An inspiration to read author's works;
A Room of One's Own speaks of the economic freedom women need to write
by GAËTAN L. CHARLEBOIS
If you have had as little exposure to Virginia Woolf as I have, you might be forgiven for thinking that a play based on A Room of One's Own would be a sad outing at the theatre.
Hard to forget are the many portraits and photos of the haunted- eyed woman. Impossible to ignore are the hideous childhood, odd marriage and intense Sapphic relationship with writer Vita Sackville-West. Difficult to pass over, as well, is the fact that she ended her life by filling her pockets with stones and drowning herself in the Ouse River.
If this - plus a couple of movies - is pretty much all you know, then you will, as I was, be delighted by the humour and feistiness of the text based on a series of lectures that Woolf gave to undergraduate women in Cambridge in 1928.
The solo is a benefit for Persephone Productions, and the company's artistic director, Gabrielle Soskin, takes the lead. As an actor, she is as she was when she was a teacher of mine three decades ago: professional while possessing those best traits of a teacher - generosity, vivaciousness and piles of information that she is just bursting to share with you.
For Woolf, Soskin works beautifully, particularly in the confines of the intimate space that is La Balustrade of Monument National. Director Jennifer Piercy takes a hands-off approach, letting Soskin inhabit Paul Chambers's spare setting.
The room of the title is symbolic of the economic freedom women need to write. Until women had that room, we are told, they were sisters, mothers and wives whose imaginations might have flown over all the men's, but who were often not taught how to read or write.
While Shakespeare was creating the Violas, Rosalinds and Juliets who are integral to our cultural lives, real women belonged to their husbands and could, quite legally, be beaten by them.
In a fantastical moment, Woolf imagines a sister for Shakespeare - as talented, as adventurous and, of course, doomed. But Ms. Shakespeare is not a tragic figure, she is the beacon for all women who wish to create: do it.
Simply put, I was so fascinated by the evening with Woolf that I will plunge into the library tomorrow and devour her works as I once did Austen's and the Brontes'.
What more can be asked of 65 minutes of simple, quiet theatre?
Reprinted from The Montreal Gazette March 11, 2005
If you have had as little exposure to Virginia Woolf as I have, you might be forgiven for thinking that a play based on A Room of One's Own would be a sad outing at the theatre.
Hard to forget are the many portraits and photos of the haunted- eyed woman. Impossible to ignore are the hideous childhood, odd marriage and intense Sapphic relationship with writer Vita Sackville-West. Difficult to pass over, as well, is the fact that she ended her life by filling her pockets with stones and drowning herself in the Ouse River.
If this - plus a couple of movies - is pretty much all you know, then you will, as I was, be delighted by the humour and feistiness of the text based on a series of lectures that Woolf gave to undergraduate women in Cambridge in 1928.
The solo is a benefit for Persephone Productions, and the company's artistic director, Gabrielle Soskin, takes the lead. As an actor, she is as she was when she was a teacher of mine three decades ago: professional while possessing those best traits of a teacher - generosity, vivaciousness and piles of information that she is just bursting to share with you.
For Woolf, Soskin works beautifully, particularly in the confines of the intimate space that is La Balustrade of Monument National. Director Jennifer Piercy takes a hands-off approach, letting Soskin inhabit Paul Chambers's spare setting.
The room of the title is symbolic of the economic freedom women need to write. Until women had that room, we are told, they were sisters, mothers and wives whose imaginations might have flown over all the men's, but who were often not taught how to read or write.
While Shakespeare was creating the Violas, Rosalinds and Juliets who are integral to our cultural lives, real women belonged to their husbands and could, quite legally, be beaten by them.
In a fantastical moment, Woolf imagines a sister for Shakespeare - as talented, as adventurous and, of course, doomed. But Ms. Shakespeare is not a tragic figure, she is the beacon for all women who wish to create: do it.
Simply put, I was so fascinated by the evening with Woolf that I will plunge into the library tomorrow and devour her works as I once did Austen's and the Brontes'.
What more can be asked of 65 minutes of simple, quiet theatre?
Reprinted from The Montreal Gazette March 11, 2005
