Book Review: A Room of One’s Own
I don’t know what I was expecting when I started reading this. I knew that Virginia Woolf was one of the foremost feminist writers of her day; that being said, she would very much disagree with being called a ‘feminist’. Her views on women’s rights were akin to human rights for the benefit of all. I’m not sure what she would think of society today in a 21st-century context. Progressive? Definitely. But would she agree with the discourse, with the debate or even the voices of women of colour? I’m not entirely convinced that people of colour were on her radar when she was talking about women’s rights.
It turned out that ‘A Room of One’s Own’ is more of a lecture - a rambling speech to the women of the time, or at least the ones who were willing to listen about literature, art and philosophy. A woman’s place in the world, those who think they know what it is, and therefore reinforce the status quo while simultaneously challenging the ideas of the day. She is one smart cookie. There is no doubt about it. Virginia Woolf is one very talented, inquisitive tour de force. But she is one of the lucky ones. There is a moment in her lecture where she wonders how many smart women in history had their genius stifled because they were not born with a penis between their legs? Probably too many to count. Too many were not born in the right class, and even the ones that were were more likely relegated to reading Latin Bibles and stitching tapestries of religious scenes than engaging with bishops, kings, popes and politicians about key problems and legislation of the day. What a pity. What a waste of human potential. And here I am inclined to agree.
There is also another point to make: Woolf speaks only to women who have the privilege of attending university. Indeed, her lecture is to the women of Cambridge University, not that these women will even be given degrees, but the point remains. Woolf never went to a formal school because of her status as a woman. The women of Cambridge were in a precarious position; they made it to Cambridge, but there was a debate back then about whether women actually deserved to be there. Is the learning too much for their feeble minds or whatever patriarchal bullshit was being spewed at the time? We also need to look at how women are written and painted. Women are ethereal, magical and mysterious beings when we think of them in art - just take a walk around the hallowed halls of The National Gallery, The Louvre or The Met. Beauty in art is almost unattainable - how can a woman compete? Then we have literature; if gothic romantic fiction has taught us anything, it is that women are foolish, fickle creatures and are concerned with husband hunting, the bad and altogether bad decisions waiting for the righteous man to come and sweep her off her feet and just make the entire situation better. Bish bash bosh, happily ever after. TADAHHHHH and all is right with the world. ’Tis not the case, I’m afraid, and by all accounts Woolf is thoroughly sick of it. Good lord, imagine what she’d have said about Disney Princesses… one shudders to think.
So what do I think of this essay in the grand scheme of things? Woolf was writing to the modern women of her time. Albeit a very select few women who had a certain amount of privilege. Independence was the great dream. Many women today, all over the world, have achieved that feat. Sure, there is still a long way to go, but the mountain is not as insurmountable as it once seemed. Definitely a book of its time, but no less important.