Antonia Hayes' adventures in language began when, as a young child, she was a word sponge, soaking up speech and phrases and the sometimes haunted spaces in between. She became a natural bookworm, turning to the Baby-sitters Club series - those classics of the 90s - to start a lifetime of finding friends and comfort in the pages of a book. When her debut novel, Relativity, was published, she again turned to literature for guidance and consolation, this time in the form of Virginia Woolf's A Room of One's Own.
Woolf wished for financial independence and a room of one's own in which to write, but Hayes, writing almost ninety years later, argues here that maybe that isn't enough. Perhaps women writers need a whole universe of their own. Buoyed by hope and a lifetime of language, Hayes tells us how we can dare to disturb the universe before A Room of One's Own turns 100.
A lovely little trio of essays loosely themed around language, words and writing. I thought the first and third essays were gorgeous, but the middle essay on the Baby-Sitters Club felt a little thin to me (but then, I was never a BSC stan). Hayes’ writing is always highly readable and engaging, yet also deceptively precise and measured.
I really enjoyed reading this and I think because all the topics felt relatable. Like not exactly the same but with parallels. Her essay about her mother tongue reminds me of my own. The one about The Babysitters Club is also like how it was for me reading Sweet Valley and stuff. Ok but basically good book sorry this isn't a very good review. Also I picked this book up by chance I didn't even know who she was but now I'm gonna read her other books.
The first essay in this mini compendium is my favourite – it's an exquisite exploration of language, belonging and personal identity that runs parallels with my experience of oscillating between two starkly different accents that speak in disparate ways to where I've come from and who I am as a person. I also relate to the fact that Hayes didn't inherit her mother tongue while growing up because neither did I. I enjoyed the other two essays as well, particularly the one about Babysitters Club and the power of books to connect us with imaginary characters that prevent us from feeling lonely despite partaking in the highly solitary act of reading.