One has just been sent out as a biblical dove, has found nothing green, and slips back
into the darkness of the ark -- Kafka

Sunday, March 19, 2017

To Old Standbys: Virginia Woolf

Fishing around for something that'll grab me. Nothing much does lately. Have resorted to an old standby: Virginia Woolf. Though I've not yet swallowed her whole, I've read a lot of her. Started rereading Jacob's Room. Seems like I saw the movie too.

Anyway, the impressionistic, water-colored beginning has pulled me in. Let's see if Virginia can keep my interest up. I've forgotten so much about the story: It'll be like reading her anew.

     "I saw your brother -- I saw your brother," he said, nodding his head, as Archer lagged past him, trailing his spade, and scowling at the old gentleman in spectacles.
     "Over there -- by the rock," Steele muttered, with his brush between his teeth, squeezing our raw sienna, and keeping his eyes fixed on Betty Flanders's back.
     "Ja -- cob! Ja -- cob!" shouted Archer, lagging on after a second.
     The voice had an extra-ordinary sadness. Pure from all body, pure from all passion, going out into the world, solitary, unanswered, breaking against rocks -- so it sounded.
     Steele frowned; but was pleased by the effect of the black -- it was just THAT note which brought the rest together. "Ah, one may learn to paint at fifty! There's Titian ..." and so, having found the right tint, up he looked and saw to his horror a cloud over the bay. 
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