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Leonard Woolf was born on this day in 1880. In Sowing (1960), the first volume of his autobiography, Woolf describes his first glimpse of eighteen-year-old Virginia Stephen, accompanied by her sister, Vanessa: "I first saw them one summer afternoon in Thoby's rooms; in white dresses and large hats, with parasols in their hands. Their beauty literally took one's breath away.... They were at that time, at least upon the surface, the most Victorian of Victorian young ladies, and today what that meant it is almost impossible to believe or even remember.... Virginia and Vanessa were also very silent and to any superficial observer they might have seemed demure ... [but] the observant observer would have noticed at the back of the two Miss Stephens' eyes a look which would have warned him to be cautious, a look which belied the demureness, a look of great intelligence, hypercritical, sarcastic, satirical." Source: http://ow.ly/r9mnF
英國名人: 可以在病房開party…..Leonard Sidney Woolf (1880 – 1969) was an English political theorist, author, publisher and civil servant, and husband of author Virginia Woolf. 此人一生也很精彩:五本回憶錄: Sowing (19600, Growing (1961), Beginning Again (1964), Downhill all the Way (1967), The journey not the arrival matters: an autobiography of the years 1939–1969. London: Hogarth Press.
October 20, 2015 | by Sadie Stein
It’s no great shock that Leonard Woolf was recorded on film, not when you think about it—after all, the writer, publisher, and widower of Virginia lived into 1969.
And yet! And yet! It seems somehow magical that here he should be, modern and in color, talking about Maynard Keynes for all the world as if he is not a living bridge to a storied past, most of which went as unfilmed—as though Bloomsbury had not belonged to modernity at all, let alone invented it.
There’s less than a minute of footage of Leonard in the video above, and he’s not saying anything particularly revolutionary; just praising his friend Keynes’s famously lively mind. Perhaps because Virginia Woolf was never filmed, Leonard’s sheer normalcy lands with a lot of force. (I say “Leonard” and “Virginia” as if I know them, as if they are public property.) It’s hard not to think of his own words: “Whenever one really knows the facts, one finds that what is accepted by contemporaries or posterity as the truth about them is so distorted or out of focus that it is not worth worrying about.”
Sadie Stein is contributing editor of The Paris Review, and the Daily’s correspondent.
譬如說，Oxford World Classics 叢書的Virginia Woolf 的兩篇散文/文論: A Room of One’s Own 以及Three Guineas (這本作者花十年思考和研讀的結晶，此版本有幾張全是男人的精美裝飾圖：某將軍；某使者報信隊；某大學教授行列；某法官；某主教。…….
2011年台大外文系的某篇博士論文是"德勒之論吳爾夫VW的諸房間" (憑我的記憶 待確定)
VW的 "一間自己的房間"裏 有許多關於"真實"的論述
譬如說某段的末頭: " (真實)就是 往昔的歲月與我們的愛憎所留下的東西"
The Cambridge Companion to Virginia Woolf
The Cambridge Companion to Virginia Woolf - Google 圖書結果
Susan Sellers - 2010 - Literary Criticism - 304 頁
A revised and fully updated edition, featuring five new chapters reflecting recent scholarship on
論小說與小說家 聯經版 1990論小說與小說家譯者: 瞿世鏡作者: （英）弗吉尼亞·伍爾夫ISBN: 9787532725090頁數: 394定價: 19.7出版社: 上海譯文出版社裝幀: 平裝出版年: 2000-12-1簡介 · · · · · ·弗吉尼亞·伍爾夫不僅是意識流小說的代表作家，她在小說理論研究上也頗有建樹。本書收集了她的十多篇論文，分別論述作者對奧斯丁、愛略特、康拉德，哈代，勞倫斯，福斯特等人作品的看法。從中可以看出作者的一些文學論點，如時代變遷論，人物中心論，主觀真實論，突破傳統框子論等，以及她的批評方式，如印象式，透視式，開放式等。尤其是在《一間自己的房間》中，作者以幽默譏諷的筆墨， 挾擊了當時男性對女性作家的性別歧視，被認為是一篇文學界的女權宣言。譯者瞿世鏡教授是中國知史的伍爾夫研究專家，其研究成果曾多次獲獎。目錄 · · · · · ·譯者前言普通讀者論現代小說論簡·奧斯丁《簡·愛》與《呼嘯山莊》論喬治·愛略特婦女與小說一間自己的房間論笛福論約瑟夫·康拉德論托馬斯·哈代的小說論喬治·梅瑞狄斯的小說論戴·赫·勞倫斯論愛·摩·福斯特的小說俄國人的觀點論美國小說論心理小說家對於現代文學的印象貝內特先生與布朗夫人狹窄的藝術之橋評《小說解剖學》小說的藝術弗吉尼亞·伍爾夫的小說理論後記----
The Principal Works of Virginia Woolf (1882-1941)
A37, A39 COLLECTED ESSAYS: VOLUMES 1-4 1966-1967
(ed. by Leonard Woolf) A reprinting and re-ordering of the essays in A8, A18, A27, A29, A30, and A34.
