A Writer’s Diary

I looked at the receipt from whence I bought it. 2017. This book has been calling my veins since then. I thought I had bought it in London where we once had a student trip there, I was in the teacher’s staff mind you. But no, it was in good old Stockholm. I remember the transaction quite well because I asked for the jacket. The clerk at the bookstore gave me a look that resonates with other book clerk experiences I’ve had with that lot in Stockholm. This one time even further back in time in the early 2000’s I surmise, I had the noble idea of selling a book thinking it was worth some money so I took it to an antiquities bookstore and when I handed the volume to the clerk they said they weren’t interested in it and as a gracious token of disinterest the clerk remarked with a smile on his ugly guise that the book had pretty ”pictures” in it. I usually don’t understand backhanded remarks until very much later but this time I understood quite well his remark and as I was awashed in the sudden cold waters of humiliation all I could do was to stare and say thanks. I have a hard time processing those moments as my comment suggests and made for an everlasting sting till this day. So yeah, the look on the clerk and his remark about the jacket was that it wouldn’t be so cheap had it had a jacket. The one book I apparently overly overestimated it and the other one I apparently underestimated it on its value had the jacket been there, lessons, lessons, painful lessons indeed. But I digress.

So it took a while to read the tome. I came across Virgina Woolf long before my studies in English literature which I know sounds fancy but it ain’t. I went to a theater presentation of who’s afraid of Virgina Woolf somewhere in San Diego, Califas way back in the 90’s last century of the last millennial. Which incidentally has nothing to do with Virgina Woolf other than Edward Albee asking Leonard permission to use his late wife’s name on the play. I went thinking it was about Virgina Woolf. I think I was deeply immersed in searching for female literature at that time. So I felt cool buying a ticket and going to the theater full of hot air, youth indeed but not fully understanding nada about nada and all that intellectual mumbo jumbo that tends to accompany commentary about the play once the the play is well over and done with. Yes, I did scoured the play’s criticism by the paper press the day after the play for hints, call me superficial, so I learn in a weird way. Yes children, newspapers and commentators before the internet used paper newspapers to divulge and spill the hate back then in ink that stuck to your fingers as you perused the large sheets of the newsies.

So back to the book and why it took so long to digest. I have no idea. Though an inkling does rear its head, I have been a poor reader of late and by late I mean the last 5 to 7 years perhaps? My conscious, however, ever the nagger, doesn’t allow me to just drop reading all together so I inevitably fall back to reading. I liked reading it even though it took forever to finish it. I was amused by several moments during the reading, like the upper class attitude that seeps throughout the text. Never mind that the book is heavily censored by Leonard am sure. Writing during this period of time entailed a ravaging effect on the populace it addressed. It could destroy reputations and damage egos much akin doxing these days or cancelling them one way or another so much was taken out from the original text I fear I wont be alive to read in an unabridged fashion. Another thing that was cumbersome was the language which is rapidly falling out of use despite the fact that English is not a language that tends to discard its use so easily in my humble opinion. The divide between American English and British English is quite like the Mariana Trench and with attention spans shortening by the hour these days people aren’t just too happy to minutely dissect words and their origins like they used to including me. Some words were a pleasure to pursue because of their appearance but by far not all of them. Virgina was snobbish something quite acceptable during her time, she was posh you know. So in her diary and a little window into their customs stuck out and we can peer in and see how they mingled with the classes or what they thought about classes beneath them, something that escaped Leonard I guess and that we are thankful for. For much of the reading I couldn’t help seeking out reasons for her suicide and with constants reminders of her headaches and mental issues it is easily and readily available for quick diagnosis of her last days on earth. Not so fast buckwheat, it would just not be fair and am sure somebody has done that scanning with a more professional eye than mine, not that my eyes are professional.

Guess what, just when I thought I could not possible get anything out of the reading out comes WWII and Hitler. I was intrigued how this lady served the propaganda machine of the British empire. Much has been written about it and there is enough academia articles on it. I really liked peering into this period of the dairy and compare it to the times am living in. I prefer the narrative of WWI instead but this will do because it offers a glimpse of the beginnings of the WWII. Specially when so much pops in my head about it and what I’ve read and seen on videos about those moments in history. It is a valuable input from an important individual such as Virgina Woolf.