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 Virginia is a quiet woman with an excitable mind. 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. 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.
Short Story Analysis: Monday or Tuesday by Virginia Woolf - The Sitting Bee
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.
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 hide spoiler ] 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. View all 19 comments. Anyone but my 17 year old self. Recommended to Mark by: The delight of the Hesperus Press.
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 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 obviou 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. 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'.
- The Crazy Ole Bird Lady!
- Masochist (Revenge Never Dies Book 1).
- Ancient Prophets & Modern Problems.
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.
- Death Hunt!
- Monday or Tuesday by Virginia Woolf.
- Monday Or Tuesday;
- Monday or Tuesday, by Virginia Woolf.
- Looking skyward for economic opportunity and diversity (Malcolm McColl First Nation Series Book 6).
- Our Favorite Christmas Recipes (Our Favorite Recipes Collection);
- Readings for Advent: Selections from a Guide to Prayer For All Who Walk With God.
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. View all 7 comments. Jun 29, Richard Derus rated it liked it. 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, Rating: 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.
Some pieces are incomprehensible to the merely mortal, others are simply brilliant evocations of mood, of consciousness Aug 19, Jim rated it it was amazing Shelves: 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": Woo 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.
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: 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 I kept running into these Buddhist bursts of contemplation in such stories as "An Unwritten Novel" or the mesmeric "Kew Gardens.
Sep 11, BrokenTune rated it really liked it Shelves: 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 leas I am strangely fascinated by Virginia Woolf, and that even though I have not read many of her works as yet. It's almost like you could read the stories - at least parts of most of the stories - aloud to the beat of a metronome. Jan 20, Jim rated it liked it. The stories are not without their moments but as complete works none really excited me.
I decided to see if I could find an audio recording to have a listen to. This is not good. Would Woolf have written To the Lighthouse and Mrs. They all felt like sketches, well-executed sketches as may be. Jun 07, Hannah rated it it was ok Shelves: 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. The light slides down the glass, and drops a pool of green. Yet the moments of brilliant wordplay slip in and I've been meaning to try out Virginia Woolf for awhile and and clicked on this file at Project Gutenburg tonight.
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 Brief glimpses of something beautiful, but then a blur and a fuzz, leaving you wondering what was really supposed to have come next.
Monday or Tuesday
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: 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. Apr 08, Po Po rated it really liked it. Tiny book of short stories. Some are great and some didn't engage me at all. But, the underlying theme is feminism.
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. My favorite story is "A Society. We should submit only the unchaste to our society. It is our only chance. View all 4 comments. Jan 10, Cynthia rated it it was amazing Shelves: 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. Feb 24, Archita Mitra rated it really liked it. This is the first time I have picked up anything by Virginia Woolf, and I found myself pleasantly surprised. My friends would tell me she was a good author, but I never realised how prolific she was.
This is a nice volume of stories to start reading Woolf with as we get to explore different flavours of her pen. It blended human emotions of love and family so beautifully with death and the paranormal. It was one of my personal favourites from the anthology. Another one of my favourites. Nov 05, Aseel rated it did not like it Shelves: We should admit only the unchaste to our society. The light in the heart. We have gone on all these ages supposing that men were equally industrious, and that their works were of equal merit.
While we have borne the children, they, we supposed, have borne the books and the pictures. We have populated the world. They have civilized it. But now that we can read, what prevents us from judging the results? Before we bring another child into the world we must swear that we will find out what the world is like.
But from the evidence she brought we voted that it is unfair to suppose that the Judges are men. I vote that Castalia shall be our President. They despise us too much to mind what we say. For unless we provide them with some innocent occupation 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! Moreover, we have left our bodies in the banqueting hall. Those on the turf are the shadows of our souls. What do I mean? I want to dance, laugh, eat pink cakes, yellow cakes, drink thin, sharp wine.
Or an indecent story, now—I could relish that. Indeed, it is curious how instinctively one protects the image of oneself from idolatry or any other handling that could make it ridiculous, or too unlike the original to be believed in any longer. Or is it not so very curious after all? It is a matter of great importance. Suppose the looking glass smashes, the image disappears, and the romantic figure with the green of forest depths all about it is there no longer, but only that shell of a person which is seen by other people—what an airless, shallow, bald, prominent world it becomes!
A world not to be lived in. As we face each other in omnibuses and underground railways we are looking into the mirror that accounts for the vagueness, the gleam of glassiness, in our eyes Sep 20, Yeshi Dolma rated it really liked it.
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This read was no less than a precious piece of art. VirginiaWoolf's writing - so fluid, poetry merging into thought, space and consciousness and back to story. You beautiful genius, thank you esp. Sep 27, Pradnya K. If anything the reader senses that the narrator is taking a stroll through an environment that they are used to. This will not help them when it comes to their writing.
It also seems to be a case that the narrator longs to give some truth to their writing yet they do not know how to go about this. They knows through their observations that they have not found what they are looking for but appear to have no alternative to work from. The title of the story may also be symbolically important as the reality may be that the narrator does not know what day it is.
They have spent all their time trying to figure out how to write about something that is the truth. Yet they are more confused than ever. There is also no doubting that the narrator has ideas that they could write about however they do not seem to be able able to piece them together. Where some writers are able to write freely with little or no outside influence this does not appear to be the case for the narrator. They have a deep need to be triggered by something they have seen.
Something that most likely has to be based on something that is the truth. From that vantage point the narrator is able to progress with their writing. Throughout the story there is also a sense that the narrator is struggling. They cannot latch onto any one idea or observation and start writing. Whereas other writers would have no difficulty in doing so.
If anything Woolf may be highlighting the hardships that some writers face. The end of the story is also interesting as it is possible that at the end of the day the narrator is despondent. However it is interesting that the narrator gets inspired as they are sitting by the fire. However as to whether the narrator finds the truth they are looking for and which will be the drive for their writing is difficult to say.
They appear to remain as insecure about their writing ability as they were from the beginning of the story. Which may be the point that Woolf is attempting to make. She may be suggesting that all writers at some time in the career doubt their abilities. Considering what they have written to be of no value. It is also possible that Woolf is suggesting that writers think differently to other people. Constantly trying to strive for a vision of what it is they see around them.