feminish

I’ve just put together a Three Guineas Redux. Everything I wanted to know about Woolf’s book on Wednesday, but has taken me four days to dig up and distill. I’ve written it because, firstly, my mind is not unlike a sieve and, second, because it’s so good I want the gems of the book to be available to those (like me, last year) who want to read it, to really take savour every word, but just don’t have the time. So it’s partly to remember and partly to cheat.

After all, there’s only so many hours on buses and the tube topping-and-tailing a working day. And in any case, when I was on the beloved numbers 8 and 38 in London Town I’d prefer to rest my dreary computered eyes and quietly soak in the metropolitan company. I had newspapers at breakfast, precious few moments at lunch, Gun Street Girls at tea-time and a lover in bed - no wonder I never finished Elaine Showalter’s Inventing Herself or ever started Hannah Arendt’s The Human Condition.

So please check it out and let me know what you think: » Three Guineas Redux

If you like it, I’ll do you another. Maybe even a Second Sex Redux, if I dare…