I’ve read a fair few biographies of (and books about) Virginia Woolf, but somehow I always keep going back for more. I’ve also met Alexandra Harris once or twice over the years, so it was sort of inevitable that one day I’d read Virginia Woolf (2011) by Alexandra Harris, published in a rather lovely hardback, and which I found in Brighton a year or two ago.
Considering how many long books have been written about Woolf, I wasn’t sure how Harris would get her complex and significant life into 170 pages. But what a staggering achievement Virginia Woolf is – this isn’t just the essentials (though it includes that); somehow, miraculously, Harris has still accompanied those with insights into the literature and a wonderful freshness to the whole thing. It steers between the Hermione Lee school of biography (every footstep requires three footnotes) and the ‘She must have felt…’ school of biography – into something approachable, concise, and extremely thoughtful.
Having read it today, I’m still not sure how Harris managed to get so much into so few pages. There are certainly books that get more treatment than others – Orlando gets a lot; A Room of One’s Own is rushed past – but nothing felt completely overlooked. There’s even a chapter on the afterlifes of Woolf, and how the publishing of her letters and diaries, and various biographies about her, have helped shape her reputation. Virginia Woolf is a brilliant starting point for anybody interested in her life and work – but, what is more, it’s also a vital and beautiful book for even the dyed-in-the-Woolf reader, however much they’ve already read about her.