I really cannot remember where I picked up Moments of Being: Unpublished Autobiographical Writings by Virginia Woolf, a series of manuscripts from the late author introduced, edited, and noted by Jeanne Schulkind. On the inside some marks suggest it belonged to someone else before me; in the list of books by Woolf nine have a check mark in pen beside them, there are a few instances where things are underlined by that same pen, and once I saw a question mark from the same hand. I can't remember from where I picked it up, but it was surely for little or no cost. It's a hardcover with no cover save for the board, and the fabric-bound spine has been completely worn to the point of illegibility.
The book had been sitting on my shelf with no external signifiers until I picked it up on the first of July. It did not take too long to read, it's just I spaced out those sessions considerably. I have a particular memory of the book: when I read the first chapter I told a friend about the harsh expectations for Woolf after the death of her mother and half-sister, today I told the same friend about how Woolf's tragic molestation was written about so frankly.
Though almost a century apart from my own time and incomplete, I was impressed with the pieces glimpsed of Virginia Woolf's memoirs from "Moments of Being". Weirdly, this is my first experience reading Woolf's writing. Perhaps an inaccessible reading because of how the text is cobbled together and reliant on a knowledge of Woolf's biography, though I came to grasp it quickly and with eagerness.
In her adolescence, Virginia occupies a precarious position in her family alongside her sister Vanessa; Virginia presents this source of tension so completely and with thorough attention. Virginia was molested by her half-brothers and even when not on the page, their non-presence is eerie and casts a shadow. Likewise, but for different reasons, her deceased mother and half-sister haunt Virginia and her father burdens her. I was really taken in by these relationships and wanted to know all about the people. I looked a lot up because of this book. The characters of Virginia's life are rendered absolutely real, with no flaws withheld, but it does not detract from their wholeness. I mean that in the sense that despite all the things to go through someone's head, Virginia presents them in service of a point about this person in the world.
In the text, Woolf makes a comparison to Charles Dickens and his frank, genuine caricatures of people, which she does emulate. I found it charming and well-done. Yes, there are dark moments, but not without meaning. Her voice is interior-facing in many moments but I didn't find it suffocating or particularly over-indulgent except in a few instances that exemplify the ignorance of the time and of her station in life. But again, that is the context she was borne into. Despite some of those moments there are also pieces which not only hold up as applicable to our age, but demonstrate an excellent translation of her contemporary issues that can only come from deep understanding.
From childhood to adult life, she has such a handle on those aptly named moments of being that define a person so. It is incredible to think about just how universal her experiences of patriarchy, being stifled, young adulthood, navigating society, her burdens, her memories, and her perception of how we live are, despite the memoir being so thoroughly enmeshed in upper-class Victorian society, which Woolf is aware of (and critiques), but does not harp on. It makes it all the easier to take in. The chapter "A Sketch of the Past" was a definite peak for my reading experience but that part of the book is bookended by necessary insight into the other parts of Woolf's life. They are shorter, but not equipped with the same tenacity in communicating a point.
I should write why I did not rate the book higher (I gave it 3.75 stars). Not all essays of Woolf's were equally sharp nor captivating. This figures as the manuscripts are cobbled together. Schulkind admits this in her constant footnotes. And even in moments where Virginia's voice is interesting and easy to follow, it is verbose and unedited. She is introspective which works to her advantage; in the context of her writing about her family it is a total boon. But she is not interested in investigating everything in these drafts, so a lot feels lost despite so many excellent moments of reflection.
I haven't written a true, long, book review since grade school. If I can be a little hard on myself, I think that's obvious! I'm still finding my voice. Right now I'm worried about sounding too pretentious and overusing certain vocabulary. Despite the former concern, the formality comes from a place of honesty. Let me know if you've read Virginia Woolf; I might read more of her work.