I appreciate the opportunity to learn a new word--scroggin--which I understand is the term Australians use to refer to what we call 'trail mix' here in the Northern hemisphere. It's only fair that I share with you a new word that I came across recently in the 1953 novel "Guard Your Daughters" by British author Diana Tutton. The word is "scunner" and refers to a feeling of disgust or strong dislike, as in "His explanation made no sense and left me feeling totally scunnered." The word is Scottish in origin.
I haven't read "Street Haunting" yet, but the discussion regarding the significance of the lead pencil reminded me of the questions we had concerning Peter Walsh's pocket knife in the "Mrs. Dalloway" group. In reading Hermione Lee's biography of Virginia Woolf, I've learned that she had a cousin, Harry Stephen, who was stationed in India for a time and had a habit of opening and closing a large "clasp-knife" that he carried in his pocket. So perhaps Peter Walsh's pocket-knife was meant to be nothing more than a pocket-knife. Actually, I doubt that, but I'm not going to open that can of worms--or bag of scroggin--right now.
'...can of worms or bag of scroggin...' hahaha - hilarious!
Yes, I remember VW's cousin coming up in the comments in our discussion of PW's knife. Harry Stephen is mentioned in Julia Briggs biography as well. Maybe a knife is just a knife and a pencil is just a pencil. And yet...
Ah! I have just listened to the podcast, Tash, and oh my goodness, there is so much to say, yes! Alia, you mentioned at first that you are fascinated with how the mind works -- how we perceive things based on our senses, and this mirrored for me how Woolf herself plays with perception in all of her novels and stories. She holds up a thing -- like a small, globed, compacted thing (a quote from one of her novels, maybe TTL, though I'm not sure at the moment), and turns it around in her hand, looking at each angle to see the thing whole (that emphasis on the eye that she highlights in this story). She wants to see it all. All of life. And this also makes me connect to her walk through the city in winter. She leaves her old self (with the old possessions) behind, and becomes part of something much larger -- the capital. The thrumming of all humanity as she senses it. I would say this is creative non-fiction, Tash, as you described it. And it also reminds me of a conversation I had recently with a dear friend and colleague. She just returned from walking the Camino in Spain, and is teaching short fiction this next term. She was talking with me about the power of walking, how each walk is not just a walk, but a quest, ending in some version of the attainment of self-knowledge. I then recalled several short stories about women walking (you see where I'm headed here!): Eudora Welty's "A Worn Path," Lauren Groff's "Ghosts & Empties," Joyce Carol Oates's "Naked," and then I read this and think it's also about this theme of a woman walking alone, working something out. But Woolfian, of course, which is to say it's about so much more. On one level, yes, we're in search of that elusive pencil -- that instrument that allows her to express her experience of being in the moment, but it's interspersed with grotesque images -- such as the dwarf -- but if we look closer, that dwarf is also representative of something else: she focuses on the foot, and how aristocratic it looks. The dwarf is absolutely not pathetic, but rather the opposite, steeped in pride and confidence. Something else I noticed is that Alia brought up the "colors running," which once again evoke images of a painting (Vanessa's influence again?), how she often -- in nearly all her stories -- always circles back around to this description of any scene in terms of an artist's sensibilities. And I loved how Tash highlighted the contrast between how Woolf describes summer time in June, in Mrs. Dalloway, while she contemplates the beauty of winter in this piece. And what about winter? How is it distinct from summer? We know that -- for Woolf -- contrast is everything. But beyond the obvious, winter is often symbolic of equality -- it falls over us all: over the homeless, over the disfigured, over the aristocrats, over every single living being. And it's also associated with mortality and death. Winter is necessary so that spring can come again and flowers will bloom. It's a natural palate cleanser, and in its singular beauty, it also reminds us that the circle of life will continue, just as her walk is continuing. Oh, there is so much more to say, and I feel I'm rambling. But I did want to just thank you both. I feel my Woolfian juices a-flowing, and it is a wonderful gift you give me today! Thank you, thank you, thank you!
