و سرشارتر از آن است که بتوان با شواهد ظاهری به دستاوردی رسید، به هر حال او شخصیتی جدید آفریده است. کسی‌که به عنوان خواننده می‌توان وارد زندگی‌اش و با او آشنا شد. بنابراین دستگاه نویسندگی نویسنده معمولاً روشن است. ممکن است مدتی ننویسد، اما خاموش هم نیست. فلان کس در مغازه‌اش را می‌بندد و می‌رود، اما نویسنده اگر موقتاً جایی برود، کرکره‌اش را پایین نمی‌کشد. اصلاً قادر به این کنارکشی نیست، مگر اینکه دستگاه نوشتنش کلاً بسوزد.

[AiK · Rating 5 out of 5]

«Краткость – сестра таланта» - это об этом рассказе. Вечная жажда истины, ее предчувствие в неустанном поиске слова. Несколько сочных мазков и картина написана. В ней есть и настроение, и полный мелких деталей пейзаж, много движения, мыслей, грез и творчества. Слова «наливаются чернотой», обретают форму, надвигаются. И получился гениальный рассказ. Браво!

[Vipassana · Rating 4 out of 5]

Virginia is a quiet woman with an excitable mind. Chatty in the presence of enjoyable company yet prone to sink into silence and solitude. She puts one in touch with the myriad blubbering of the mind, the sporadic genius and how the both, while at odds, lend themselves to each other. With this collection of short stories, one is offered a peak into her process. The range of variety among her stories is something to note, yet most of the stories are characteristically in the mind than a sequence of events.

A Society is a satire on the incompetence of society, that still chose to shut out women. It vaguely reminded me of Louisa May Alcott's Little Women, with the girls all grown up and aware of their disenfranchisement from nearly every aspect of living that didn't involve cooking or a baby. These were privileged women who felt illiterate of so many thing and they sought to to ask questions by impersonating men in positions of influence. This was story was all the more amusing given the allusion to the Dreadnought Hoax.

Blue & Green is about colours, about seeing the colours among other details. It's barely a page and could have been a poem, as could have Monday or Tuesday and A Haunted House. I might be slightly biased because these are my favourite colours and I've bored quite a few of my acquaintances rhapsodising about the special place in the palette that blue and to a lesser extent green(my argument is that green is a kind of blue) deserve.

Kew Gardens reminds me of To the Lighthouse and perhaps it was the polished version of an experiment she orchestrated in Kew Gardens. Couples pass by a flower bed, where a snail absorbs its surroundings and attempts a manoeuvre around a leaf blocking its way. The couples are all of varying genders and ages, so are the power balances between them. The mindset of each couple of couple is more disjointed than in To The Lighthouse given that they aren't aware of the bed or the snail, but ever so often their contrast with the snail is readily apparent.

A Mark on the Wall was without doubt my favourite. It is Woolf meditating.

I want to think quietly, calmly, spaciously, never to be interrupted, never to have to rise from my chair, to slip easily from one thing to another, without any sense of hostility, or obstacle. I want to sink deeper and deeper, away from the surface, with its hard separate facts.

She proceeds to catch the first thought and carefully following the thread from there. Every once in a while she realises that she was initially trying to discern a mark in the wall. It's an enjoyable flow of thoughts that reminded me of a form of meditation, Anapanasati, where one focuses on one's breathing. An untrained mind tends to wander and on awareness of the wandering it is brought back to the breathing. Unlike the jumble of thoughts that can harass a mind for attention, these thoughts have a calmer demeanour.*

The collection as a whole has some humour to it. She takes a dig at The Times by noting that English Literature was in the top floor of the library while The Time at the very bottom. In An Unwritten Novel, she writes about how one can find anything in The Times if they looked for it. Later on she declares that it can't protect from a sorrow such as hers and in the last story about how it had nothing to offer. The presence of a snail in both Kew Gardens and A Mark on the wall made me burst out laughing. A Mark on the Wall is the last story in this collection, immediately after Kew Gardens and she realises that the mark was a snail on the wall. It made me laugh considering that Kew Gardens was roughly told from the perspective of a snail

The only thing that I'd complain about is how she ends some stories. An obvious surprise in the last paragraph. Obvious not in the sense that one knows it's coming but typical methods of surprise, such as awareness of the situation being a dream or a small slip up that appears to negate the entire story. It is probable that my whining of the endings may be a matter of my high expectations from Woolf than any misgivings with the stories.

Recommended for Woolf fans. You'll see the Virginia you love.

--
*Solely based on personal experience, I suppose in each individual perceives herself/himself differently.

