The Waves – novel or poem?

Is it a novel? Is it a poem? What exactly was Virginia Woolf trying to achieve when she wrote The Waves?

In his review in the New York Times in October 1931, critic Louis Kronenberger wrote:

“This prose, this imagery, is not in other words a medium, but an end in itself. The texture of the prose is a warp of sensory impressions woven into woof of poetical abstraction. As prose it has very often a high distinction–it is clear, bright, burnished, at once marvelously accurate and subtly connotative. The pure, delicate sensibility found in this language and the moods that it expresses are a true kind of poetry. And since literature comes before the novel, and “The Waves” reaches the level of literature, whether it is a good or bad novel, or any novel at all, is not really important. Bernard’s summing up at the end, for instance, of what their lives have meant–a cohesive, exquisite and sometimes moving stretch of writing–must be allowed, if no precedent exists for it, to set its own.”

Over the years The Waves has remained one of Woolf’s lesser-known works, perhaps because it defies categorisation and lacks the narrative unity of novels such as Mrs Dalloway and To the Lighthouse. Yes, it can seem difficult, but it is also extraordinarily beautiful, the writing complex and daring. There will be much to discuss during our time in St Ives and two places remain on the Salon study this October!

Midsummer writing . . .

Photo by Zoltan Tasi on Unsplash

June rolls on, and suddenly it’s the middle of summertime in the northern hemisphere – longest day of the year, midpoint of the year. The peak of solar energy, the green stuff bursts forth. Celebrating the Solstice means observing fire and our great living sun, not just literally (our inexorable connection to the sun as a life source), but also figuratively (illumination of the mind, the soul).

Like literature. It’s no stretch that I’m thinking about my favourite midsummer novel, Joyce’s Ulysses – not only 16 June, just a few days before the Summer Solstice in Dublin, but also the longest day in literature (Stephen Dedalus notes at the end of Proteus: “By the way next when is it? Tuesday will be the longest day.”)  It is indeed a long day for Bloom: it’s between 8 and 9.00pm in Nausicaa when he says “Long day I’ve had.”

Readers know there’s still a long way to go! It will be a few hours and a few hundred pages until “the heaventree of stars hung heavy with humid nightblue fruit.” This, my favourite line in the novel comes near the end of that long midsummer day and captures a moment of noticing. An observation of the glorious evening sky. For me, it’s something about seeing the cosmos as a tree that roots me in my tiny here and now every time. It’s perspective. And something about that humid nightblue fruit nourishes . . .

There is still time to book a place on Alison Cable’s three-session Midsummer Writing study running on 14, 21 and 28 June.

Calling all Joyce enthusiasts – Bloomsday looms!

Salon Director Toby Brothers & salonista Sheila Fitzgerald celebrating Bloomsday 2021

Ulysses – the story of Leopold Bloom’s day-long Dublin odyssey on 16 June 1904 – was published in February 1922, making this year’s Bloomsday the one-hundredth anniversary.

A quick reminder of some of the Salon-related celebrations taking place over the coming week (click on links for more information):

Meanwhile, a group of enthusiastic salonistas will be visiting Dublin to join the festivities on location . . .

Enjoy!

Item added to cart.
0 items - £0.00