What a fantastic and generous comment Nancy! I loved what you said about the power of walking and how each walk is not just a walk, but a quest, ending in some version of the attainment of self-knowledge. In this case, it feels like the knowledge gained is a sort of dispersed, multi-valenced knowledge - as the narrator has, during this walk, dropped into the minds of many different people. Near the end, she writes (of all the different lives she's encountered): 'Into each of these lives one could penetrate a little way, far enough to give oneself the illusion that one is not tethered to a single mind, but can put on briefly for a few minutes the bodies and minds of others. One could become a washerwoman, a publican, a street singer. And what greater delight and wonder can there be than to leave the straight lines of personality and deviate into those footpaths that lead beneath brambles and thick tree trunks into the heart of the forest where live those wild beasts, our fellow men?' !!
And I like what you say about winter as well - that necessary regeneration that winter grants us. It seems to me that there are two wheels turning in this piece, both signifying cycles of renewal - the larger is the season, winter, and the smaller is the falling of night, that diurnal season. Near the end, Woolf writes, 'Life had withdrawn to the top floor...'
I so love this quote you included, Tash, about those deviations into other minds, other realities, other sensibilities...that description of the "brambles and thick tree trunks" reminds me too of that "hedge" in To The Lighthouse, that Mrs. Ramsay keeps staring into, as though she's trying to figure something out. I think these natural labyrinths that Woolf often disperses in her prose are also symbolic of the strange, often circuitous paths we walk through in life that both connect us, and divide us, given the context. How rich is her writing!
How interesting that the brambles immediately led you to think of TTL. For me it was Mrs Dalloway and the bit where Peter Walsh visits unexpectedly and Clarissa remarks that she feels 'like a Queen whose guards have fallen asleep and left her unprotected ... so that any one can stroll in and have a look at her where she lies with the brambles curving over her...'
You mentioned Mrs Ramsay's hedge in our chat about Kew Gardens as well - I don't remember that part very clearly but will look out for it as I re-read TTL. 'Natural labyrinths' - lovely!
A wonderful, thoughtful comment Nancy. I appreciate your observation of the mind and you've made me realise why I was drawn to this work by Woolf rather than one of her short fictions, as I feel she shares so much of mind in it. I very nearly chose 'The Death of the Moth', for a similar reason.
And I thank you for your insight into Woolf's relationship with her sister and her art. I am much more aware now of her drawing connections between words and visual art.
Well, and isn't there mention of a moth in this particular story, as well, Alia? I'm not sure where it occurs, but without looking back at it, I recall her mentioning something of this moth, which is hugely symbolic for Woolf, as is the snail from Kew Gardens, as is the pencil. Before we delve into what these symbols could mean, though, I think context is everything here. The moth in Death of the Moth, is not the same moth as the one in this story, and the snail represents something different altogether. But she does notice small creatures in many of her novels and stories. I think perhaps she sees us as not being so different, as we all aspire to simply live and fulfill whatever destiny we have been given. But unlike the moths and snails, we human beings are able to engage our imaginations, and thus can be easily pulled into one mind, then another mind, fantasizing about what lives these others could be living....
I can't wait to hear the chat between you and Alia, Tash, and hadn't read the story itself till just a moment ago. What a gem! And there were moments that really reminded me of both To the Lighthouse and Mrs. Dalloway. It's been wonderful to look at these intertextual connections between her stories and novels.
As for your theatrical experience -- I found myself cracking up at the image of you as a kangaroo! Having seen Hamilton twice now, I concur it was worth the trip and glad you enjoyed it. Perhaps there are more musicals in your future...?
Street Haunting was new to me too - so grateful to Alia for suggesting it! Yes, I also see intertextual connections and I'm sure, as I re-read TTL, I'll notice some more.
Hamilton was a lot of fun. I've decided to stop being cynical and embrace it!