--
June 9, 2015

[Sofia · Rating 4 out of 5]

Μία σειρά από εξαιρετικά διηγήματα με έκαναν να αλλάξω την γνώμη μου για την Βιρτζίνια Γουλφ.Το πρώτο δικό της μυθοστόρημα, η κυρία Ντάλαγουει, με άφησε σχεδόν βέβαιη ότι αυτή η συγγραφέας δεν ήταν για εμένα. Τώρα, κάποια χρόνια αργότερα, καταλαβαίνω επιτέλους την αξία της. Περιγραφικές εικόνες, η σκιά του πολέμου να πλανάται σχεδόν σε κάθε ιστορία, έντονοι προβληματισμοί κι επικρίσεις για την θέση της γυναίκας.Φεμινιστικά μυνήματα, αποτυπωμένα με την λεπτή ειρωνία της Γούλφ, ικάνα να προβληματίσουν ακόμα και σήμερα :
"Ζούσαμε τόσους αιώνες θεωρώντας ότι οι άντρες ήταν εξίσου φιλόπονοι και ότι τα έργα τους είχαν ίση αξία. Ενώ εμείς γεννούσαμε παιδιά, πιστεύαμε ότι αυτοί δημιουργούσαν τα βιβλία και τους πίνακες. Εμείς επικοίσαμε τον κόσμο.Αυτοί τον εκπολίτισαν. Τώρα όμως, που μπορούμε να διαβάζουμε, τί μας εμποδίζει να κρίνουμε τα αποτελέσματα; Προτού φέρουμε άλλα παιδιά στον κόσμο, πρέπει να ορκιστούμε ότι θα ανακαλύψουμε πώς είναι αυτός ο κόσμος."
Αν μπορούσα να κάνω ένα δώρο σε κάθε γυναίκα, θα ήταν αυτή η τελευταία πρόταση.

[Edita · Rating 5 out of 5]

Now to recollect by the fireside on the white square of marble. From ivory depths words rising shed their blackness, blossom and penetrate. Fallen the book; in the flame, in the smoke, in the momentary sparks — or now voyaging, the marble square pendant, minarets beneath and the Indian seas, while space rushes blue and stars glint — truth? content with closeness?
Lazy and indifferent the heron returns; the sky veils her stars; then bares them.

[Paul Fulcher · Rating 3 out of 5]

Examine for a moment an ordinary mind on an ordinary day. The mind receives a myriad impressions—trivial, fantastic, evanescent, or engraved with the sharpness of steel. From all sides they come, an incessant shower of innumerable atoms; and as they fall, as they shape themselves into the life of Monday or Tuesday.
Virginia Woolf, on Fiction

Monday or Tuesday (1921) was the only collection of Woolf’s short fiction published in her lifetime.

It comprises eight pieces:
"A Haunted House"
"A Society"
"Monday or Tuesday"
"An Unwritten Novel" (printed in the London Mercury in 1920)
"The String Quartet"
"Blue & Green"
"Kew Gardens" (published privately in 1919)
"The Mark on the Wall" (published in Hogarth Press’s first book Two Stories (1917) alongside a story from Leonard Woolf)

Leonard Woolf was to publish a posthumous collection of Woolf’s stories, A Haunted House and Other Short Stories, in 1944. Leonard explained in the foreword

In 1940, she decided that she would get together a new volume of such stories and include in it most of the stories which had appeared originally in Monday or Tuesday, as well as some published subsequently in magazines and some unpublished. Our idea was that she should produce a volume of critical essays in 1941 and the volume of stories in 1942.

In the present volume I have tried to carry out her intention. I have included in it six out of the eight stories or sketches which originally appeared in Monday or Tuesday. The two omitted by me are “A Society,” and “Blue and Green”; I know that she had decided not to include the first and I am practically certain that she would not have included the second.

Oddly, given it's omission, A Society was perhaps my favourite piece here, a form of fictional spin on her later A Room of One's Own, rather poking fun at the idea that men are the great achievers in art and women's role to make house and breed. A group of women meet:

After a time, so far as I can remember, we drew round the fire and began as usual to praise men—how strong, how noble, how brilliant, how courageous how beautiful they were—how we envied those who by hook or by crook managed to get attached to one for life—when Poll, who had said nothing, burst into tears. Poll, I must tell you, has always been queer. For one thing her father was a strange man. He left her a fortune in his will, but on condition that she read all the books in the London Library.

Poll is distressed because the result of her reading (the other women have, as instructed, left reading to others), almost all of it books written by men, suggest their achievements are not as great as proclaimed. The women form a Society, vowing not to have children until they have investigated this further. One infiltrates ‘Oxbridge’ disguised as a cleaner, another a Navy ship disguised as a male Ethiopian prince (this last based on a real-life ‘prank’ - https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Dreadno... - one in which, it must be noted and regretted, Woolf blacked-up).

And meanwhile mankind (the emphasis on ‘man’) start a major war (WW1).

Oh, Cassandra, for Heaven’s sake let us devise a method by which men may bear children! It is our only chance. For unless we provide them with some innocent occupation we shall get neither good people nor good books; we shall perish beneath the fruits of their unbridled activity; and not a human being will survive to know that there once was Shakespeare!

A paper (https://www.jstor.org/stable/441332?s...) by Susan Dick suggest three reasons Woolf may have wanted to omit A Society – a) that it is told in a relatively conventional style b) that by 1940 she had made her point's more forcibly and in depth in A Room of One's Own, and c) the story is very tied to its historic context.

a) feels the most pertinent, as the other pieces here are deliberately rather fragmentary. They feel like exercises in the evolution of Woolf's writing and towards her brilliant later novels, notably Mrs. Dalloway (1925), indeed some later stories (later collected in Mrs. Dalloway's Party: A Short Story Sequence) were precisely that.

