A Writer's Diary

Argh, the inadequacy of the stars! One star is missing only for all the people and events that went over my head (rather that I let pass by). But even at her most informal (or especially?), Woolf is striking. The last year (1940-1941; the war) is affecting enough to balance out that last stretch of the diaries that is not as concerned with writing as the preceding. The brevity and casualness of her “notes” and the repetition of her anguish and fear and anxiety with every book are somehow warming to me.

I didn't enjoy A Room of One's Own when I read it some months ago, which made me reluctant about Woolf. I only picked up this book from the library when I happened across a writer-blogger (whom I otherwise don't know) refer to it as a book she keeps on hand to refer to in times of inspiration-need. It shows every sign of becoming the same for me – it's helped to push me forward on some writing projects. I plan to buy a copy of my own and may even underline some passages and write comments in the margins – and I never do that! From here I'd like to read her essays (I started with “How Should One Read a Book?” this evening) and her novels (To the Lighthouse to start, I think).