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Thanks Pat and Trudi. And much as I am enjoying the cozy mysteries posts, I’m still hoping for more responses to my question about The Hours…😉 On Thursday, August 10, 2023, 02: 02: 38 PM EDT, Pat Laurence <pat. laurence@ gmail. com> wrote:
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</head><body><div class="ydp52e27567yahoo-style-wrap" style="font-family:Helvetica Neue, Helvetica, Arial, sans-serif;font-size:16px;"><div></div>
<div>Thanks Pat and Trudi. And much as I am enjoying the cozy mysteries posts, I’m still hoping for more responses to my question about The Hours…😉</div><div><br></div>
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On Thursday, August 10, 2023, 02:02:38 PM EDT, Pat Laurence <pat.laurence@gmail.com> wrote:
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<div><div id="ydp52e27567yiv3312551996"><div><div dir="ltr"><div style="font-size:large;" class="ydp52e27567yiv3312551996gmail_default">I meant to add that observations on Woolf conferences are, of course, dated in the review.</div></div><br clear="none"><div id="ydp52e27567yiv3312551996yqt81780" class="ydp52e27567yiv3312551996yqt5436119682"><div class="ydp52e27567yiv3312551996gmail_quote"><div dir="ltr" class="ydp52e27567yiv3312551996gmail_attr">On Thu, Aug 10, 2023 at 1:59 PM Pat Laurence <<a shape="rect" href="mailto:pat.laurence@gmail.com" rel="nofollow" target="_blank">pat.laurence@gmail.com</a>> wrote:<br clear="none"></div><blockquote style="margin:0px 0px 0px 0.8ex;border-left:1px solid rgb(204,204,204);padding-left:1ex;" class="ydp52e27567yiv3312551996gmail_quote"><div dir="ltr"><div style="font-size:large;" class="ydp52e27567yiv3312551996gmail_default">Following up on the Lillian Crawford review, here's mine of the Cunningham <b>novel, </b><i>The Hours</i>, that appeared in <i>English Literature in Translation</i> (2000) in which I assert--that despite certain breakthroughs--he does not "get the rhythm right."</div><div style="font-size:large;" class="ydp52e27567yiv3312551996gmail_default"><br clear="none"></div><div style="font-size:large;" class="ydp52e27567yiv3312551996gmail_default"><p style="margin:0in;font-size:12pt;font-family:New serif;" class="ydp52e27567yiv3312551996MsoNormal">Michael Cunningham, <u>The Hours (</u>New York: Farrar,
Strauss, Giroux, 1998)</p>
<p style="margin:0in;font-size:12pt;font-family:New serif;" class="ydp52e27567yiv3312551996MsoNormal"> </p>
<p style="margin:0in;font-size:12pt;font-family:New serif;" class="ydp52e27567yiv3312551996MsoNormal">Michael Cunningham’s <u>The Hours</u> is a novel about
reading: a homage to Virginia Woolf. It is one of many books to come out in the
past few years in which a writer or critic reflects not only on the process of
reading itself but also rambles among the works of a particularly-loved author:
Harold Bloom’s <u>Shakespeare: the Invention of the Human</u>; Alain de Botton’s
<u>How Proust</u> <u>Can Change Your Life</u>, <u> Not a Novel</u>; Stephen Marlowe’s <u>The
Lighthouse at the End of the World </u>(involving Edgar Allen Poe). Now in
Michael Cunningham’s novel, we have a fictional exploration of Virginia Woolf’s
<u>Mrs. Dalloway</u> that was called <u>The Hours</u> among other titles in an
earlier stage of the project. The idea is a fascinating one and in Cunningham’s
writing the experience of reading turns in upon itself. It is a postmodern
