ANATOMÍA DE LA INTIMIDAD literatura y espejos rotos

I should like it to resemble some deep old desk, or capacious hold-all, in which one flings a mass of odds and ends without looking them through. (Virginia Woolf) We become ourselves through others, and the self is a porous thing, not a sealed container (Siri Hustvedt) En vez de mirarme en mi espejo quiero que mi espejo se mire en mí (Alejandra Pizarnik)

Behind the curtain. Virginia Woolf on Desmond MacCarthy(‘s queer burst of intimacy)

Sir Desmond MacCarthy by Lady Ottoline Morrell vintage snapshot print, 1923 NPG Ax141474 © National Portrait Gallery, London

Monday 1 June 1937

I should make a note of Desmond’s queer burst of intimacy the other evening. He came, was waiting, the lecture, a rather laboured but honest but perfunctory lecture: after which he & I sitting in the twilight with the door open, L. coming in & out, discussed his shyness: he says he thinks it made him uncreative. Could he have told his intimate friends his private life it would (for some reason) have freed, enriched him. But the was shy; afraid of sinking in our opinion. Not surface shy of course; but heart shy. Reference to his mistresses. He then asked if I thought he had still power to write a good book. What could he do with his wretched stump of life? I said write your private thoughts, not autobiography. And tell us your private life. He said. Oh yes, I’ll come & talk to you. And I’ll write to you. I felt something uneasy, trying to express itself; egotistical, weak I daresay. I think I see why he has been so fluent, so friendly, so embarrassingly anxious to be on some warmer footing, this last few months. Its his pressing need to write a good book somehow to assert himself before the stum of life is thrown on the fire. But how far am I sincere thinking that he can? Isnt there a fatal softness, flabbiness; now gone too far? But how can one judge? That’s my note –not altogether satisfactory, & leaving it unshaded- the picture of D. now in my mind- my affection, muy unintimate, but all the same genuine affection for him. 

The Diary of Viriginia Woolf. Volume 5 (1936-1941)

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