A generalisation of th
The Common Reader
The Russian Point of Viewhttp://ebooks.adelaide.edu.au/
is kind will, of course, even if it has some degree of truth when applied to the body of literature, be changed profoundly when a writer of genius sets to work on it. At once other questions arise. It is seen that an “attitude” is not simple; it is highly complex. Men reft of their coats and their manners, stunned by a railway accident, say hard things, harsh things, unpleasant things, difficult things, even if they say them with the abandonment and simplicity which catastrophe has bred in them. Our first impressions of Tchekov are not of simplicity but of bewilderment. What is the point of it, and why does he make a story out of this? we ask as we read story after story. A man falls in love with a married woman, and they part and meet, and in the end are left talking about their position and by what means they can be free from “this intolerable bondage”.
“‘How? How?’ he asked, clutching his head. . . . And it seemed as though in a little while the solution would be found and then a new and splendid life would begin.” That is the end. A postman drives a student to the station and all the way the student tries to make the postman talk, but he remains silent. Suddenly the postman says unexpectedly, “It’s against the regulations to take any one with the post”. And he walks up and down the platform with a look of anger on his face. “With whom was he angry? Was it with people, with poverty, with the autumn nights?” Again, that story ends.
But is it the end, we ask? We have rather the feeling that we have overrun our signals; or it is as if a tune had stopped short without the expected chords to close it. These stories are inconclusive, we say, and proceed to frame a criticism based upon the assumption that stories ought to conclude in a way that we recognise. In so doing, we raise the question of our own fitness as readers. Where the tune is familiar and the end emphatic — lovers united, villains discomfited, intrigues exposed — as it is in most Victorian fiction, we can scarcely go wrong, but where the tune is unfamiliar and the end a note of interrogation or merely the information that they went on talking, as it is in Tchekov, we need a very daring and alert sense of literature to make us hear the tune, and in particular those last notes which complete the harmony. Probably we have to read a great many stories before we feel, and the feeling is essential to our satisfaction, that we hold the parts together, and that Tchekov was not merely rambling disconnectedly, but struck now this note, now that with intention, in order to complete his meaning.
We have to cast about in order to discover where the emphasis in these strange stories rightly comes. Tchekov’s own words give us a lead in the right direction. “. . . such a conversation as this between us”, he says, “would have been unthinkable for our parents. At night they did not talk, but slept sound; we, our generation, sleep badly, are restless, but talk a great deal, and are always trying to settle whether we are right or not.” Our literature of social satire and psychological finesse both sprang from that restless sleep, that incessant talking; but after all, there is an enormous difference between Tchekov and Henry James, between Tchekov and Bernard Shaw. Obviously — but where does it arise? Tchekov, too, is aware of the evils and injustices of the social state; the condition of the peasants appals him, but the reformer’s zeal is not his — that is not the signal for us to stop. The mind interests him enormously; he is a most subtle and delicate analyst of human relations. But again, no; the end is not there. Is it that he is primarily interested not in the soul’s relation with other souls, but with the soul’s relation to health — with the soul’s relation to goodness? These stories are always showing us some affectation, pose, insincerity. Some woman has got into a false relation; some man has been perverted by the inhumanity of his circumstances. The soul is ill; the soul is cured; the soul is not cured. Those are the emphatic points in his stories.
