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4.21 AVERAGE
4.21 AVERAGE
funny
hopeful
reflective
slow-paced
It was a bit more stream of consciousness than I was expecting and felt a bit like a ramble. Though the message was compelling!
hopeful
inspiring
reflective
challenging
reflective
medium-paced
inspiring
reflective
medium-paced
reflective
medium-paced
Even more incandescent the second tine around, as I approach 70, than it was when I read it in my 20s. Absolutely perfect book, beautifully narrated by Juliet Stevenson.
funny
informative
inspiring
slow-paced
“Women have served all these centuries as looking-glasses, possessing the magic and delicious power of reflecting the figure of man at twice its natural size.”
No one does sarcasm like Virginia Woolf, and I adored every wry, trenchant word of this. To a modern reader versed in the shortcomings of white feminism, it certainly reflects the scope of Woolf's purview, that of the educated upper-middle-class-and-above woman. But its observations on the many ways patriarchy's boot stomps on the throat of women's expression resonate more broadly than that, even a century on. Plus ça change, plus c'est la même chose.
No one does sarcasm like Virginia Woolf, and I adored every wry, trenchant word of this. To a modern reader versed in the shortcomings of white feminism, it certainly reflects the scope of Woolf's purview, that of the educated upper-middle-class-and-above woman. But its observations on the many ways patriarchy's boot stomps on the throat of women's expression resonate more broadly than that, even a century on. Plus ça change, plus c'est la même chose.
“men are much more interested in women then women are of men”
queen
queen
The beauty of the world which is so soon to perish, has two edges, one of laughter, one of anguish, cutting the heart asunder.
For all the dinners are cooked; the plates and cups washed; the children sent to school and gone out into the world. Nothing remains of it all. All has vanished. No biography or history has a word to say about it. And the novels, without meaning to, inevitably lie.
For all the dinners are cooked; the plates and cups washed; the children sent to school and gone out into the world. Nothing remains of it all. All has vanished. No biography or history has a word to say about it. And the novels, without meaning to, inevitably lie.