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Posts Tagged ‘Moments of Being’

Yesterday, survivors of Jeffrey Epstein, who were as young as 13 when they were first sexually abused and trafficked, released a powerful PSA that featured their childhood photos. It made the news and spread through social media.

Today, they channeled the power of their truth into a second press conference (the first was held in September) that shared their stories and announced the establishment of a national, survivor-led non-partisan political movement to expose all aspects of sexual abuse and exploitation. It made the news and spread through social media.

This afternoon — at long last — the House of Representatives voted 427-1 for a bill demanding that the Justice Department release all the Epstein files. But that did not happen until one Republican after another stepped before the mic to lie, blaming Democrats for the long delay in releasing the files and falsely claiming Republicans had wanted transparency all along.

The lone dissenter in today’s vote was far-right conspiracy theorist Republican Clay Higgins of Louisiana. Shame on him and the many Republicans, including our felon-in-chief, who worked tirelessly to keep the Epstein files under wraps.

Hours later, Minority Leader Chuck Schumer won unanimous agreement for the Senate to pass the measure as soon as it arrives in the chamber. It will then go to the felon in the White House for his signature, with the hope he does not use any further tricks to circumvent justice for women and girls.

Sexual abuse and Virginia Woolf

You might ask how any of this connects to Virginia Woolf. Here’s how.

Virginia Stephen was six years old the first time she was sexually abused. Her abuser, her half-brother Gerald Duckworth, was 18. Virginia was 13 when she was abused again, another incestuous abuse that went on until she was 29. This time, her other half-brother George Duckworth, a father figure to both Virginia and her sister Vanessa, was her abuser. He was 29 when it began and 45 when it ended.

Here are Virginia’s own words from her collection of five memoir pieces included in Moments of Being:

There was a slab outside the dining room door for standing dishes upon. Once when I was very small Gerald Duckworth lifted me onto this, and as I sat there he began to explore my body. I can remember the feel of his hand going under my clothes, going firmly and steadily lower and lower. I remember how I hoped that he would stop; how I stiffened and wriggled as his hand approached my private parts. But it did not stop. His hand approached my private parts too. I remember resenting, disliking it-what is the word for so dumb and mixed a feeling? It must have been strong, since I still recall it. This seems to show that a feeling about certain parts of the body; how they must not be touched; how it is wrong to allow them to be touched; must be instinctive. – Moments of Being, p. 69

Sleep had almost come to me. The room was dark. The house silent. Then, creaking stealthily, the door opened; treading gingerly, someone entered”. “ ‘Who?’ I cried. ‘Don’t be frightened,’ George whispered. ‘And don’t turn on the light, oh beloved.’ Beloved – and he flung himself on my bed, and took me in his arms. Yes, the old ladies of Kensington and Belgravia never knew that George Duckworth was not only father and mother, brother and sister to those poor Stephen girls; he was their lover also. – Moments of Being, p. 180

It was long past midnight that I got into bed and sat reading a page or two of Marius the Epicurean for which I had then a passion. There would be a tap at the door; the light would be turned out and George would fling himself on my bed, cuddling and kissing and otherwise embracing me in order, as he told Dr Savage later, to comfort me for the fatal illness of my father–who was dying three or four storeys lower down of cancer. – Moments of Being, p. 182

Incestuous sexual abuse and its effects on Virginia

Others have written about the effects this traumatic sexual abuse had on Virginia’s mental health, as well as her feelings about herself, her appearance, and her sexuality.

Louise DeSalvo’s Virginia Woolf: The Impact of Childhood Sexual Abuse on Her Life and Work (1989) comes to mind first. Sara Culver’s 1990 article in the Grand Valley Review, “Virginia Woolf as an Incest Survivor,”is worth reading as well. Gillian Gill’s Virginia Woolf: And the Women Who Shaped Her World (2019) also adds insight.

Among other things, such works speak of Woolf’s discomfort with any attention to her looks, whether it be her hat, her dress, or her body. They also speak of her own shame regarding looking at her own image in a mirror.

The looking-glass shame has lasted all my life, long after the tomboy phase was over. I cannot now powder my nose in public. Everything to do with dress-to be fitted-to come into a room wearing a new dress- still frightens me; at least makes me shy, self-conscious, uncomfortable. ‘Oh to be able to run, like Julian Morrell, all over the garden in a new dress’ I thought not too many years ago . . .

Yet this did not prevent me from feeling ecstasies and raptures spontaneously and intensely and without any shame or the least sense of guilt, so long as they were disconnected with my own body. – Moments of Being, pp. 68-9

Incestuous sexual abuse and its effects on Virginia’s writing

Virginia’s sexual abuse also influenced her writing in such novels as The Voyage Out (1915) and The Years (1937).

Remember the scene where the married Mr. Dalloway holds virginal Rachel Vinrace tightly and kisses her “passionately” against her will? (TVO 89) Recall the time Rose escapes the strange man under the lamppost who sucks his lips, makes a “mewing noise,” and starts unbuttoning his clothes? (TY, p. 29)

In both cases, the traumatized females suffer nightmares after the event.

Surviving with strength

Despite the incestuous sexual trauma Virginia suffered beginning at the age of six, she survived and went on to leave a body of work that lives on to be revered by new generations of common readers and scholars.

As Culver puts it, “Her detractors have dismissed Virginia Woolf as a pretentious snob, comfortably insulated from the ‘real world’ by her sex, her class, and her recurring illness. This is a slander that needs to be disproved. Woolf — while still a child — had to face realities so ugly they tormented her for years. But they did not conquer her. That she not only survived such violations of her integrity, but survived magnificently, argues that she was neither weak nor spineless, but remarkably strong and courageous.”