critical and fictional turn described by the French literary critic, Gerard
Genette:</p>
<p style="margin:0in;font-size:12pt;font-family:New serif;" class="ydp52e27567yiv3312551996MsoNormal"> </p>
<p style="margin:0in 0in 0in 1in;font-size:12pt;font-family:New serif;" class="ydp52e27567yiv3312551996MsoNormal">The text is that Moebius strip in
which the inner and outer sides, the signifying and the signified sides, the
side of writing and the side of reading, ceaselessly turn and cross over, in
which writing is constantly read, in which reading is constantly written and
transcribed. The critic must also enter the interplay of this strange
reversible circuit and thus become, as Proust says, and like every true reader,
“one’s own reader.” 1</p>
<p style="margin:0in;font-size:12pt;font-family:New serif;" class="ydp52e27567yiv3312551996MsoNormal"> </p>
<p style="margin:0in;font-size:12pt;font-family:New serif;" class="ydp52e27567yiv3312551996MsoNormal">We are in a hall of mirrors as we read ourselves reading
Cunningham reading Woolf. We “participate” as readers (and writers!) of this
novel in new ways.</p>
<p style="margin:0in;font-size:12pt;font-family:New serif;" class="ydp52e27567yiv3312551996MsoNormal"> </p>
<p style="margin:0in;font-size:12pt;font-family:New serif;" class="ydp52e27567yiv3312551996MsoNormal">Why are so many writers and critics preoccupied with writing
about the process of reading? Perhaps the images on the computer screen have
already darkened our reading sky as we intellectually venture into the Internet
rather than ride the well-worn magic carpet. Are we as a culture already
nostalgic about the demise of THE BOOK? Browse through any popular periodical,
and you will find that the number of articles and images of technology far
outnumber discussions or, indeed, images of books. Perhaps then writers and
critics turn to the authors they have read and loved to pay tribute or to find
inspiration and material. Perhaps they are preserving authors from the threat
of being unread as “story” takes new forms in hypertext, and on the Internet, CD-ROMs,
television, and books on tape. </p>
<p style="margin:0in;font-size:12pt;font-family:New serif;" class="ydp52e27567yiv3312551996MsoNormal"> </p>
<p style="margin:0in;font-size:12pt;font-family:New serif;" class="ydp52e27567yiv3312551996MsoNormal">Michael Cunningham has written of his own introduction to
reading Virginia Woolf. He remembers he “was in high school, where a very
rough, difficult, slightly crazed girl with teased hair and long fingernails, who
used to hang around behind the gym and smoke cigarettes, proclaimed her to be a
genius.” Admitting that he was not particularly “bookish,” Cunningham found <u>Mrs.
Dalloway</u> in the local bookstore “and the book just nailed me; I’ve thought
about it almost constantly ever since” (PW 11/2/98).</p>
<p style="margin:0in;font-size:12pt;font-family:New serif;" class="ydp52e27567yiv3312551996MsoNormal"> </p>
<p style="margin:0in;font-size:12pt;font-family:New serif;" class="ydp52e27567yiv3312551996MsoNormal">It’s refreshing to me as a Virginia Woolf scholar to read a
male reader reading Woolf: a male reader, a novelist, a male-homosexual
reader-writer reading Woolf. In my attendance at the annual Virginia Woolf
Society Conference over the past nine years, I have always been struck by the
small number of men who attend or deliver papers. Is Virginia Woolf a gendered
novelist? Do only women read and like her?