Although c) was interesting, in that The String Quartet, published in 1921, is very much of its time and yet oddly pertinent exactly 100 years later, with London rents and the health after-effects of a pandemic occupying the narrator:

If indeed it’s true, as they’re saying, that Regent Street is up, and the Treaty signed, and the weather not cold for the time of year, and even at that rent not a flat to be had, and the worst of influenza its after effects

An Unwritten Novel is perhaps the strongest piece overall, as the narrator on a train imagines her way into the life of the woman opposite:

Such an expression of unhappiness was enough by itself to make one’s eyes slide above the paper’s edge to the poor woman’s face—insignificant without that look, almost a symbol of human destiny with it.

And yet when she and the woman alight at the end station, and the woman is met by her son:

Well, my world’s done for! What do I stand on? What do I know? That’s not Minnie. There never was Moggridge. Who am I? Life’s bare as bone.

And yet the last look of them—he stepping from the kerb and she following him round the edge of the big building brims me with wonder—floods me anew. Mysterious figures! Mother and son. Who are you? Why do you walk down the street? Where to-night will you sleep, and then, to-morrow? Oh, how it whirls and surges—floats me afresh! I start after them. People drive this way and that. The white light splutters and pours. Plate-glass windows. Carnations; chrysanthemums. Ivy in dark gardens. Milk carts at the door. Wherever I go, mysterious figures, I see you, turning the corner, mothers and sons; you, you, you. I hasten, I follow. This, I fancy, must be the sea. Grey is the landscape; dim as ashes; the water murmurs and moves. If I fall on my knees, if I go through the ritual, the ancient antics, it’s you, unknown figures, you I adore; if I open my arms, it’s you I embrace, you I draw to me—adorable world!

Overall, an interesting insight into Woolf's development as a writer but not that compelling as a stand-alone read as the collection doesn't really cohere. 3 stars

[Bill on GR Sabbatical · Rating 3 out of 5]

I got more than I bargained for when I bought this for $2 at Second Hand Prose, the bookstore of the Friends of the Coronado Public Library, during a pre-coronavirus pandemic visit to California this winter. I expected a pretty quick read of the eight short stories collected here, some very short, but found they required a little time and effort to appreciate. Fortunately, I have plenty of time these days and the effort was rewarded.

Many of the stories are stream of consciousness and experimental pieces, with the train trip described in "An Unwritten Novel" and the musings on "The Mark on the Wall" being my favorites of these. The most traditional narrative is "A Society", and, in hopes of piquing the interest of a reader or two, I offer this excerpt of its beginning:

After a time, so far as I can remember, we drew round the fire and began as usual to praise men - how strong, how noble, how brilliant, how courageous, how beautiful they were - how we envied those who by hook or by crook managed to get attached to one for life - when Poll, who had said nothing, burst into tears. Poll, I must tell you, has always been queer. For one thing her father was a strange man. He left her a fortune in his will, but on condition that she read all the books in the London Library.

[Praveen · Rating 4 out of 5]

Oh, the brutes! It’s damnably difficult.

I have read novels of Virginia. That count goes to three… Three of her major novels four years back… I had opted to reserve my opinion on her writing for a very specific reason that I could not reach a well-defined conclusion then, and could not really spell out how her writing impacted me. Though I had loved all her books and rated them highly. You can say, I bifurcated my opinion in two parts, and rolled out one half in the form of 'stars' immediately then; and reserved the other half in the form of 'reviews' for the future. I think, now the time has come to bring forth the reserved half in such a language that is as simple as possible.

This is the first time I am trying to talk about any of her books with a promise that I am going to revisit all of the above-mentioned 'three novels' this year soon. I am currently reading Jacob's Room also, and it is adding up to my thoughts.

But coming back to this book; it is a short story collection and I was reading her stories for the first time last year. How different a short story writer she is, to a novelist, I will expound a little bit.

This book has eight stories. But some of the stories are only one or two pages long. Ultra short version of the novelist I experienced. Comprehending those shortest ones was not easy for me. It required a greater level of concentration. You need some extra focus to keep up with her distinctiveness.

The first story is about 'a Haunted House' where a couple or you can say the ghosts of a couple safely move from one location to another investigating the locations and recalling their association trying to find out the hidden treasure. This is a symbolic one!

The Other story is about the talk; discussions occurring in a society where many young women have sat and they are discussing various topics; book reading, about men, about judges, about war, about chastity, and about poetry, and books and different women have a different opinion. Can they ever have the same? The interesting part is the style of their conversation. I loved the non-identical style of the author.

I don’t think some of these stories are simple to comprehend. I am constantly repeating this; bear with my rumpus cry. I needed to read one sentence many times before I could sense what the author was trying to infer. Similar patterns, at many places, I was observing in her novels too. The story “Monday or Tuesday” is just one page long. But I read it at least four times to understand what it was all about. Lazy and indifferent herons she talks about in this tale. It looks poetic sometimes; philosophical the other time and the third time I thought it, even absurd. I mean… Not easy to grasp!

“Red is the dome; coins hang on the trees; smoke trails from the chimneys; bark, shout, cry “Iron for sale”- and truth?”

“An Unwritten Novel” and "The String Quartet”, are some of the stories that my brain somehow could lay hold of. In the story “Kew Garden” I saw an extraordinary style of portraying nature and it was very unusual.