The same can be said of the thousand Epstein survivors who survive “magnificently” with remarkable strength and courage. We call on those in power to ensure they receive the full justice they have long deserved. We call on those in power to BELIEVE WOMEN.

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Those moments — in the nursery, on the road to the beach — can still be more real than the present moment. – Virginia Woolf, “A Sketch of the Past,” p. 67.

The second edition of Moments of Being (1985) consists of five pieces that make up Virginia Woolf’s only autobiographical writing, with the exception of her diaries and letters. This edition is now available online as a PDF that is searchable using the “Find” option under your browser’s “Edit” tab.

This edition incorporates 27 pages of a 77-page typescript version of “A Sketch of the Past” acquired by the British Library in the early 1980s. This addition of entirely new material includes Woolf’s description of her father, Leslie Stephen, and the ambivalence of her relationship to him as a result of her reading of Freud.

In addition, a number of passages, such as Woolf’s reflections on her methods of writing and on the nature of consciousness, are expanded and clarified, the Preface to the second edition notes (193).

The second addition includes an introduction by Hermione Lee, along with these five essays:

  • “Reminiscences,” begun in 1907
  • “A Sketch of the Past,” begun in 1939 and completed in 1940
  • Three Memoir Club contributions, papers delivered between 1920 and 1936:
    • “22 Hyde Park Gate”
    • “Old Bloomsbury”
    • “Am I a Snob?”

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Lynnette Beers is a Woolf scholar and enthusiast who teaches British literature and creative writing at Santiago Canyon College in Orange, Calif. So it’s no surprise that Virginia Woolf would make an appearance in Lynnette’s first novel, Just Beyond the Shining River

Woolf introductions

The protagonist, Gemma Oldfield, discovers a cache of letters spanning six decades at the cottage of her recently-deceased grandmother in the East Midlands village of Moulton. The letters disclose family secrets with ever-widening ramifications across generations. The story balances between the past, as revealed by Gemma in the letters, and the present, as she grapples with crises and discoveries in her own life.

Epigraphs from Moments of Being and The Waves introduce each of three sections and help to establish themes of remembrance and change, resolve and renewal. Within the letters themselves, Mary, their author, tells Emily, Gemma’s grandmother, that “I find myself one of the lucky ones to have actually met Mrs. Woolf years ago.” In another Mary writes about an article she’s researching about suicides by drowning, specifically Mary Wollstonecraft and Virginia Woolf.

Sense of place

What I enjoyed most, though, was an ever-present sense of place. Lynnette brings London to life throughout the novel. As in Woolf’s own work, I was able to visualize so many scenes and sites, the Chelsea neighborhood of Gemma’s friend, their walks along the Embankment, back lanes of Soho, and more. But it was the story’s frequent surprises, its twists and turns—both Gemma’s and her grandmother’s—that kept me turning the pages.

Just Beyond the Shining River grew out of Lynnette’s MFA thesis, and involved extensive time and research in England. It has been selected as a finalist in the debut novel category for the “Goldie” awards of the Golden Crown Literary Society, which recognizes and promotes lesbian literature. Congratulations to Lynnette Beers!

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Virginia Woolf’s entreaties in A Room of One’s Own were directed to women, urging them to write. To write all kinds of books, to write whatever they wish. She said: “When I ask you to write more books I am urging you to do what will be for your good and for the good of the world at large.”

The authors of two recent essay collections are living Woolf’s legacy. Jericho Parms and Durga Chew-Bose acknowledge the footprints that precede them, and their successful debuts are a gift to today’s readers.

I was struck repeatedly in Jericho Parms’s collection, Lost Wax, by word constructions and rhythms that brought Woolf to mind, especially in her contemplations of memory and the self. It was no surprise to read in an interview: “I first fell in love with the essay and the unending possibility of the form from reading the works of Joan Didion, Annie Dillard, James Baldwin, and Virginia Woolf.” She mentions Moments of Being as a major influence, and it’s evident in reflections about her own life.

The final essay in Lost Wax is “Immortal Wound,” in which Parms ponders a dead luna moth and relates it to human mortality, to the recognition that one can expire “in a moment unobserved, as if it never came to pass.” Woolf had witnessed her moth’s death, and Parms says, “I envied Woolf her day moth zigzagging against a windowpane.”

The title of Durga Chew-Bose’s book of essays, Too Much and Not the Mood, comes from Woolf’s diary entry of April 11, 1931. Woolf is bogged down in making corrections to a number of her articles. She’s working with a faulty pen, for starters, “And not much to say, or rather too much & not the mood.”

The prose in these essays evokes Woolf’s interiority and love of language. I underlined phrase after phrase, passage after passage, as Chew-Bose, like a moth herself, lights here and there, pausing on family and friendship, on James Baldwin and Nina Simone and the young Al Pacino, on her name and her voice and her skin color.

The opening essay, “Heart Museum,” is a 90-page abstract meditation, in which she likens writing to body language, to “a woman narrowing her eyes to express incredulity,” to “an elbow propped on the edge of a table when you’re wrapping up an argument,” to “a closed pistachio shell.” In which she describes her version of happiness as “curling up inside the bends of parentheses,” and in which the odds and ends on a friend’s dressing table represent “a parish of miscellany,” “a village of items.”

The essay is alive and well, and women’s writing in all genres is more wide-ranging and abundant than even Virginia Woolf might have imagined.

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