I remember mentioning to a Dean in my college that I was writing a book
about Virginia Woolf. He looked at me patiently and said, “yes, my wife reads
Virginia Woolf.” Hmmm. But perhaps this is changing, and it is interesting that
some of the male readers who may be drawn to Woolf and the sexually-liberated
Bloomsberries are homosexual. Cunningham has also written, <u>Home at the End
of the World</u>, a well-received novel which presents in alternating voices,
the stories of two boys from Cleveland (one, gay) and their families,
reflecting new formations of gender and desire. It is this exploration of
gender and desire as well as Woolf that motivates Cunningham’s Pulitzer
prize-winning novel. Through reading Woolf and reinventing (and sometimes
parroting) some of her characters and stories, Michael Cunningham writes about
new kinds of heterosexual friendship as well as heterosexual and homosexual
romance. It is this that belongs to him.</p>
<p style="margin:0in;font-size:12pt;font-family:New serif;" class="ydp52e27567yiv3312551996MsoNormal"> </p>
<p style="margin:0in;font-size:12pt;font-family:New serif;" class="ydp52e27567yiv3312551996MsoNormal">But this is also a book about translation: “It is New York
City. It is the end of the twentieth century.” Cunningham translates the story
of a 1920’s London society hostess, Mrs. Dalloway, into an American context in
1990. <u>Mrs. Dalloway</u> is now Woolf’s hottest novel given Eileen Atkin’s
film version starring Vanessa Redgrave last year. In her <u>Diary</u>, Woolf
announces “I want to criticize the social system, & to show it at work” (D
2, 243-44) as well as sketch the society ladies she knew, like Sybil Colefax and
Lady Ottoline Morrell whose lives were shaped by giving parties. They were
women who like Clarissa “could feel nothing for the Albanians, or was it the
Armenians? but she loved her roses (didn’t that help the Armenians?)” (p.182). She
worried instead about the flowers, the silver, her dress, and most importantly,
the “art” of the guest list. For Mrs. Dalloway is Woolf’s exploration of the
“party consciousness” just as her other books explore other states of
mind. Woolf “deconstructs” the socialite
wife of Parlimentarian, Richard Dalloway. She “digs tunnels behind her
characters” and shows us that Mrs. Dalloway is a woman with a youthful past as
Clarissa, a beautiful vivacious young woman in love with both the intense Peter
and the scintillating Sally. Clarissa, it should be noted, is one of the few
married women in Woolf’s novels with a first name (i.e. Mrs. Ramsay). She is a
woman who finds that “death” happens into the middle of her party. She
overhears one of her guests, Dr. William Bradshaw, the psychiatrist, tell the
story of the sad, shell-shocked Septimus, returned soldier from World War I,
who has jumped to his death from a window that afternoon. And so, both the
party and death--“What a lark! What a plunge!” announces Mrs. Dalloway on the
first page of the novel--structures the novel.</p>
<p style="margin:0in;font-size:12pt;font-family:New serif;" class="ydp52e27567yiv3312551996MsoNormal"> </p>
<p style="margin:0in;font-size:12pt;font-family:New serif;" class="ydp52e27567yiv3312551996MsoNormal">Cunningham also uses this structure of the party and the
death in his novel. In fact, the structure, the themes, the characters, the
author as character, phrasings, and attempts at Woolf’s writing rhythm could
all be said to be derived—if we attend to slippery “origins.” But
deconstructionists have taught us that such pursuits are futile. Let’s observe
instead how successful Cunningham is in achieving his own effect intertwined as
he is with Woolf.</p>
<p style="margin:0in;font-size:12pt;font-family:New serif;" class="ydp52e27567yiv3312551996MsoNormal"> </p>
<p style="margin:0in;font-size:12pt;font-family:New serif;" class="ydp52e27567yiv3312551996MsoNormal">In his novel, he skillfully intertwines three stories all of
which happen on a single day, each told from a different woman’s point of view.
First, in Cunningham’s novel, there is the story of Woolf herself trying
desperately to work on her manuscript of <u>Mrs. Dalloway</u> in 1923 as she
deals with the distractions of a visit from her sister Vanessa and her husband
Leonard’s work on the Hogarth Press, a press they acquired in 1915 as part of
Virginia’s therapy. The second tale,
takes Woolf’s legendary character, Mrs. Brown, from a 1923 article, “Mr.
Bennett and Mrs. Brown,” in which Woolf queries how she, as a modernist author,
is to describe a dowdy woman whom she observes in the corner of a railway car.
It is an important essay in which Woolf sets out modernist principles for the
development of “character.” Here she
questions the Edwardian authors, John Galsworthy, Arnold Bennett and H. G.
