I have decided to add Virginia Woolf to my book collecting
frenzy, yes, some days it is a lot like a frenzy of sorts. It is like
that old saying, the calm before the storm. All I know is one
minute everything is calm, no problems, and then, in a flash, I have
decided to check out something by Virginia Woolf. One thing leads to
another, and the next thing I know I am possessed by the urge to collect all the books I want, need, can afford by Virginia Woolf, for my collection. Of course this is impossible. Really, I don't want
every single book that has ever been printed, just all of her titles,
preferably first editions. But due to the fact that I do not have
thousands of dollars to spend on one book, I must settle for first editions of
later publishings or first editions that may be a little
rough around the edges.
Hey, maybe I am just slightly obsessive compulsive? But it is impossible not to be obsessed after reading anything by Ms. Woolf who had the power to memorize and export one to another world; the world where her characters reside.
I know that after reading about the successful suicide attempt of Virginia Woolf, I feel that I need to do something to honor her. As I read and collect her books I feel that in some way I am making her death amount to something. Yes, this may sound crazy and it is horrible to think of her dying in vain, although her literary genius should and most definitely does count for something. But even this is irrelevant, as it does not make it any easier for those who lost the presence of someone who contributed so much to the literary world. The demand for her books within the world of the bibliophile is awe-inspiring. I really wish she was here to see the full impact that her work has had on the world. I also wish that she could have found a solution to the psychologically and spiritual disarray that she experienced while alive.
May you finally rest in peace Virginia.
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