The Voyage Out

As the streets that lead from the Strand to the Embankment are very narrow, it is better not to walk down them arm-in-arm. If you persist, lawyers' clerks will have to make flying leaps into the mud; young lady typists will have to fidget behind you. In the streets of London where beauty goes unregarded, eccentricity must pay the penalty, and it is better not to be very tall, to wear a long blue cloak, or to beat the air with your left hand. One afternoon in the beginning of October when the traffic was becoming brisk a tall man strode along the edge of the pavement with a lady on his arm. Angry glances struck upon their backs. The small, agitated figures - for in comparison with this couple most people looked small - decorated with fountain pens, and burdened with despatch-boxes, had appointments to keep, and drew a weekly salary, so that there was some reason for the unfriendly stare which was bestowed upon Mr. Ambrose's height and upon Mrs. Ambrose's cloak. But some enchantment had put both man and woman beyond the reach of malice and unpopularity. In his guess one might guess from the moving lips that it was thought; and in hers from the eyes fixed stonily straight in front of her at a level above the eyes of most that it was sorrow. It was only by scorning all she met that she kept herself from tears, and the friction of people brushing past her was evidently painful. After watching the traffic on the Embankment for a minute or two with a stoical gaze she twitched her husband's sleeve, and they crossed between the swift discharge of motor cars. When they were safe on the further side, she gently withdrew her arm from his, allowing her mouth at the same time to relax, to tremble; then tears rolled down, and leaning her elbows on the balustrade, she shielded her face from the curious. Mr. Ambrose attempted consolation; he patted her shoulder; but she showed no signs of admitting him, and feeling it awkward to stand beside a grief that was greater than his, he crossed his arms behind him, and took a turn along the pavement.

Virginia Woolf, born Adeline Virginia Stephen on January 25, 1882, in London, England, was a prominent English writer and a pivotal figure in the modernist literary movement of the early 20th century. Woolf is best known for her innovative narrative techniques, including stream-of-consciousness and her profound explorations of the inner lives of her characters. Woolf's literary career began with her first novel, The Voyage Out (1915), but she is best known for her later works, which include Mrs. Dalloway (1925): A novel that delves into the thoughts and experiences of its characters on a single day in London. To the Lighthouse (1927): A novel that explores the complexities of family dynamics and the passage of time. Orlando (1928): A fantastical biography that follows its protagonist through several centuries and gender transformations. A Room of One's Own (1929): An extended essay that argues for the importance of financial independence and private space for women writers. The Waves (1931): A novel written in a poetic, stream-of-consciousness style, exploring the inner lives of six characters. Virginia Woolf's influence extends far beyond her literary contributions. She is considered a feminist icon, particularly for her advocacy for women's intellectual freedom and creative expression, as articulated in works like "A Room of One's Own." Virginia Woolf remains a central figure in literary history, celebrated for her contributions to modernist literature and her insightful explorations of human consciousness and social issues.