Well yes, now you mention it, I do think “fiction“ when you use the term “narrator“. And “jarring“ was too strong a word, but I really did imagine myself in Woolf’s head, making her way up this street, down this alley… noticing this and that and experiencing those thoughts and feelings. I loved that she could start with a pencil – whether she needed one or not – and turn it into such an adventure, even if much of the adventure was in her own head.
Thanks to you both, Tash and Alia. I loved the piece and the conversation in equal measure. But Tash, I found it slightly jarring every time you referred to 'the narrator'. I mean, you're perfectly correct, this is creative non-fiction, not memoir, but who could this be but Woolf herself? I had a similar experience reading Mrs Dalloway, although not as sharply because Mrs D was not a writer (was she?).
Ah, how interesting! So you find that the term 'narrator' is more closely allied with fiction? Or more that it sounds confusing if this is just Woolf retelling her own experience? Why not just say 'Woolf'? My feeling was that this was a highly constructed piece of writing, that Woolf did not necessarily have those thoughts and experiences that appear under the title 'Street Haunting' - or perhaps she had some seeds of experiences and then expanded on them... She uses 'we' rather than 'I' which further distances the writing from personal experience for me. I suppose that was what caused me to hesitate and refer to the 'narrator.'
Thanks for taking the time to read the piece and listen to our conversation. That is very nice of you!!
Another mollusc to go with the crayfish in 'Looking Glass' except I think the oyster she compares herself to is actually a bryozoan. The image of her eye ( or I? Being podcast we couldn't tell) as an oyster without its shell.
Oh yes! Please add that to the VW marine creature spreadsheet I assume you're maintaining, Ronald. Haha.
And of course I didn't think about the eye / I issue. In Street Haunting, she's referring to an EYE: 'The shell-like covering which our souls have excreted to house themselves, to make for themselves a shape distinct from others, is broken, and there is left of all these wrinkles and roughnesses a central oyster of perceptiveness, an enormous eye.'
Thanks for having me, Tash. I thoroughly enjoyed our conversation and I hope your readers likewise enjoy reading Woolf's 'Street Haunting'.
I hope you really did move like a kangaroo being corralled to the exit. That would certainly have been the most entertaining event of the night.
No, thank YOU Alia!
I appreciate the opportunity to learn a new word--scroggin--which I understand is the term Australians use to refer to what we call 'trail mix' here in the Northern hemisphere. It's only fair that I share with you a new word that I came across recently in the 1953 novel "Guard Your Daughters" by British author Diana Tutton. The word is "scunner" and refers to a feeling of disgust or strong dislike, as in "His explanation made no sense and left me feeling totally scunnered." The word is Scottish in origin.
I haven't read "Street Haunting" yet, but the discussion regarding the significance of the lead pencil reminded me of the questions we had concerning Peter Walsh's pocket knife in the "Mrs. Dalloway" group. In reading Hermione Lee's biography of Virginia Woolf, I've learned that she had a cousin, Harry Stephen, who was stationed in India for a time and had a habit of opening and closing a large "clasp-knife" that he carried in his pocket. So perhaps Peter Walsh's pocket-knife was meant to be nothing more than a pocket-knife. Actually, I doubt that, but I'm not going to open that can of worms--or bag of scroggin--right now.
'...can of worms or bag of scroggin...' hahaha - hilarious!
Yes, I remember VW's cousin coming up in the comments in our discussion of PW's knife. Harry Stephen is mentioned in Julia Briggs biography as well. Maybe a knife is just a knife and a pencil is just a pencil. And yet...