Once the eye is used to these shades, half the “conclusions” of fiction fade into thin air; they show like transparences with a light behind them — gaudy, glaring, superficial. The general tidying up of the last chapter, the marriage, the death, the statement of values so sonorously trumpeted forth, so heavily underlined, become of the most rudimentary kind. Nothing is solved, we feel; nothing is rightly held together. On the other hand, the method which at first seemed so casual, inconclusive, and occupied with trifles, now appears the result of an exquisitely original and fastidious taste, choosing boldly, arranging infallibly, and controlled by an honesty for which we can find no match save among the Russians themselves. There may be no answer to these questions, but at the same time let us never manipulate the evidence so as to produce something fitting, decorous, agreeable to our vanity. This may not be the way to catch the ear of the public; after all, they are used to louder music, fiercer measures; but as the tune sounded so he has written it. In consequence, as we read these little stories about nothing at all, the horizon widens; the soul gains an astonishing sense of freedom.
In reading Tchekov we find ourselves repeating the word “soul” again and again. It sprinkles his pages. Old drunkards use it freely; “. . . you are high up in the service, beyond all reach, but haven’t real soul, my dear boy . . . there’s no strength in it”. Indeed, it is the soul that is the chief character in Russian fiction. Delicate and subtle in Tchekov, subject to an infinite number of humours and distempers, it is of greater depth and volume in Dostoevsky; it is liable to violent diseases and raging fevers, but still the predominant concern. Perhaps that is why it needs so great an effort on the part of an English reader to read The Brothers Karamazov or The Possessed a second time. The “soul” is alien to him. It is even antipathetic. It has little sense of humour and no sense of comedy. It is formless. It has slight connection with the intellect. It is confused, diffuse, tumultuous, incapable, it seems, of submitting to the control of logic or the discipline of poetry. The novels of Dostoevsky are seething whirlpools, gyrating sandstorms, waterspouts which hiss and boil and suck us in. They are composed purely and wholly of the stuff of the soul. Against our wills we are drawn in, whirled round, blinded, suffocated, and at the same time filled with a giddy rapture. Out of Shakespeare there is no more exciting reading. We open the door and find ourselves in a room full of Russian generals, the tutors of Russian generals, their step-daughters and cousins, and crowds of miscellaneous people who are all talking at the tops of their voices about their most private affairs. But where are we? Surely it is the part of a novelist to inform us whether we are in an hotel, a flat, or hired lodging. Nobody thinks of explaining. We are souls, tortured, unhappy souls, whose only business it is to talk, to reveal, to confess, to draw up at whatever rending of flesh and nerve those crabbed sins which crawl on the sand at the bottom of us. But, as we listen, our confusion slowly settles. A rope is flung to us; we catch hold of a soliloquy; holding on by the skin of our teeth, we are rushed through the water; feverishly, wildly, we rush on and on, now submerged, now in a moment of vision understanding more than we have ever understood before, and receiving such revelations as we are wont to get only from the press of life at its fullest. As we fly we pick it all up — the names of the people, their relationships, that they are staying in an hotel at Roulettenburg, that Polina is involved in an intrigue with the Marquis de Grieux — but what unimportant matters these are compared with the soul! It is the soul that matters, its passion, its tumult, its astonishing medley of beauty and vileness. And if our voices suddenly rise into shrieks of laughter, or if we are shaken by the most violent sobbing, what more natural?— it hardly calls for remark. The pace at which we are living is so tremendous that sparks must rush off our wheels as we fly. Moreover, when the speed is thus increased and the elements of the soul are seen, not separately in scenes of humour or scenes of passion as our slower English minds conceive them, but streaked, involved, inextricably confused, a new panorama of the human mind is revealed. The old divisions melt into each other. Men are at the same time villains and saints; their acts are at once beautiful and despicable. We love and we hate at the same time. There is none of that precise division between good and bad to which we are used. Often those for whom we feel most affection are the greatest criminals, and the most abject sinners move us to the strongest admiration as well as love.
