I often begin an essay without any thought of Virginia Woolf. I have an idea I want to explore—from
And then, out of the blue, she pops up. Threads I’m pursuing—about punctuation, baseball, and food, to name a few—evoke some connection to Woolf. I recall a passage, an incident, something from her life or work that relates to what I’m writing. Now it’s practically second nature to stop and think, what has Woolf said about this?
Two essays published last year—one about science, the other about maps and flanerie—wouldn’t have been complete without recourse to Woolf’s wit and wisdom:
More of my essays, including a trilogy about my Woolf pilgrimage, are on my blog.