“The mark on the wall” is the last one and I witnessed her deciphering skills, and also her surveying capabilities in this story. Perhaps, I liked this story most in this collection. Her deduction through the prose like a mathematician, penning his hypothesis, was magical at many places. This book seems to be a collection of her experiments in her writing and she has achieved success in this.

If I could devise an award last year, I would have named it the “idiosyncratic prose award of the year” and this award would have been handed down to this book selected from amongst all my reads last year!

[Mark · Rating 4 out of 5]

This is another of the lovely Hesperus Press books which introduce or re-introduce little known works by otherwise well known writers from across history. Each is less than 100 pages in length and indeed some are much less. This volume only consists of 61 pages of actual Virginia Woolfness and it is a swiftly pleasurable read though, as with all Woolf, it repays much slower and patient re-visiting.

There are eight pieces collected together. Some, "A Society" or "An unwritten novel" read as obvious stories whilst others "Monday or Tuesday" and "Blue and Green" read as simple descriptive meanderings, though simple might be a rather unambitious word for the flow of impressions given. This is Woolf at her liquid best and again, as always with her, they demand to be read out loud.

My mother used to say sometimes, when telling me off if i had been holding forth a little too arrogantly about something, that i quite evidently liked the sound of my own voice. This used to make me suitably contrite or at least embarrassed. Now i wonder whether she is looking down on me every time i pick down a Virginia Woolf and jabbing in the ribs the poor angelic soul she shares her cloud with to say ' Yep, I think that is the only reason the boy likes Woolf, so he can hear himself read'. Well mum, there is a truth in amidst the accusation. I love the way Woolf uses words, the way 'thoughts bleed into one another like colours' as Scarlett Thomas says in her introduction, and this demands to be read out loud and as i can not always have Juliet Stevenson or the late lamented Anna Massie on hand, needs must !!

My favourite piece is "Kew Gardens" a simple commentary on couples walking and talking and reflecting back and forth to each other, observed by a snail contemplating its own journey across a flower bed. Nothing happens but beautiful phrases.

"In the drone of the aeroplane the voice of the summer sky murmured its fierce soul"

There is the mention on a number of occasions of the flowers with their 'heart-shaped or tongue-shaped leaves'. This suggests and it is just that, a hint and nothing more, a gesture in the direction of the parallel or perhaps opposing standard of voice and feeling, declamation and empathy.

The couples featured, play and interplay and we are left none the wiser of any of their futures but there is a unnoticed sting in the tail of the story. Our 'almost-narrator', if you will, has been the observant snail but he is not observant enough. Towards the end of the essay this line features "How hot it was! So hot that even the thrush chose to hop, like a mechanical bird, in the shadow of the flowers, with long pauses between one movement and the next"

Again Woolf says no more but every schoolboy and girl knows what thrushes do with snails. It is a clever shadow cast over the gentle scene in the same way as the flowers, previously spoken of in bright, light coloured words suddenly become the bearers of shadow. Simple, yep wonderfully suggestive.

The last piece is the equally wonderful "The Mark on the wall". I remember reading this years ago in a few minutes and wondering what it was all about. The more i read it now with its wonderful meanderings but in the light of her final end, its apathy or even dismal,empty sound, I am so thrilled that I recognize the value of re-reading as I grow older or hopefully maybe just grow.

[Richard Derus · Rating 3 out of 5]

Rating: 3.5* of five

The Publisher Says: A collection of eight deliberately fragmentary and experimental sketches, Monday or Tuesday remains unique in being the only volume of short stories that Virginia Woolf published herself. A woman gazes at a mark on a wall and ponders the vagaries of thought and opinion; a succession of couples are caught up with nostalgia for their past as they stroll among the vibrant flowers of Kew Gardens; a heron soars high above cities and towns, lakes and mountains, while below, life continues in all its mundanity; and blue and green are given their expression in words. Monday or Tuesday is a brilliant and striking series of impressions, written in Woolf’s characteristic lyrical and startling prose.

My Review: This short book, only 54pp in my Dover Thrift Edition, is the best and the worst of La Woolf. Some pieces are incomprehensible to the merely mortal, others are simply brilliant evocations of mood, of consciousness...it's in reading this book that I came to the realization that what many people dislike about Woolf's writing can be traced back to the sense one has of Woolf staring, staring, staring, with eyes darting hither and thither, while speaking aloud what most of us simply allow to slide from one eye to the other.

I don't think stories were Miss Virginnie's métier, the way they were Miss Eudora's for example, but there is something in each experience of a story in these pages to make one glad to have met with it.

"A Haunted House," a few brief words, a simple story of a ghostly apparition and her husband re-experiencing their home after death; not much to it, not much of it, but so haunting (!) 3.5 stars

"A Society," of women you see, a society that undertakes A Study, frankly uninteresting to me as a 21st century reader, and pretty much a clunker 2.5 stars

"Monday or Tuesday" explores simultaneity with simple imagery and makes flight seem magically mundane. 3.5 stars

"An Unwritten Novel," now, this is the Woolf of Orlando and how I adore her, what a gorgeous thing it is to be there in her head as her eyes move ceaselessly and her brain which can not shut itself off like mere mortals' can, and see the details that tell more than the words alone can describe, creating a huge and varied landscape from a twitch. 4.5 stars

"The String Quartet," again, brings the Orlando touch to a musical evening, but came too soon after "An Unwritten Novel" for me to drool on it so hard 4 stars

"Blue & Green," on the other hand, makes not one whit of sense and is a mere catalog of responses to the colors. 2.5 stars

"Kew Gardens," color and light and the air, with people moving through them and leaving vapor trails of self that commingle not at all, but swirl intricately around and past each other. 3.5 stars

"The Mark on the Wall," the ultimate Woolfy story, staring staring staring while brainwaves toss up Landseer paintings, housemaids, Heaven and Hell... 4 stars


This work is licensed under a Creative Commons Attribution-NonCommercial-ShareAlike 3.0 Unported License.