伍爾芙隨筆全集（共四冊）譯者: 石雲龍 / 劉炳善 / 李寄 / 黃梅作者: [英] 弗吉尼亞·伍爾芙ISBN: 9787500427452頁數: 2070定價: 98.00元出版社: 中國社會科學出版社裝幀: 平裝出版年: 2001-4簡介 · · · · · ·《伍爾芙隨筆全集》收錄了弗吉尼亞·伍爾芙的幾乎全部散文隨筆，按英文原本，分為以下集子：《普通讀者》（一、二）、《瞬間集》、《飛蛾之死》、《船長臨終時》、《花崗岩與彩虹》、《現代作家》、《三枚舊金幣》、《自己的一間屋》、《書和畫像》。作者簡介 · · · · · ·弗吉尼亞·伍爾芙，英國小說家、評論家、散文家。其父萊斯利·斯蒂芬爵士是英國著名學者和作家，藏書宏富，且與同代大家哈代、亨利·詹姆斯等過從甚密，伍爾芙從中獲益匪淺，卓成大家。伍爾芙的創作以小說為主，此外當屬散文。她曾為《泰晤士文學副刊》、《耶魯評論》等英美報特約撰稿，發表的隨筆、書評、人物特寫、遊記百餘萬字。相較來說，散文似乎更適合於她的思想、秉性、風格，寫來優雅高貴而又汪洋恣肆，因而有“傳統散文大師、新散文首創者”之稱，被譽為“英國散文大家中的最後一人”。目錄 · · · · · ·卷1 普能讀者（一部）普能讀者（二部）卷2 自己的一間屋瞬間集船長臨終時卷3 三枚舊金幣飛蛾之死現代作家卷4 花崗岩與彩虹書和畫像《伍爾芙隨筆全集(套裝全4冊)》按英文原本，分為以下集子：《普通讀者》（一、二）、《瞬間集》、《飛蛾之死》、《船長臨終時》 、《花崗岩與彩虹》、《現代作家》、《三枚舊金幣》、《自己的一間屋》、《書和畫像》。++++++++++
• A62 THE ESSAYS: VOLUME 1 
(ed. by Andrew McNeillie) 1904-1912.
• A63 THE ESSAYS: VOLUME 2 
(ed. by Andrew McNeillie) 1912-1918.
• A65 THE ESSAYS: VOLUME 3 
(ed. by Andrew McNeillie) 1919-1924.
•• A74 THE ESSAYS: VOLUME 4 
(ed. by Andrew McNeillie) 1925-1928.
• THE ESSAYS: VOLUME 5 
(ed. by Stuart N. Clarke) 1929-1932.
Orlando: A Biography
From Wikipedia, the free encyclopedia
|Orlando: A Biography|
1st edition cover
|Publication date||11 October 1928|
 PlotOrlando tells the story of a young man named Orlando, born in England during the reign of Elizabeth I, who decides not to grow old. He is briefly a lover to the decrepit queen, but after her death has a brief, intense love affair with Sasha, a princess in the entourage of the Russian embassy. This episode, of love and excitement against the background of the Great Frost, is one of the best known, and is said to represent Vita Sackville-West's affair with Violet Trefusis.
Following Sasha's return to Russia, the desolate, lonely Orlando returns to writing The Oak Tree, a poem started and abandoned in his youth. This period of contemplating love and life leads him to appreciate the value of his ancestral stately home, which he proceeds to furnish lavishly and then plays host to the populace. Ennui sets in and a persistent suitor's harassment leads to Orlando's appointment by King Charles II as British ambassador to Constantinople. Orlando performs his duties well, until a night of civil unrest and murderous riots. He falls asleep for a lengthy period, resisting all efforts to rouse him. Upon awakening he finds that he has metamorphosed into a woman—the same person, with the same personality and intellect, but in a woman's body. For this reason, the now Lady Orlando covertly escapes Constantinople in the company of a Gypsy clan, adopting their way of life until its essential conflict with her upbringing leads her to head home. Only on the ship back to England, with her constraining female clothes and an incident in which a flash of her ankle nearly results in a sailor's falling to his death, does she realise the magnitude of becoming a woman; yet she concludes the overall advantages, declaring 'Praise God I'm a woman!'
Orlando becomes caught up in the life of the eighteenth and nineteenth centuries, holding court with the great poets (notably Alexander Pope), winning a lawsuit and marrying a sea captain. In 1928, she publishes The Oak Tree centuries after starting it, winning a prize.
