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A review by youngdumbandbooks
A Room of One's Own by Virginia Woolf
funny
hopeful
informative
inspiring
reflective
medium-paced
3.5
there is a scene in a room of one's own where the narrator was denied entry to a library because she wasn't accompanied by a man of the college or furnished with a letter of introduction. a prestigious library with its treasures of books does not allow a woman entering it, unless she is accompanied by a man. there is another part where a man is horrified to see the narrator on the "turf" since the gravel (more uncomfortable path) is the one for a woman.
a room of one's own is fierce and humourous in its account of how, since time immemorial women are deprived of freedom and dignity. there is something metaphorical in the way woolf says a woman can't write fiction unless she has a room of her own and five hundred a year. we could take this "room" to be her freedom. woolf points out how women are the villains in fiction, she is honoured and dignified in it, when in reality she is absent and indecorous. she uses the concept of an imaginary sister of shakespeare to prove that "women cannot write fiction as good as a man" because she is not given the opportunity.
this essay is beautifully executed and the opulent use of examples and anecdotes made it all the more appealing. however, it did not acquire a place in my all-time favourites. it's disquietingly white and i'm not a fan of white feminism. you could say intersectional feminism was not "popular" or "known" back then...but i won't endure all the whiteness in this. she just erased the whole existence of women of color in this essay. not a word is uttered about race because apparently she thought the essay is *only* about gender equality. it is late 1920s or the early 1930s that we're talking about...
in short, a lot of relevant points are depicted in this 93 pages long book, nothing is talked about race, and a man's way of writing is refreshing since he has the freedom of mind is pointed out.
Oh also, fuck patriarchy.
a room of one's own is fierce and humourous in its account of how, since time immemorial women are deprived of freedom and dignity. there is something metaphorical in the way woolf says a woman can't write fiction unless she has a room of her own and five hundred a year. we could take this "room" to be her freedom. woolf points out how women are the villains in fiction, she is honoured and dignified in it, when in reality she is absent and indecorous. she uses the concept of an imaginary sister of shakespeare to prove that "women cannot write fiction as good as a man" because she is not given the opportunity.
this essay is beautifully executed and the opulent use of examples and anecdotes made it all the more appealing. however, it did not acquire a place in my all-time favourites. it's disquietingly white and i'm not a fan of white feminism. you could say intersectional feminism was not "popular" or "known" back then...but i won't endure all the whiteness in this. she just erased the whole existence of women of color in this essay. not a word is uttered about race because apparently she thought the essay is *only* about gender equality. it is late 1920s or the early 1930s that we're talking about...
in short, a lot of relevant points are depicted in this 93 pages long book, nothing is talked about race, and a man's way of writing is refreshing since he has the freedom of mind is pointed out.
Oh also, fuck patriarchy.