Wells, who will describe the legendary Mrs. Brown according to “realist”
modes—where she resides, how much income she earns--what is she like from the
“outside.” Challenging this mode of character development, Woolf will advance
the modernist platform, and her interest in interiority. She will be interested
in what Mrs. Brown thinks and feels, or as described in another novel, “what is
unsaid.” Since this is a review that is not only about Cunningham reading
Woolf but I, as a critic and scholar,
reading Woolf and reading Cunningham reading Woolf, you may very well say,
“leave your knowledge of Mrs. Brown out
of this review.” But how can I? </p>
<p style="margin:0in;font-size:12pt;font-family:New serif;" class="ydp52e27567yiv3312551996MsoNormal"> </p>
<p style="margin:0in;font-size:12pt;font-family:New serif;" class="ydp52e27567yiv3312551996MsoNormal">The traces of Woolf’s Mrs. Brown and Woolf’s larger
fictional questions are present in my mind as I read Cunningham. How do we
describe and develop “character” in fiction. I read and observe Cunningham’s
transformation of Mrs. Brown from a frumpily dressed 1920’s Englishwoman in the
corner of a railway car to a 1990’s American housewife, mother of a young son,
Laura Brown. The translation of British themes and times, England in 1921 with
shell-shocked soldiers struggling with insanity just after the war, to the
America of the 1990’s experiencing an Aids epidemic and the fallout from the
women’s liberation movement of the 1960’s. The story of Laura Brown, the
depressed housewife, is the best of Cunningham’s three. Here he hits his OWN
stride. The plot is simple. Mrs. Brown is an unfulfilled housewife with a young
child who adores her (much like James with Mrs. Ramsay in <u>To the
Lighthouse</u>), pregnant with another child, living in Los Angeles. On this
particular morning in 1923, we find her planning a small party, a birthday
party, and attempting to make a proper cake. Delightfully (for all literary
mothers with such fantasies), she escapes her unsuccessful baking day to go off
to a hotel to rent a room (no. 19 where Doris Lessing also places her suicidal housewife)
for a few hours to read (can you guess?) <u>Mrs. Dalloway</u>. The wickedness
of modern brainy moms: an illicit day in June spent in a hotel room reading
Woolf. As Mrs. Dalloway says in Woolf’s novel, “It is very very dangerous to
live even one day.” And one of the messages of this novel is that reading can
sometimes save one from danger.</p>
<p style="margin:0in;font-size:12pt;font-family:New serif;" class="ydp52e27567yiv3312551996MsoNormal"> </p>
<p style="margin:0in;font-size:12pt;font-family:New serif;" class="ydp52e27567yiv3312551996MsoNormal">For in the third story in Cunningham’s novel that artfully
intertwines with the second, is about Richard, the young son of Laura Brown. He
has watched her every unhappy mood, thought and action with unnatural attention
and love, and he grows up to become a writer born of his mother, the reader. He
is now dying of Aids. One of his best friends is Clarissa Vaughan, a woman of
about fifty, a lesbian who lives in Greenwich Village, with whom he has shared
intimacy of a certain sort in youth. He is modelled on Peter in Woolf’s novel
but there is a homosexual reversal in the plot. Judith Butler’s challenge to
the “heterosexual matrix” of literature is actualized in Cunningham’s new glance
at relationships. The happiness of the traditional marriage plot (Laura Brown
and her husband) is reconsidered; homosexual relationships become more central. Clarissa, a lesbian in Cunningham’s novel is
planning a party for Richard who has just received a literary prize. But the
party never happens for this Richard like Septimus in Woolf’s novel plunges out
of a window to his death, unable to deal with his deteriorating physical
condition. Is there an implied connection implied between Laura Brown’s
depression, thoughts of suicide, and her son’s plunge to his death? In this