 Conceptual historyApart from being, at the beginning of the book, a knightly young man, ready for adventure, Woolf's character takes little from the legendary hero Orlando of the Italian Renaissance, spoken by Ludovico Ariosto in the Orlando Furioso.
Orlando can be read as a roman à clef: the characters Orlando and Princess Sasha in the novel refer to Vita Sackville-West and Violet Trefusis respectively. The photographs printed in the illustrated editions of the text are all of the real Vita Sackville-West. Her husband, Harold Nicolson, appears in the novel as Marmaduke Bonthrop Shelmerdine. "The Oak Tree", the poem written by Orlando in the novel, refers to the poem "The Land", for which Vita had won the Hawthornden Prize in 1926. Moreover, the minor character Nick Greene, who later reappears as Sir Nicholas Greene, spouts opinions which had been uttered in real life by Logan Pearsall Smith.
For historical details Woolf draws extensively from Knole and the Sackvilles, a book written (and reworked in several versions) by Sackville-West, describing the historic backgrounds of her ancestral home, Knole House in Kent. Other historical details derive from John Dryden's Essay of Dramatick Poesie. (Orlando, personified as one of Vita's ancestors — the 6th Earl of Dorset — discusses artistic topics with his contemporaries as described in that book.) Orlando is also an attractive version of a history book on the Sackvilles' noble descendants, their estates, their culture, etc; Woolf was middle-class and fascinated by the aristocracy, as embodied in Vita. (Vita also wrote about these subjects, but Woolf thought Vita had a "pen of brass").
The conventions of fiction and fantasy (e.g., fictional names and a main character who lives through many centuries) allowed Woolf to write a well-documented biography of a person living in her own age, without opening herself to criticism about controversial topics such as lesbian love. While Orlando was published in the same year as The Well of Loneliness, a novel banned in the UK for its lesbian theme, it escaped censorship because the main character appears as a man when he loves Princess Sasha.
Vita's mother, Lady Sackville, was not pleased at the writing of the novel, because she believed the story was too plain in its meaning, and she would call Woolf the "virgin wolf" henceforth. Violet Trefusis's reply would be a more conventional roman à clef (Broderie Anglaise), which loses much of its interest if the reader does not know the background, whereas Orlando remains a captivating novel, even if the reader does not know the identity of the person in the photographs in the book.
Orlando: A Biography was described as an elaborate love letter from Virginia Woolf to Vita Sackville-West (by the latter's son Nigel Nicolson); nonetheless, Woolf intended her novel as the first in a new trend, breaking the boundaries between what are traditionally seen as the fiction and non-fiction genres in literature (so the novel is not only about trans-gender, but also trans-genre, so to speak). This was not to be, however, as the book is invariably called a "novel" (while Woolf called it a "biography"), and is shelved in the "fiction" section of libraries and bookshops. Only in the last decades of the 20th century would authors again try this "tricky" cross-over genre (which differs from "romanticised" or "popularised" non-fiction, and does not necessarily have to take a roman à clef form) , e.g., Flaubert's Parrot by Julian Barnes (ISBN 0-330-28976-4).
 Influence and recognitionThe work has been the subject of numerous scholarly writings, including detailed treatment in multiple works on Virginia Woolf. An "annotated" edition has been published to facilitate critical reading of the text.
The novel's title has also come to stand for women's writing generally in some senses, as one of the most famous works by a woman author very directly treating gender. For example, a project on the history of women's writing in the British Isles was named after the book.
- ^ M. H. Whitworth, ‘Logan Pearsall Smith and Orlando,’ Review of English Studies, 55 (2004), 598-604.
- ^ See, e.g., Alice van Buren, The Novels of Virginia Woolf: Fact and Vision Chicago: University of Chicago Press, 1973.
- ^ For example: Jacqueline Harpman, "Orlanda", Paris, Grasset, 1997.
- ^ Orlando: Women's Writing in the British Isles from the Beginnings to the Present, available at http://orlando.cambridge.org/ .
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- Project Gutenberg Australia hosts a free eBook of Orlando; note that copyright may apply in countries other than Australia - Zip file, Text file