Thursday, September 8, 2011

Sally and Clarissa, Septimus and Evans

What are these relationship...? Apparently, Woolf wants our opinions and therefore she gives us no definite proof of homosexuality or to the contrary. Which gives our minds the sometimes dangerous freedom to examine the evidence and anecdotes and ultimately make judgements for ourselves.
I think the point is that it really doesn't matter. Clarissa even comments on how there is something more pure about a relationship without a title. Which is an interesting idea. I mean so many relationships in high school are only titles. Two people say they're dating... But they aren't actually. On the other hand, you don't put a "title" on it but often friendships are much more meaningful than relationships.
Even if any of the four wanted to dub their relationship, if in fact the relationship was homosexual and no just homosocial, none of the above would have had the vocabulary to give it a name. To them, there would have really been no concept of homosexual relationships. But maybe that's whats so pure and strong about the bond between both pairs. Its new and unfamiliar and thus, exciting.
Personally, I think that both pairs bring up interesting ideas of what friendship is, specifically comparing homosocial interactions between men and women and their respective norms. Its interesting though how little hope Clarissa and Septimus have for heterosexual marriages and relationships, even though both are in heterosexual marriages. Its just another piece of Woolf's annoyingly ambiguous picture of both pairs...

1 comment:

Mitchell said...

I agree--in general, Woolf's fiction is very suspicious of simple labels (as her essays suggest). Clarissa at one point says that she would never want to say of anyone that they are just one thing, and these relationships that are powerfully emotional and immensely consequential in these characters' lives wouldn't be *clarified* or *explained* with a limiting label such as "homosexual" or "homosocial" or whatever. Likewise, a term like "marriage," in Woolf, doesn't have a single stable meaning: we have Richard and Clarissa, Hugh and Evelyn, Septimus and Rezia, Sally Seton and her guy. What do these have in common, in their essence? Not much. The dynamics of each is unique to these two complex and multifaceted individuals. How much *more* this is true when we deal with same-sex emotional intimacy, where in Woolf's day there *isn't* a conventional label to apply . . .