novel, the party, a metaphor for the continuing celebration of life, does not
prevail as it does in Woolf’s novel. The party never happens; death does. And
herein lies the difference between Woolf and Cunningham’s vision. </p>
<p style="margin:0in;font-size:12pt;font-family:New serif;"> </p>
<p style="margin:0in;font-size:12pt;font-family:New serif;" class="ydp52e27567yiv3312551996MsoNormal">His novel is the underside of Woolf’s: he teases out the
homosexual subtext that Woolf critics have observed. He plays upon the
knowledge of Woolf’s brief physical relationship with Vita SackvilleWest which began
in 1925 just when <u>Mrs. Dalloway</u> was published. Though Clarissa makes a
heterosexual choice in Woolf’s novel, Cunningham’s Clarissa and Richard make
another, questioning and creating new forms of romance and relationship,
culturally and fictionally.</p>
<p style="margin:0in;font-size:12pt;font-family:New serif;" class="ydp52e27567yiv3312551996MsoNormal"> </p>
<p style="margin:0in;font-size:12pt;font-family:New serif;" class="ydp52e27567yiv3312551996MsoNormal">But another reader, not the scholarly reader, but the
“common reader” might say to this reviewer: I’ve never really read Woolf. Or I
tried to read <u>To the</u> <u>Lighthouse</u> in college but nothing ever seems
to happen or didn’t Woolf commit suicide or wasn’t she a lesbian or I don’t
know who Mrs. Brown is or I’ve only seen the movie. Such a reader might say, “I
like Michael Cunningham’s novel because he helps me to read Woolf.” Woolf is
now so burdened with the cult of personality haunting most authors today: her
manic-depressive patterns, her notorious suicide, walking in a trance into the
River Ouse with her walking stick. Death in the middle of the river of her
words. Perhaps for these readers—for this essay is about different
readers—Michael Cunningham has done a service. We read a version of Woolf
through reading Michael Cunningham.</p>
<p style="margin:0in;font-size:12pt;font-family:New serif;" class="ydp52e27567yiv3312551996MsoNormal"> </p>
<p style="margin:0in;font-size:12pt;font-family:New serif;" class="ydp52e27567yiv3312551996MsoNormal">But for those of us who do read and love Woolf, Cunningham
can be clever, yes; imaginative, yes; slick, yes: a writer of ambition. Given
that he has created three ingenious plots and taken his characters and
inspiration from Woolf, what might we now say about his writing style and
presentation of mind on the page, Woolf’s great gifts to the twentieth-century
novel. Cunningham himself mentions in
interviews that he greatly admires her style and has ambitions to achieve it in
his own writing, and reviewers, in turn, praise his “poetic” style comparing it
to Woolf’s. Let’s compare parallel scenes to illuminate the differences.
Interestingly, as someone who knows Woolf’s novel well, one feels the ghostly
presence of Woolf throughout, as if Cunningham has Mrs. Dalloway open before
him as he pens his shadow novel. Let’s compare Cunningham’s passage about
Clarissa on 8<sup>th</sup> Street & 5<sup>th</sup> Avenue in New York with
Woolf’s Clarissa crossing Victoria Street in London:</p>
<p style="margin:0in;font-size:12pt;font-family:New serif;" class="ydp52e27567yiv3312551996MsoNormal"> </p>
<p style="margin:0in 0in 0in 1in;font-size:12pt;font-family:New serif;" class="ydp52e27567yiv3312551996MsoNormal">She straightens her shoulders as
she stands at the corner of Eighth Street and Fifth Avenue, waiting for the
light. There she is, thinks Willie Bass, who passes her some mornings just
about here. The old beauty, the old hippie, hair still long and defiantly gray,
out on her morning rounds in jeans and a man’s cotton shirt, some sort of
ethnic slippers (India? Central America?) on her feet. She still has a certain
sexiness; a certain bohemian, good-witch sort of charm; and yet this morning
she makes a tragic sight, standing so straight in her big shirt and exotic
shoes, resisting the pull of gravity, a female mammoth already up to its knees
