Virginia Woolf's On Being Ill engages, delights, confuses, conspires, and again delights readers in only 24 short pages. Her artful yet very precise use of language could do it singlehandedly; because her writing is also very insightful I think she's rightly been deemed a "masterful" writer.
I enjoyed the essay but wonder what it will do to my perspective as I continue to tackle my reading list.
Maybe I'll be quicker to close a book that's not quite as engaging. Maybe I'll be smarter in my picks in the first place. Or maybe an essay like this is the protein-rich fortification my brain needs; but I'll still reach for the "snacks" on the shelf, and enjoy those too...
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