Ah! I have just listened to the podcast, Tash, and oh my goodness, there is so much to say, yes! Alia, you mentioned at first that you are fascinated with how the mind works -- how we perceive things based on our senses, and this mirrored for me how Woolf herself plays with perception in all of her novels and stories. She holds up a thing -- like a small, globed, compacted thing (a quote from one of her novels, maybe TTL, though I'm not sure at the moment), and turns it around in her hand, looking at each angle to see the thing whole (that emphasis on the eye that she highlights in this story). She wants to see it all. All of life. And this also makes me connect to her walk through the city in winter. She leaves her old self (with the old possessions) behind, and becomes part of something much larger -- the capital. The thrumming of all humanity as she senses it. I would say this is creative non-fiction, Tash, as you described it. And it also reminds me of a conversation I had recently with a dear friend and colleague. She just returned from walking the Camino in Spain, and is teaching short fiction this next term. She was talking with me about the power of walking, how each walk is not just a walk, but a quest, ending in some version of the attainment of self-knowledge. I then recalled several short stories about women walking (you see where I'm headed here!): Eudora Welty's "A Worn Path," Lauren Groff's "Ghosts & Empties," Joyce Carol Oates's "Naked," and then I read this and think it's also about this theme of a woman walking alone, working something out. But Woolfian, of course, which is to say it's about so much more. On one level, yes, we're in search of that elusive pencil -- that instrument that allows her to express her experience of being in the moment, but it's interspersed with grotesque images -- such as the dwarf -- but if we look closer, that dwarf is also representative of something else: she focuses on the foot, and how aristocratic it looks. The dwarf is absolutely not pathetic, but rather the opposite, steeped in pride and confidence. Something else I noticed is that Alia brought up the "colors running," which once again evoke images of a painting (Vanessa's influence again?), how she often -- in nearly all her stories -- always circles back around to this description of any scene in terms of an artist's sensibilities. And I loved how Tash highlighted the contrast between how Woolf describes summer time in June, in Mrs. Dalloway, while she contemplates the beauty of winter in this piece. And what about winter? How is it distinct from summer? We know that -- for Woolf -- contrast is everything. But beyond the obvious, winter is often symbolic of equality -- it falls over us all: over the homeless, over the disfigured, over the aristocrats, over every single living being. And it's also associated with mortality and death. Winter is necessary so that spring can come again and flowers will bloom. It's a natural palate cleanser, and in its singular beauty, it also reminds us that the circle of life will continue, just as her walk is continuing. Oh, there is so much more to say, and I feel I'm rambling. But I did want to just thank you both. I feel my Woolfian juices a-flowing, and it is a wonderful gift you give me today! Thank you, thank you, thank you!
What a fantastic and generous comment Nancy! I loved what you said about the power of walking and how each walk is not just a walk, but a quest, ending in some version of the attainment of self-knowledge. In this case, it feels like the knowledge gained is a sort of dispersed, multi-valenced knowledge - as the narrator has, during this walk, dropped into the minds of many different people. Near the end, she writes (of all the different lives she's encountered): 'Into each of these lives one could penetrate a little way, far enough to give oneself the illusion that one is not tethered to a single mind, but can put on briefly for a few minutes the bodies and minds of others. One could become a washerwoman, a publican, a street singer. And what greater delight and wonder can there be than to leave the straight lines of personality and deviate into those footpaths that lead beneath brambles and thick tree trunks into the heart of the forest where live those wild beasts, our fellow men?' !!
And I like what you say about winter as well - that necessary regeneration that winter grants us. It seems to me that there are two wheels turning in this piece, both signifying cycles of renewal - the larger is the season, winter, and the smaller is the falling of night, that diurnal season. Near the end, Woolf writes, 'Life had withdrawn to the top floor...'
I so love this quote you included, Tash, about those deviations into other minds, other realities, other sensibilities...that description of the "brambles and thick tree trunks" reminds me too of that "hedge" in To The Lighthouse, that Mrs. Ramsay keeps staring into, as though she's trying to figure something out. I think these natural labyrinths that Woolf often disperses in her prose are also symbolic of the strange, often circuitous paths we walk through in life that both connect us, and divide us, given the context. How rich is her writing!
How interesting that the brambles immediately led you to think of TTL. For me it was Mrs Dalloway and the bit where Peter Walsh visits unexpectedly and Clarissa remarks that she feels 'like a Queen whose guards have fallen asleep and left her unprotected ... so that any one can stroll in and have a look at her where she lies with the brambles curving over her...'