in the tar, taking a rest between efforts, standing bulky and proud, almost
nonchalant, pretending to contemplate the tender grasses waiting on the far
bank when it is beginning to know for certain the it will remain here, trapped
and alone, after dark, when the jackals come out. She waits patiently for the
light. (Cunningham, p.13)</p>
<p style="margin:0in;font-size:12pt;font-family:New serif;" class="ydp52e27567yiv3312551996MsoNormal"> </p>
<p style="margin:0in;font-size:12pt;font-family:New serif;" class="ydp52e27567yiv3312551996MsoNormal"> </p>
<p style="margin:0in;font-size:12pt;font-family:New serif;" class="ydp52e27567yiv3312551996MsoNormal"> </p>
<p style="margin:0in;font-size:12pt;font-family:New serif;" class="ydp52e27567yiv3312551996MsoNormal"> </p>
<p style="margin:0in;font-size:12pt;font-family:New serif;" class="ydp52e27567yiv3312551996MsoNormal">Woolf’s Clarissa:</p>
<p style="margin:0in;font-size:12pt;font-family:New serif;" class="ydp52e27567yiv3312551996MsoNormal"> </p>
<p style="margin:0in 0in 0in 1in;font-size:12pt;font-family:New serif;" class="ydp52e27567yiv3312551996MsoNormal">She stiffened a little on the
kerb, waiting for Durtnall’s van to pass. A charming woman, Scrope Purvis
thought her (knowing her as one does know people who live next door to one in
Westminster); a touch of the bird about her, of the jay, blue-green, light,
vivacious, though she was over fifty, and grown very white since her illness.
There she perched, never seeing him, waiting to cross, very upright. </p>
<p style="margin:0in 0in 0in 1in;font-size:12pt;font-family:New serif;" class="ydp52e27567yiv3312551996MsoNormal"> For having lived in Westminster—how many
years now? Over twenty,--one feels even in the midst of the traffic, or waking
at night, Clarissa was positive, a particular hush, or solemnity; an
indescribable pause; a suspense (but that might be her heart, affected, they
said, by influenza) before Big Ben Strikes. There! (Woolf p. 4)</p>
<p style="margin:0in;font-size:12pt;font-family:New serif;" class="ydp52e27567yiv3312551996MsoNormal"> </p>
<p style="margin:0in;font-size:12pt;font-family:New serif;" class="ydp52e27567yiv3312551996MsoNormal">Woolf’s sentences here pass through time, minds, and emotion
as she collapses the partitions of the mind, boundaries between narrator and
characters, speech and thought, indeed, what is outward and what is inward. She
weaves in and out of different kinds of consciousness: from third person
narration to Scope Purvis’s mind, to the narrator’s brilliant metaphor that
merges narrator and character, to Clarissa’s mind. Deftly, she describes
Clarissa with “a touch of the bird about her, of the jay.” She is never
physically described; indeed Clarissa like many of Woolf’s characters does not
seem to have a body. On the other hand, note the leaden adjectives in Cunningham’s
description: his Clarissa “treads” the ground in ethnic slippers, “a female
mammoth,” with a slick “good-witch sort of charm.” Mired in literal, cliched adjectives,
Cunningham barely touches the flight of Woolf’s mind, sentences and metaphors.
And herein lies the difference. </p>
<p style="margin:0in;font-size:12pt;font-family:New serif;" class="ydp52e27567yiv3312551996MsoNormal"> </p>
<p style="margin:0in;font-size:12pt;font-family:New serif;" class="ydp52e27567yiv3312551996MsoNormal">Woolf said of her own writing of a morning: “style is a very
simple matter; it is all rhythm. Once you get that, you can’t use the wrong
words” (<u>Letters</u> III, p.242). Those who know the pulses of Woolf’s
scintillating, dancing sentences and expressions of mind and heart on the page
know that Cunningham--despite his accomplishments in this novel--does not get
the rhythm right.</p>
<p style="margin:0in;font-size:12pt;font-family:New serif;" class="ydp52e27567yiv3312551996MsoNormal"> </p>
<p style="margin:0in;font-size:12pt;font-family:New serif;" class="ydp52e27567yiv3312551996MsoNormal">1 Gerard Genette, <u>Figures of Literary Discourse</u>.
