his arms in exasperation as she walks on a private patch of grass, a less‐than‐satisfactory dinner served in the women's college, a ‘deprecating, silvery, kindly gentleman’ who turns her away from the the university library. These episodes serve to underscore the way in which such interruptions disrupt the work of a woman without a room.
The same lesson, incidentally, is imparted at the conclusion of To the Lighthouse, in which the artist Lily Briscoe must figure out how to shed the overbearing influence of Mr and Mrs Ramsay if she is to ‘have her vision.’ The Mr Ramsay character, a professor based on Woolf's own father, demands the full attention and respect of his wife and family. The novel opens with an example of the stream of consciousness technique, depicting a confrontation between Mr and Mrs Ramsay as to the expected weather. Oblivious to the desires of his young son, who wishes to travel on a small boat to the lighthouse just off shore from the Ramsays' holiday house, Mr Ramsay insists that he is correct, that both his wife and son must align with his view of the world. Part of the evolution of the novel involves Mr Ramsay coming to tolerate, if not understand, the consciousnesses of those around him. Crucially, it is the artist, Lily Briscoe, who imparts this knowledge to him. Standing in some ways for Woolf herself, Lily must not only kill the ‘angel in the house’ (Mrs Ramsay, the symbol of Victorian womanhood), but confront Mr Ramsay, the symbol of patriarchal intellectualism as gatekeeper. Only then can she work.
Woolf knew that the flights and flow of modernist technique took time and effort to get right. It would not be possible for women writers who did not have the luxury of time and space to be alone and properly think through style, pacing, and characterisation. The tradition‐smashing nature of modernist literature and art still required a level of material and social freedom among its practitioners.
CRITICISMS
A Room of One's Own has been critical for the feminist movement, for studies of women's literary history and of modernism. But it is not without issues.
Part of the purpose of the essay is to encourage women to make their living through writing but, as we have said, Woolf herself was in a privileged position. She admits her good fortune in inheriting £500 a year from an aunt, such that her purse now ‘breed[s] ten‐shilling notes automatically.’ With such circumstances, it seems easy for her to advise against ‘doing work that one did not wish to do, and to do it like a slave, flattering and fawning.’ Yet it should not take away from her wider point, expressed at several points in the essay, that women through history have never been in control of money. Instead of earning through careers (which were forbidden to women), or being able to invest money for good ends (such as endowing university colleges), women – even if they were comparatively well‐off, had been reduced to ‘grateful recipients’. Woolf's windfall comes the same year that an act was passed for women to vote, but she describes her new fixed income as ‘infinitely more important.’ She could spend more time with her artistic friends in what would become the Bloomsbury set, but it also enabled her to stop seeking poorly paid journalism or teaching work. She could raise her literary sights and become a voice for women.
Critics have noted contradiction, bias, and snobbery throughout A Room of One's Own. Her critique of the ‘awkward break’ in Charlotte Bronte's Jane Eyre (1847), in which the narration is interrupted by an angry monologue on women's oppression, seems to show little tolerance for emotion, so often coded as hysteria, in political discussion. And Madelyn Detloff (2012) points to an attitude of disgust towards the working class in Woolf's observation that ‘genius like Shakespeare's is not born among laboring, uneducated, servile people … It is not born today among the working classes.’
It could be said that Woolf's snobbishness is a function of her expectations about art and her own ambitions, rather than a failure to account for feminism's intersections, as Anne E. Fernald (2006) suggests. Still, Woolf's ambition, she adds, does appear to emphasise individualism at the expense of values of communal feminism.
Other critics see these contradictions as necessary to Woolf's argument. Angeliki Spiropoulou (2012) contends that she uses these conflicts as not only a symptom of modernity, which ‘fosters antithetical thoughts, extreme sensations and ambivalent emotions,’ but more precisely ‘a means of pointing to an injustice that needs to be critiqued and corrected.’ Indeed, Kathleen Wall (1999) argues that the essay's argumentative structure ‘allows her to pursue truth while affirming its problematic status.’
Paradoxically, Woolf's adoption of multiple perspectives and possibilities is related to her idea of ‘unity’ of mind:
‘What does one mean by “the unity of the mind”? I pondered, for clearly the mind has so great a power of concentrating at any point at any moment that it seems to have no single state of being. It can separate itself from the people in the street, for example, and think of itself as apart from them, at an upper window looking down on them. Or it can think with other people spontaneously, as, for instance, in a crowd waiting for some piece of news read out … Clearly the mind is always altering its focus, and bringing the world into different perspectives.’
It is only when the mind cooperates or fuses with the characteristics of the opposite sex, however, that it finds a ‘natural’ ease. ‘[A] great mind is androgynous,’ Woolf writes. ‘It is when this fusion takes place that the mind is fully fertilised and uses all its faculties.’
It is not only the ‘great mind’ of the writer that is important here, then, but the great mind of the reader, who must come to hold these contradictions in balance if they are to understand the advantages as well as the problems of Woolf's position on women.
NO CONCLUSION
A Room of One's Own does not – indeed, cannot – resolve these contradictions. From the first, Woolf warns us that ‘I should never be able to fulfil what is, I understand, the first duty of a lecturer to hand you after an hour's discourse a nugget of pure truth to wrap between the pages of your notebooks and keep on the mantelpiece for ever.’ No conclusion can be reached.
Instead, A Room of One's Own ends only with an injunction that the reader, the student, the apprentice writer, must work for the coming of Shakespeare's sister, that woman forgotten by history: ‘I maintain that she would come if we worked for her, and that so to work, even in poverty and obscurity, is worthwhile.’
The room and the money are the ideal, we come to see, but even without them the woman writer has a duty to write, think, and work, in anticipation of a future for her daughters to come.
REFERENCES
1 Detloff, Madelyn. ‘“Am I a Snob?” Well, Sort Of: Socialism, Advocacy, and Disgust in Woolf's Economic Writing.’ Contradictory Woolf. Ed. Stella Bolaki and Derek Ryan. Liverpool: Liverpool UP, 2012. 181–5.
2 Favre, Valérie. ‘A Room of One's Own's (Resistance to) Feminist Interpretations and Feminism.’ Études Britanniques Contemporaines 58 (2020). https://doi.org/10.4000/ebc.9184.
3 Fernald, Anne E. ‘A Room of One's Own, Personal Criticism, and the Essay.’ Twentieth Century Literature 40.2 (1994): 165–89.
4 Virginia Woolf: Feminism, and the Reader. New York: Palgrave Macmillan, 2006.
5 Gan, Wendy. ‘Solitude and Community: Virginia Woolf, Spatial Privacy and A Room of One's Own.’ Literature & History 18.1 (2009): 68–80.
6 Marcus, Laura. ‘Woolf's Feminism and Feminism's Woolf.’ The Cambridge Companion to Virginia Woolf. Ed. Susan Sellers. 2nd edn. Cambridge: Cambridge UP, 2010. 142–79.
7 Parkes,
