Vita and Virginia met in December of 1922, and not long after they begun a friendship, that turned into an intimacy - at times sexual, but most of theVita and Virginia met in December of 1922, and not long after they begun a friendship, that turned into an intimacy - at times sexual, but most of the time not - that would last until Virginia's suicide in 1941.
Their letters to each other bear witness to this intimacy. Here they share everyday events, thoughts on writing, on books (their own and others), but also a longing, a yearning, for each other.
There's a case to be made that what Vita and Virginia felt for each other transcended the normal affair one would have, and many of those affairs Vita ended up having with other women while she knew Virginia. Theirs was not a fascination only, of bodies or sexual desire, it was also a fascination with the other, as a woman, an artist and as a person in the world.
Virginia seems fascinated with Vitas self-assurance, her dominance, and her womanliness. And also, the foreword suggest, a craving for Vitas maternal instinct, as Virginia had grown up largely without a mother.
Vita, on the other hand, seems fascinated with Virginia The Writer, the Artist and the genius, as well as the childlike aspect of her. It was, at times, perhaps, a game of dominance and compliance.
At least they seem to desire something from the other, that goes beyond the physical and beyond being in love. Which might also explain why, although Vita had other affairs with other women, Virginia was never abandoned.
Their letters showcase the intelligence, wit and humour of both, as well as their literary prowess. Virginia especially seems to be able to peer through the letters and into Vitas inner thoughts. Their letters are always a delight, and often moving, touching and simply beautiful:
"I am reduced to a thing that wants Virginia. I composed a beautiful letter to you in the sleepless nightmare hours of the night, and it has all gone: I just miss you, in a quite desperate human way. [...] It is incredible how essential to me you have become. I suppose you are accustomed to people saying these things. Damn you, spoilt creature; I shan't make you love me any the more by giving myself away like this - But oh my dear, I can't be clever and stand-offish with you: i love you too much for that. Too truly. You have no idea how stand-offish I can be with people I don't love. I have brought it to a fine art. But you have broken down my defences. And I don't really resent it."
But these letters also show us a deep love and appreciation of the other. They marked and formed each other in a myriad of ways. And Virginia ends up writing Orlando a story about Vita. Vita who seemed, all her life, to struggle with the fact of being woman, which meant she could never inherit her family's estate, Knole, which instead went to her uncle. In Orlando Virginia "rights" that wrong, by making Orlando first a man and then a woman, thereby giving Vita in fiction, what she could not gain in real life.
Vita, more so than Virginia, seemed to struggle with sexuality and gender. Both of them seemed to exist outside of what was the norm, but especially Vita. Vita, whose bisexuality was far from accepted by society, and who felt the shame of being a woman in that her inheritance had been taken from her. This struggle between the "feminine" and "masculine" might have obscured the real Vita, the one that could have gotten to the depths of Virginia. Both Vita and her husband, Harold Nicholson, had affairs with both men and women, and didn't seem to mind much when the other found someone new. Harold, at one point, writes to Virginia:
"I am glad that Vita has come under an influence so stimulating and so sane... You need never worry about my having any feelings except a longing that Vita's life should be as rich and sincere as possible. I loathe jealousy as I loathe all forms of disease."
Their love was progressive, as, I think, was the love between Virginia and Vita. It seemed to transcend whatever got between them, be it other women or disagreements. Theirs seems to be a deep, devoted love. Many of their letters bear the mark of their longing, sometimes physical, sometimes just a longing of the mind of the other.
As much as they were fascinated with particular aspects of the other - The Woman, The Artist, The Genius - they also simply loved each other deeply and seemed to need each other in a very human way.
Their letters are some of my favorite things in the world. A great argument for keeping the epistolary tradition alive. ...more
It’s always sobering to read accounts of war. I’ve never been good at understanding the political reasoning or military strategy that lies at the backIt’s always sobering to read accounts of war. I’ve never been good at understanding the political reasoning or military strategy that lies at the back of every battle, every advance and every retreat. But I’ve always been interested in the personal stories, in the individual soldiers who fought these battles and lived (or didn’t) through the horrors and the blood.
“Would they never stop, everywhere there was flying and falling shrapnel, whizzing stones and whirr of machine gun bullets, and above all this whistling, screaming, shrieking above all noise of our gunfire the never ending, ear-splitting explosion of heavy bombs. “ (WWII)
This is a compilation of letters home from British Soldiers. It spans the first two world wars, and very briefly touches on the other wars from after WWII till now. There’s a good and very varied selection of letters, from all the continents they fought in, there are letters from privates, officers, medics, nurses and even reverends. It paints a very detailed and highly personal picture of these wars. It also highlights the personal tragedies, traumas and experiences these soldiers had to go through. It’s so easy to think of wars in terms of battles, statistics, politics, ground advances and losses, and forget the individuals on the frontlines. This is a great tribute to the humans who go through the Hell that it is.
Every section begins with a brief summary of the war, how it started, the major battles and how it ended. Every letter is also preceded by a brief explanation, so we know what context to read it in. Sometimes the letters are also followed by a small paragraph telling us if the soldier in question made it home or not. Not knowing this from the beginning is sort of emotional blackmail, but also really powerful, because no other writing format makes people come alive like letters, and to then find out they were later killed... It’s heartbreaking, as it should be.
