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Tag Archives: Virginia Woolf

Nonfiction Notebooks

The Atlantic’s dark salty crests, the screaming children, my first cold plunge, altered my studious mood like a tonic, cleared the must from my head, and refreshed my subway-sticky skin. Here, I had arrived in a new corner of the world, loud and fresh, jolting me from my library solitude.

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Mere Sensibilities

Reading a writer’s posthumous diary is a guilty undertaking—absorbing words I was never meant to see, glimpsing the private corners of a mind I was never meant to explore.