[Kathleen · Rating 4 out of 5]

An impressive collection of challenging-to-decipher vignettes. Virginia Woolf is experimental and impressionistic here, and while I didn’t understand them all, I did enjoy them.

My favorites:
A Haunted House, about the connection between a home’s current and previous occupants.
“Not that one could ever see them. The window panes reflected apples, reflected roses; all the leaves were green in the glass. If they moved in the drawing room, the apple only turned its yellow side.”

An Unwritten Novel, which reveals the stream of consciousness of the novelist.
“There I’ve hidden them all this time in the hope that somehow they’d disappear, or better still, emerge, as indeed they must, if the story’s to go on gathering richness and rotundity, destiny and tragedy, as stories should, rolling along with it two, if not three, commercial travelers and a whole grove of aspidistra.”

Kew Gardens - an impressionistic scene, again tying present and past, reality and memory.
“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 the trees, … one’s happiness, one’s reality?”

The Mark on the Wall. I loved this! An exploration of mental distraction.
“How readily our thoughts swarm upon a new object, lifting it a little way, as ants carry a blade of straw so feverishly, and then leave it …”

I consider this reading “round one.” Like so much of Virginia Woolf’s writing, these stories have much to give and deserve multiple readings, preferably at different times in life.

[Rosemarie Björnsdottir]

I have to reread most of these cause a lot of them sadly went completely over my head. (I listened to the audiobook and my brain just couldn’t keep up)

I loved “a society” and it’s now one of my favourite short stories.

Me after finishing most of these stories:
“I can’t remember a thing. Everything’s moving, falling, slipping, vanishing....” , - Virginia Woolf, The mark on the wall

[huzeyfe · Rating 4 out of 5]

Onumuzdeki yil Virginia Woolf kitaplarini bitirmeyi dusunuyorum. Acikcasi bu yil cok verimli gecmedi okumalarim. O nedenle basladigim her yazara onu en iyi tanitacak ya da ona en iyi isindiracak kitaplarla baslamak istiyorum. Bu kitap da Virginia Woolf'un ara ara cesitli yerlerde yayinladigi ya da cekmecesinde sakladigi kisa hikayelerden olusuyor. Sanirim yazarin yazini hakkinda guzel bir intiba veriyor. Aralarinda gercekten cok etkileyici ve vurucu hikayeler var. Ayrica bilinc akisi teknigine giris olarak nitelendirilebilecek hikayeler de mevcut.

[Jim · Rating 5 out of 5]

This thin book of short stories started slow for me, but then picked up speed as I began to see the author's multifaceted world. Virginia Woolf was a writer who, from the early years of the twentieth century, saw many of the changes that were to come. (More's the pity that she cut short her own life.) Monday or Tuesday is an experimental easel for her to begin to paint the world in a different way. Take, for instance, these observations from the last story in the book, "The Mark on the Wall":

Wood is a pleasant thing to think about. It comes from a tree; and trees grow, and we don't know how they grow. For years and years they grow, without paying any attention to us, in meadows, in forests, and by the side of rivers—all things one likes to think about. The cows swish their tails beneath them on hot afternoons; they paint rivers so green that when a moorhen dives one expects to see its feathers all green when it comes up again. I like to think of the fish balanced against the stream like flags blown out; and of water-beetles slowly raising domes of mud upon the bed of the river. I like to think of the tree itself: first the close dry sensation of being wood; then the grinding of the storm; then the slow, delicious ooze of sap. I like to think of it, too, on winter's nights standing in the empty field with all leaves close-furled, nothing tender exposed to the iron bullets of the moon, a naked mast upon an earth that goes tumbling, tumbling, all night long. The song of birds must sound very loud and strange in June; and how cold the feet of insects must feel upon it, as they make laborious progresses up the creases of the bark, or sun themselves upon the thin green awning of the leaves, and look straight in front of them with diamond-cut red eyes.... One by one the fibres snap beneath the immense cold pressure of the earth, then the last storm comes and, falling, the highest branches drive deep into the ground again. Even so, life isn't done with; there are a million patient, watchful lives still for a tree, all over the world, in bedrooms, in ships, on the pavement, lining rooms, where men and women sit after tea, smoking cigarettes. It is full of peaceful thoughts, happy thoughts, this tree. I should like to take each one separately—but something is getting in the way.... Where was I?

I kept running into these Buddhist bursts of contemplation in such stories as "An Unwritten Novel" or the mesmeric "Kew Gardens."

This little collection is a good place to start reading Virginia Woolf.