Trans. Alan Sheridan. New York: Columbia </p>
<p style="margin:0in;font-size:12pt;font-family:New serif;" class="ydp52e27567yiv3312551996MsoNormal"> UP, 1982, p.70. </p>
<p style="margin:0in;font-size:12pt;font-family:New serif;" class="ydp52e27567yiv3312551996MsoNormal"> </p>
<p style="margin:0in;font-size:12pt;font-family:New serif;" class="ydp52e27567yiv3312551996MsoNormal">Patricia Laurence,</p><p style="margin:0in;font-size:12pt;font-family:New serif;" class="ydp52e27567yiv3312551996MsoNormal">Professor Emerita</p>
<p style="margin:0in;font-size:12pt;font-family:New serif;" class="ydp52e27567yiv3312551996MsoNormal">English Department</p>
<p style="margin:0in;font-size:12pt;font-family:New serif;" class="ydp52e27567yiv3312551996MsoNormal">City College of New York</p><p style="margin:0in;font-size:12pt;font-family:New serif;"><i>English Literature in Translation</i> (2000)</p><p style="margin:0in;font-size:12pt;font-family:New serif;"><span style="font-size:12pt;"> </span></p>
<p style="margin:0in;font-size:12pt;font-family:New serif;" class="ydp52e27567yiv3312551996MsoNormal"> </p>
<p style="margin:0in;font-size:12pt;font-family:New serif;" class="ydp52e27567yiv3312551996MsoNormal"> </p>
<p style="margin:0in;font-size:12pt;font-family:New serif;" class="ydp52e27567yiv3312551996MsoNormal"> </p>
<p style="margin:0in;font-size:12pt;font-family:New serif;" class="ydp52e27567yiv3312551996MsoNormal"> </p>
<p style="margin:0in;font-size:12pt;font-family:New serif;" class="ydp52e27567yiv3312551996MsoNormal"> </p>
<p style="margin:0in;font-size:12pt;font-family:New serif;" class="ydp52e27567yiv3312551996MsoNormal"> </p>
<p style="margin:0in;font-size:12pt;font-family:New serif;" class="ydp52e27567yiv3312551996MsoNormal"> </p>
<p style="margin:0in;font-size:12pt;font-family:New serif;" class="ydp52e27567yiv3312551996MsoNormal"> </p>
<p style="margin:0in;font-size:12pt;font-family:New serif;" class="ydp52e27567yiv3312551996MsoNormal"> </p>
<p style="margin:0in;font-size:12pt;font-family:New serif;" class="ydp52e27567yiv3312551996MsoNormal"> </p>
<p style="margin:0in;font-size:12pt;font-family:New serif;" class="ydp52e27567yiv3312551996MsoNormal"> </p>
<p style="margin:0in;font-size:12pt;font-family:New serif;" class="ydp52e27567yiv3312551996MsoNormal"> </p>
<p style="margin:0in;font-size:12pt;font-family:New serif;" class="ydp52e27567yiv3312551996MsoNormal"> </p></div></div><br clear="none"><div class="ydp52e27567yiv3312551996gmail_quote"><div dir="ltr" class="ydp52e27567yiv3312551996gmail_attr">On Thu, Aug 10, 2023 at 1:29 PM Neverow, Vara S. via Vwoolf <<a shape="rect" href="mailto:vwoolf@lists.osu.edu" rel="nofollow" target="_blank">vwoolf@lists.osu.edu</a>> wrote:<br clear="none"></div><blockquote style="margin:0px 0px 0px 0.8ex;border-left:1px solid rgb(204,204,204);padding-left:1ex;" class="ydp52e27567yiv3312551996gmail_quote"><div>
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Online ones would be more fun…. !!! Vara Neverow (she/her/hers) Professor, English Department and Women’s and Gender Studies Program Managing Editor, Virginia Woolf Miscellany Southern Connecticut State University New Haven, CT 06515 203-392-6717
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<div dir="ltr">Online ones would be more fun….!!!</div>