You mentioned Mrs Ramsay's hedge in our chat about Kew Gardens as well - I don't remember that part very clearly but will look out for it as I re-read TTL. 'Natural labyrinths' - lovely!
A wonderful, thoughtful comment Nancy. I appreciate your observation of the mind and you've made me realise why I was drawn to this work by Woolf rather than one of her short fictions, as I feel she shares so much of mind in it. I very nearly chose 'The Death of the Moth', for a similar reason.
And I thank you for your insight into Woolf's relationship with her sister and her art. I am much more aware now of her drawing connections between words and visual art.
Well, and isn't there mention of a moth in this particular story, as well, Alia? I'm not sure where it occurs, but without looking back at it, I recall her mentioning something of this moth, which is hugely symbolic for Woolf, as is the snail from Kew Gardens, as is the pencil. Before we delve into what these symbols could mean, though, I think context is everything here. The moth in Death of the Moth, is not the same moth as the one in this story, and the snail represents something different altogether. But she does notice small creatures in many of her novels and stories. I think perhaps she sees us as not being so different, as we all aspire to simply live and fulfill whatever destiny we have been given. But unlike the moths and snails, we human beings are able to engage our imaginations, and thus can be easily pulled into one mind, then another mind, fantasizing about what lives these others could be living....
I can't wait to hear the chat between you and Alia, Tash, and hadn't read the story itself till just a moment ago. What a gem! And there were moments that really reminded me of both To the Lighthouse and Mrs. Dalloway. It's been wonderful to look at these intertextual connections between her stories and novels.
As for your theatrical experience -- I found myself cracking up at the image of you as a kangaroo! Having seen Hamilton twice now, I concur it was worth the trip and glad you enjoyed it. Perhaps there are more musicals in your future...?
Street Haunting was new to me too - so grateful to Alia for suggesting it! Yes, I also see intertextual connections and I'm sure, as I re-read TTL, I'll notice some more.
Hamilton was a lot of fun. I've decided to stop being cynical and embrace it!
Well yes, now you mention it, I do think “fiction“ when you use the term “narrator“. And “jarring“ was too strong a word, but I really did imagine myself in Woolf’s head, making her way up this street, down this alley… noticing this and that and experiencing those thoughts and feelings. I loved that she could start with a pencil – whether she needed one or not – and turn it into such an adventure, even if much of the adventure was in her own head.
Thanks to you both, Tash and Alia. I loved the piece and the conversation in equal measure. But Tash, I found it slightly jarring every time you referred to 'the narrator'. I mean, you're perfectly correct, this is creative non-fiction, not memoir, but who could this be but Woolf herself? I had a similar experience reading Mrs Dalloway, although not as sharply because Mrs D was not a writer (was she?).
Ah, how interesting! So you find that the term 'narrator' is more closely allied with fiction? Or more that it sounds confusing if this is just Woolf retelling her own experience? Why not just say 'Woolf'? My feeling was that this was a highly constructed piece of writing, that Woolf did not necessarily have those thoughts and experiences that appear under the title 'Street Haunting' - or perhaps she had some seeds of experiences and then expanded on them... She uses 'we' rather than 'I' which further distances the writing from personal experience for me. I suppose that was what caused me to hesitate and refer to the 'narrator.'
Thanks for taking the time to read the piece and listen to our conversation. That is very nice of you!!
Another mollusc to go with the crayfish in 'Looking Glass' except I think the oyster she compares herself to is actually a bryozoan. The image of her eye ( or I? Being podcast we couldn't tell) as an oyster without its shell.
Oh yes! Please add that to the VW marine creature spreadsheet I assume you're maintaining, Ronald. Haha.
And of course I didn't think about the eye / I issue. In Street Haunting, she's referring to an EYE: 'The shell-like covering which our souls have excreted to house themselves, to make for themselves a shape distinct from others, is broken, and there is left of all these wrinkles and roughnesses a central oyster of perceptiveness, an enormous eye.'