[Alex · Rating 2 out of 5]

Η πράξη και το γεγονός ότι το χέρι του ήταν πάνω στο δικό της εξέφραζαν τα συναισθήματά τους κατά έναν παράξενο τρόπο, όπως αυτές οι σύντομες ασήμαντες λέξεις εξέφραζαν επίσης κάτι, λέξεις με κοντά φτερά για το βαρύ σώμα του νοήματός τους, ανεπαρκή για να τις μεταφέρουν μακριά, με αποτέλεσμα να κάθονται αδέξια πάνω στα πολύ συνηθισμένα αντικείμενα που τους περιέβαλλαν και που ήταν για το άβγαλτο άγγιγμά τους τόσο πελώρια.

αυτό και 1-2 ακόμα αποσπάσματα κράτησα από 116 σελίδες διηγημάτων και μικρών ιστοριών της Βιρτζίνια Γουλφ. Ως επί το πλείστον ασύνδετες και ασαφείς ιστορίες χωρίς αρχή-μέση-τέλος, σκόρπιες σκέψεις και αφορισμοί, κάποιοι ευσταθείς και άλλοι όχι τόσο. Η καυστική γραφή που αχνοφαίνεται σε κάποια σημεία (π.χ. στο "Το σημάδι στον τοίχο" και στον "Σύλλογο") μαζί με τον καίρια τοποθετημένο και υγιώς παρουσιασμένο φεμινισμό της είναι απολαυστική, όμως πολύ μικρή σαν δείγμα σε αυτό το βιβλίο τουλάχιστον - μου θύμισε Κάθριν Μέινσφιλντ και "Γερμανική Πανσιόν". Γράφει με ευαισθησία αλλά πάρα πολύ εσωτερικά για να μπορέσω εγώ προσωπικά να συνδεθώ όσο θα ήθελα.

Δεν είναι αποτρεπτικό το δείγμα ώστε να μην ασχοληθώ ξανά αλλά το "Δευτέρα ή Τρίτη" είναι συλλογή για ανάγνωση δεύτερου επιπέδου, αφού κάποιος είναι εξοικειωμένος με την συγγραφέα και όχι για πρώτη γνωριμία. Ίσως το "Ο Φάρος" που αποτελεί ένα από τα καλύτερα δείγματα γραφής της πάνω στην ψυχογράφηση χαρακτήρων, να είναι το επόμενο της που θα μας κάνει να σπάσουμε τον αναγνωστικό πάγο.

[pantea · Rating 4 out of 5]

this is a good collection if you already love virginia woolf and naturally, i adored this. i keep coming back to The Haunted House -- short as it was, its now one of my favourite ghost stories. its so eerie and mystical and beautiful.

[Eloise · Rating 3 out of 5]

“Once she knows how to read, there's only one thing you can teach her to believe in—and that is herself.”

[ayşnr._.r · Rating 5 out of 5]

"Hayat kendi yasalarını koyar; hayat insanın yolunu tıkar; hayat eğreltiotunun arkasında; hayat zorba; ama eziyetçi değil!"

Virginia Woolf okunması sabır isteyen bir yazardır. O yüzden eğer onun dünyasına adım atmak istiyorsanız bu kitaba bir göz gezdirin derim. Bu kitap Virginia Woolf’un 35 yıllık süreçte yazdığı hikâyelerden oluşuyor. Her biri birbiriden enfes ve okurken sizi başka yerlere alıp götüren hikâyeler. Ben yazarın diline diğer kitaplarından, denemelerinden alışkın olduğum için bu kitabı bana zor gelmedi. Yaptığı uzun betimleri okurken zevk aldım. Zaten çoğu öyküsü de bu betimlemeler ve benzetmelerden oluşuyor. Mesela bir kadının duvarda gördüğü bir iz hakkında konuşmasını yaklaşık 10 sayfa okuyoruz. İlk öyküsü ve yazdığı son öyküye kadar kendini nasıl geliştirdiğini, her öyküde ortaya koyduğu ilginç hayatları okumak çok zevkli. Bknz: Bir kadına, babasından miras kalır ama mirası almasının tek şartı Londra kütüphanesindeki bütün kitapları okumasıdır. Böyle ilginç birçok kişiyi okumak bana göre aşırı zevkli ayrıca çokta zor. Dediğim gibi eğer diline hâkim değilseniz, okumak sizin için çok zor olacaktır. Size tavsiyem yavaş yavaş okumanız. Bir öyküyü bitirdikten sonra ara vermeniz. Ben çok sabırsız bir insan olduğum için tek seferde okudum.
İçinde özellikle beğendiğim öyküler var ama zaten kısa oldukları için burada onları anlatmam gereksiz kalır. Mrs. Dalloway kitabını çok beğenmiştim ve çoğu öyküde Mrs. Dalloway karakterini görmek sürpriz oldu. Keşke oralarda bir yerlerde Orlando olsaydı dedim...

Virginia Woolf bu kitabında da diğer kitaplarında ki gibi inanılmaz bir feminizm havası hakim. Hatta bazen bir kitabını okuduktan sonra erkek düşmanı oluveriyorsunuz. Çünkü şu gibi cümleler her kitabında var: “Erkekler böyle beş para etmez şeyler yazıyorlarsa annelerimiz neden onları dünyaya getirmek için gençliklerini heba ettiler?”

Son olarak benim en en en beğendiğim öyküleri “Bir Topluluk” ve “Lappin ve Lapinova” oldu.