It’s incredibly interesting to read their accounts, because while history books strive to be objective, these letters are the exact opposite. They might try to describe their experiences in as neutral terms as possible (to not worry the recipient of the letter), but their personal beliefs and feelings shine through.
There are first-hand accounts of events that I’ve only heard about, such as the 1914 Christmas truce,
“I think I have seen one of the most extraordinary sights today that anyone has ever seen. About 10 o’clock this morning I was peeping over the parapet when I saw a German waving his arms and presently two of them got out of their trenches and come towards ours – we were just going to fire on them when we saw they had no rifles so one of our men went out to meet them and in about two minutes the ground between the two lines of trenches was swarming with men and officers of both sides shaking hands and wishing each other a happy Christmas. (…) It is really very extraordinary that this sort of thing should happen in a war which there is so much bitterness and ill feeling. The Germans in this part of the line are certainly sportsmen if they are nothing else.”
These letters also highlight how incredibly different each soldier felt towards the war, and having to fight in it,
“I really do feel that I’m lucky to be here, and that after all it’s something beside beastly slaughter. It’s sort of taking part in the biggest game [that] ever happened, and the whole place has no room for any petty or artificial feelings. One is rock-bottom all the time…” (WWI)
“The Army is undeniably the most dismal experience I have had yet… I haven’t got the faintest enthusiasm about this war; and I feel pretty sure now that the question is not whether we shall win or lose, but whether we shall lose or just manage to save our bacon.” (WWI)
War also seems to bring out a lot of introspection, going from being an inch from death, to being bored and waiting for new orders, you have plenty of time to realize you might not make it back and to appreciate the life you have more fully,
“It is a peculiar thing, though, whilst on the subject of humour, that we are finding that we laugh much more readily these days at things that normally we would consider merely amusing. Maybe our sense of appreciation is becoming less critical…” (WWII)
And of course, the thing that kept so many going, the hope of returning to a loved one and live a life in peace,
“The most real and living thing in the life that I’ve had has been you, Phyl Kirby. I have loved you so that I haven’t words left to say. And I believe it’s so much in the soul of me that it will always stay with me. I don’t know what heaven I’ll go to (the immodesty of man) but I fancy something simple, with a river, and lots of green. And I know you’ll be there. If there be a god – and there must be and if there be a heaven – and there must be – then, too, there must be us.” (WWII)
I only wish they’d added more correspondence from soldiers in the wars spanning the end of WWII to now. I realize letters are a dying art, but I think the addition of a few emails would have been interesting, of course, it is personal correspondence, and I don’t blame them for not wanting it in a book when it’s still so fresh.
For anyone interested in these wars, this is a very good read. Of course it’s only letters from British troops, but I feel that in this particular area it doesn’t matter if you’re British, American or anything else, those letters will all feel the same. We are only human after all. ...more
"You must think that something is happening to you, that life has not forgotten you, that it holds you in its hand, it will not let you fall."
I always"You must think that something is happening to you, that life has not forgotten you, that it holds you in its hand, it will not let you fall."
I always imagined this as a directed towards those who wish to write. An inspiring collection of letters for aspiring artists. Instead it seems rather to be everyone. It does have some fundamental and key pieces of advice that I imagine will be of some or even great use to writers and artists out there. I didn't agree with all of it, but it raises questions that are worth answering, even if the answer is "I disagree".
But most of all it taught me something about how to exist in the world. How to consolidate and engage with conflicting emotions, how to grapple with loneliness, sadness and pain, and how to put a little trust in life. Not life as in what happens to you, but life as in being alive. Being a living organism. I want to say the act of being alive, but it's not an act at all, it's an inescapable reality that we often and sometimes desperately try to avoid all the same. This is a great tragedy, Rilke says. Or, I think that's what he says.
What I gathered from this (at this time, at some other time I will gather something else) is that being alive can and should be an act. You can do it, you can be alive, willfully and deliberately. You can let what happens to you happen to you in the truest possible way. Be in it. Trust that this moment and all that's in it, however painful or joyous or inexplicable, will carry you to the next moment, and that if you learn to feel your aliveness, learn to see the beauty that is undoubtedly all around you, life will be a little better, a little more bearable. And, quite possibly, you will become a better artist.
This idea to reconcile our conflicting parts with the world and with ourselves, to extend grace to those around us even if we feel removed from them, to allow ourselves to be in the world as we are and let that move us forward.
"We have no reason to be mistrustful of our world, for it is not against us. If it holds terrors they are our terrors, if it has abysses these abysses belong to us, if there are dangers then we must try to love them."
I wish I had read this ten years ago, when I was a tortured twenty-year-old. It would've helped me immensely. But I have it now and I don't think it's lesser for that at all. It's a collection that does not grow stale, but breathes along with us as we get older.
And perhaps I've misread it all (a real possibility, I'm often a somewhat careless reader). Nevertheless it has given me something like hope, and someday I will return to these letters and rediscover something else - either Rilke's true intentions or some new meaning I can accidentally attribute to his words.
"I should like to ask you [...] to be patient towards all that is unresolved in your heart and to try to love the questions themselves like locked rooms, like books written in a foreign language. Do not strive to uncover answers; they cannot be given you because you have not been able to live them. And what matters is to live everything. Live the questions for now."...more