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<div id="ydp52e27567yiv3312551996m_-6741551133596493666m_-8763060571057543079m_6736838361146501281ms-outlook-mobile-signature">
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<div style="direction:ltr;">Vara Neverow</div>
<div style="direction:ltr;text-align:left;">(she/her/hers)</div>
<div style="direction:ltr;text-align:left;">Professor, <span style="font-size:inherit;">English Department and Women’s and Gender Studies Program</span></div>
<div style="direction:ltr;text-align:left;"><span style="font-size:inherit;">Managing Editor, Virginia Woolf Miscellany</span><span style="font-size:inherit;"> </span></div>
<div style="direction:ltr;">Southern Connecticut State University </div>
<div style="direction:ltr;text-align:left;"><span style="font-size:inherit;">New Haven, CT 06515</span><br clear="none">
</div>
<div style="direction:ltr;">203-392-6717</div>
<div style="direction:ltr;text-align:left;"><a shape="rect" href="mailto:neverowv1@southernct.edu" rel="nofollow" target="_blank">neverowv1@southernct.edu</a></div>
<div style="direction:ltr;text-align:left;"><br clear="none">
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<div style="direction:ltr;text-align:left;">I acknowledge that Southern Connecticut State University was built on traditional territory of the indigenous peoples and nations of the Paugusett and Quinnepiac peoples.</div>
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<div dir="ltr" id="ydp52e27567yiv3312551996m_-6741551133596493666m_-8763060571057543079m_6736838361146501281divRplyFwdMsg"><font face="Calibri, sans-serif" style="font-size:11pt;" color="#000000"><b>From:</b> Vwoolf <<a shape="rect" href="mailto:vwoolf-bounces@lists.osu.edu" rel="nofollow" target="_blank">vwoolf-bounces@lists.osu.edu</a>> on behalf of Mark Hussey via Vwoolf <<a shape="rect" href="mailto:vwoolf@lists.osu.edu" rel="nofollow" target="_blank">vwoolf@lists.osu.edu</a>><br clear="none">
<b>Sent:</b> Thursday, August 10, 2023 1:27:26 PM<br clear="none">
<b>To:</b> <a shape="rect" href="mailto:vwoolf@lists.osu.edu" rel="nofollow" target="_blank">vwoolf@lists.osu.edu</a> <<a shape="rect" href="mailto:vwoolf@lists.osu.edu" rel="nofollow" target="_blank">vwoolf@lists.osu.edu</a>><br clear="none">
<b>Subject:</b> [Vwoolf] BBC Culture on The Hours</font>
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I am seeing refs to this article pop up in various places, and wondered what people think of the headline’s accuracy: did The Hours (I guess they really mean Nicole Kidman’s portrayal of VW in the film) really “change how
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<p>I am seeing refs to this article pop up in various places, and wondered what people think of the headline’s accuracy: did
<i>The Hours</i> (I guess they really mean Nicole Kidman’s portrayal of VW in the film) really “change how we see” VW? Offline responses welcome!</p>
<p> </p>
<p><a shape="rect" href="https://urldefense.com/v3/__https://www.bbc.com/culture/article/20230808-the-hours-at-25-the-book-that-changed-how-we-see-virginia-woolf__;!!KGKeukY!w5PVwvRZFQykXOrinAgSOKgcVuep8KtG_uyBIN2_DYpnUfd9xGQ1QtQAvolGGnzW_TN93bZ4PxNdejQl3hc9Zg$" rel="nofollow" target="_blank">https://www.bbc.com/culture/article/20230808-the-hours-at-25-the-book-that-changed-how-we-see-virginia-woolf</a></p>
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