[Hannah · Rating 2 out of 5]

I've been meaning to try out Virginia Woolf for awhile and and clicked on this file at Project Gutenburg tonight. Honestly, I didn't like it, but she definitely had an interesting way with words.

For example, my favorite sketch of the eight, "Blue & Green," begins thus: "The pointed fingers of glass hang downwards. The light slides down the glass, and drops a pool of green." In many ways, more poetry than prose, without being truly either one.

Yet the moments of brilliant wordplay slip in and out, impossible to grasp onto and hold, because the next moment it blurs into an action, or into the next scene...almost in the same way as watching analog tv with static. Brief glimpses of something beautiful, but then a blur and a fuzz, leaving you wondering what was really supposed to have come next.

Most of all, what stood out to me in strong relief was the hopelessness of a soul wandering aimlessly through life. In one, a woman speaks of her friend's young daughter: "It's no good—not a bit of good," I said. "Once she knows how to read there's only one thing you can teach her to believe in—and that is herself."

The title essay, "Monday or Tuesday," is a heartbreaking little blurb about the search for truth and coming back defeated: "Desiring truth, awaiting it, laboriously distilling a few words, for ever desiring—(a cry starts to the left, another to the right. Wheels strike divergently. Omnibuses conglomerate in conflict)—for ever desiring—(the clock asservates in twelves distinct strokes that it is midday; light sheds gold scales; children swarm)—for ever desiring truth." And yet the seeker is doomed to failure.

[Po Po · Rating 4 out of 5]

Tiny book of short stories. Some are great and some didn't engage me at all. But, the underlying theme is feminism.

Women: stop being a meek submissive.
Women: stop 'sacrificing' your youth on childcare. One of the biggest obstacles to women's advancement is pregnancy and (typically-- especially when this was written) being the primary (or sole) caregivers of children.
Women: stop thinking your contributions to society are worthless.
Women: stop idolizing men

This is exactly the type of book I needed in this moment of my life.

My favorite story is "A Society."

An empowering read-in-one-sitting book.

* * *

+ "Chastity is nothing but ignorance-- a most discreditable state of mind. We should submit only the unchaste to our society."

+ "Haven't we bred them (boys) and fed and kept them in comfort since the beginning of time so that they may be clever even if they're nothing else?"

+ "Let us devise a method by which men may bear children! It is our only chance."

+ "Everybody follows somebody, such is the philosophy of Whitaker; and the great thing is to know who follows whom."

[BrokenTune · Rating 4 out of 5]

I am strangely fascinated by Virginia Woolf, and that even though I have not read many of her works as yet.

Like any collection of short stories some of the stories are more appealing than others, but all of them show Woolf's creative powers creating the minutest of observations and turning it into a journey of ideas.

What I liked best about this collection of shorts - apart from the witty satire in A Society - was the rhythm of the language. It's almost like you could read the stories - at least parts of most of the stories - aloud to the beat of a metronome.

[Sterlingcindysu · Rating 4 out of 5]

Who knew this was Woolf's muse?



He makes an appearance as the main character in not one, but two short stories here out of eight. (And sorry, I'm not going to make that a spoiler alert. If you haven't read this book published in 1921, that's on you not me. Even if you weren't alive for most of that time. Neither was Virginia Woolf.)

I think it speaks volumes for a person when they can sit and look at a mark on the wall and daydream, and never Get Up and See What It Is. That's why she was a writer and I'm a cleaner.

Yes, there's long long sentences here. I think in one case three of them make up the entire story.

Another free read for Kindle from Amazon. A quick intro to Woolf if you've never.

[Chiamartini95 · Rating 4 out of 5]

Esiste forse un posto migliore di St. Regents Park a Londra per leggere Virginia Woolf?! Immagino proprio di no.
Attraverso otto racconti, più o meno brevi, siamo catapultati in mondi paralleli, la cui vividezza e nitidezza non é mai messa in dubbio grazie alla meravigliosa prosa dell'autrice.
Dal semplice racconto del volo di un gabbiano alla fervida fantasia di una protagonista nell'immagine l'intricata vita di una sconosciuta incontrata sul treno, attraverso allo stream of consciusness dell'autrice rimaniamo assoggettati dalla creazione di mondi fatti di pensieri, sensazioni, colori e atmosfere.

[Jim · Rating 3 out of 5]

Having never read anything by Woolf before I’m not sure this was perhaps the best place to start. Most of the stories veer towards the stream-of-consciousness/prose-poetry end of the spectrum apart from the second story, ‘A Society’ which is pure satire and made me think of Bulgakov of all people; all the others reminded me of Elizabeth Smart who, apparently, was a fan of Woolf’s writing. The stories are not without their moments but as complete works none really excited me. Probably the one I related to the most was the last one, ‘The Mark on the Wall’, where the narrator contemplates a mark on the wall—is it a hole, the head of a nail, a stain?—and, of course, it’s none of these, but I can relate to her not wanting to get up and find out for sure preferring to relish wandering down the various imaginative trails her mind conjures up. It’s not much of a story though and so anyone looking for pieces with beginnings, middles and endings might find themselves a little disappointed by these pieces.

Another Goodreads reviewer says, “This is Woolf at her liquid best and again, as always with her, they demand to be read out loud,” and it’s the word ‘liquid’ that really jumps out at me because these pieces are hard to get hold of and run easily through your fingers. But if you’re interested in the writing process then there’s something here. In ‘An Unwritten Novel’ the narrator finds herself in a train compartment with another women and creates an elaborate narrative around her only to have it shattered once the woman reaches her destination. That I get. Made me think of Amos Oz’s novel Rhyming Life and Death. I decided to see if I could find an audio recording to have a listen to. The entire book’s available here but I chose to just listen to a recording of ‘Monday or Tuesday’ here. It reminded me of why I hate poetry readings and that’s exactly what it sounded like. It was pleasant—don’t get me wrong—but I found it even harder to follow than when I read it myself at my own pace. Apparently the piece has been described as “prose collage” and that’s as good a description as any. As I’m writing this now a couple of hours after finishing the book and a few minutes after listening to the audio recording I find I couldn’t tell you what ‘Monday or Tuesday’ is about. This is not good. So I went to Robert Stanley Martin’s article on the story here but as far as I’m concerned any story that needs to get explained is bad writing. Or maybe I’m just a bad reader.

I’d glanced at her writing before and noted her heavy use of punctuation. I know the modern trend is to shy away from excessive punctuation but I find it helpful and I didn’t struggle with her sentence structures at all.

This was an interesting selection and I’m glad I’ve read it. I did hope I’d enjoy her more but maybe I’ll do better with one of the novels which I do intend to get round to. I’m always wary of anything that gets labelled as ‘experimental’. The thing about experiments is that they mostly fail in themselves but we learn from them and that’s how progress is made. Would Woolf have written To the Lighthouse and Mrs. Dalloway had she not first written ‘An Unfinished Novel’? Probably not. So three stars may seem a little mean but the bottom line is that I didn’t love these stories. They all felt like sketches, well-executed sketches as may be.

[Cristian1185 · Rating 3 out of 5]

8 cuentos de la británica Virginia Woolf publicados en 1921, los que de forma temprana, demuestran las inquietudes estilísticas de la autora de La señora Dalloway y Al faro, entre otros libros que sirven como punto de comparación a los relatos.

Algunos de menos de 3 páginas, otros cercanos a las 30 páginas, todos los cuentos de Woolf merecen atención y cuidada lectura. Engarzando los efectos del entorno con los insondables elementos de la conciencia, la mayoría de los cuentos desarrolla historias en donde los límites suelen confundirse. La conciencia, divagante ante la fuerza de las impresiones, permite conocer el mundo interno de personajes preocupados por aparentes manchas en las murallas, historias posibles a partir anodinas situaciones externas, entre otras.

Cuentos interesantes que, en algunos casos y haciendo omisión del prólogo, no contituyen un fácil acceso a la obra de la autora. Mantienen una composición que merece atención detallada al momento de leerlos.

Mis favoritos:

Lunes o martes
Una novela sin escribir
La marca en la pared.

[A common reader · Rating 4 out of 5]

The more I read of Virginia Woolf the more I love her. She is one of the best authors that ever lived, and her mind is so unique and precious. I wish more people nowadays could recognize her genius, and enjoy and learn from her work.

[Joseph Spuckler · Rating 4 out of 5]

I don't know how I missed Virginia Woolf for all this time

[Cynthia · Rating 5 out of 5]

This is Woolf's third book after The Voyage Out and Night and Day. Monday or Tuesday is a group of short stories and though I'm concurrently reading Night and have already read her fourth book, Jacob's Room, this is where she begins to work in her uniques style of letting one train of thought blend into or deflect into somewhere you wouldn't logically expect or maybe you would but we've been taught not to let that happen, were admonished to stay with the path we began on. I'm sure this isn't original from me but her prose feels very like stretched out poetry.

It seems to me she refers directly or indirectly to the social strata of her characters. As an American I can't boast a real knowledge of this but it seems like most of her settings are middle or upper middle class people but they're mostly intellectuals or work at self education. They definitely esteem knowledge with an emphasis on the arts. I've been dipping in and out of Hermione Lee's biography of Woolf and it seems this is the same class that Woolf hails from.

Last I'm seeing a pattern of Woolf's characters being confrontational or at least at times willfully rude though when confronted in turn they often back down from this stance. It's like a short cut in getting to know one another, rather than being conventionally polite poke your opponent and get them to say what they truly think or if you're feeling out of your depth and thus uncomfortable growl at your opponent to bring yourself back to comfort.

Last, Woolf's humor is on display in her story in this collection she labels A Society where a group of women go out into a men's room to explore how they run their affairs in order to determine how women could better run things. It's insightful, it's tragic event but it's also funny in the way the women express their critical analyses of men and their bluster. Woolf laughs as much at women as she does men.

[Mela · Rating 2 out of 5]

Where was I? What has it all been about?

Virginia Woolf said it perfectly.

I exaggerate a little, but the truth is, I had to think hard to figure out what she wanted to tell me. Moreover, perhaps it was just a wrong mood, but I couldn't feel the melody of her stream-of-consciousness.

I loved Mrs. Dalloway and To the Lighthouse, I liked a lot A Room of One’s Own and Orlando, yet these short stories were rather tiring to me.

[2-2.5 stars]