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A Bold Perspective on Virginia Woolf's Reality through the Lens of T.S. Eliot I. Introduction A brief story: Ornette Coleman is an American jazz musician who in the last few decades has begun playing free jazz. In 1997, after recently befriending the post structuralist philosopher Jacques Derrida, Coleman invited him to perform with him at the Paris Jazz Festival. Derrida was not a musician, so he composed a philosophical spoken word piece, which he thought would suitably accompany Colemans free jazz. However, upon taking the stage, he was almost immediately booed off. Derrida was surprised at this response and described it as a very painful experience (Stein). A brief opinion: Virginia Woolf, in her essay Modern Fiction, discusses what she saw as problems with the state of literature in the 1920s. She describes two problems for writers: first, the restriction to which they are subjected from being a slave [to] convention; second, the resulting problem created by this in writingWhether we call it life or spirit, truth or reality, this, the essential thing, has moved off (160). She thi nks that the restrictions of genre and literary convention have produced a lack of realism in her contemporaries writing, causing it to suffer the loss of the principle characteristic that determines its quality. What does this have anything to do with Coleman and Derrida? The answer to this question, which in a roundabout way will occupy the rest of this paper, can help explain why Woolfs view is problematic in terms of its assumptions, values, and understanding of literature and its place in society. This in turn can explain, along with help of various literary theorists and one of Woolfs contemporaries, T.S. Eliot, what the value of genre and convention actually is.

2 According to Ralph Cohen, genre is composed of an aggregation of literary conventions on the side of both the reader and the writer (212). Thus when Woolf has a problem being a slave to convention, what she really means is that she dislikes the influence of genre conventions on writers freedom, particularly in the sense that she considers it debilitating to their ability to create realism. There are problems with her stance at every level. At a basic level, she misunderstands the fundamentalism of genre and convention with regards to the creation of literature and to communication in general. Second, her definitions and ideals concerning realism are not as fundamental to the measurement of literary quality as she implies that they are, and the universal application of these ideals that she implicitly seems to demand in Modern Fiction is problematic as a result. Finally, she fails to see that genre conventions do not have to be restrictive or homogenizing in the realm of individual writing; rather, interaction with genre allows a writer to amplify the meaning of their work and accent their individuality. In general, she thinks about originality and individuality as a writer in a seriously flawed way, at least according to the following critical survey and its application in A Game of Chess, part II of Eliots The Waste Land.

II. Theoretical Perspectives on Genre According to John Dorst, a scholar of the early twentieth century Soviet thinker M. M. Bakhtin, genres are ethnographic conventions that we use to modulate our perception of reality: they provide points of view through which we fix time and space in certain ways and in terms of which we experience our social and material environment (Dorst 415). Not only are they prevalent in literature, but they compose the way we communicate and

3 perceive reality in the basic social realm as well. For Bakhtin, human consciousness is fundamentally differentiated by its social aspect, i.e. the sharing of consciousness. The only way to create a shared perception is to rely on collections of conventions, or genres. In this sense, Woolfs perception of genre and convention as something to escape is fundamentally misguided, for she cannot understand the way that genre determines every aspect of how we perceive and communicate things if she thinks it is something simply to be avoided. Several other prominent scholars build upon this idea, or at least expand it (they might not have been familiar with Bakhtins work). Jacques Derrida (the Derrida of the introduction) argues that literature is marked by genre participation from the point of its creation (64). If it has no relation to genre, then it is not literature. Participation for Derrida does not mean inclusion. What he terms the law of genre creates a network of subset boundaries dividing the greater set of literary work. Every work of literature is either inside or out, so there is no way to escape some orientation in regards to genre categories unless something is not even considered to be classifiable via genre, in other words failing to meet the prerequisite for literature or even literary potential (57). J. Reichert specifies this in terms of poetry, describing the special conventions of language that demarcate something as poetry and allow artistic communication from the poet to the reader (53). He thinks of it as an implicit knowledge shared by readers and poets from which poetry cannot escape, but at most can simply modify. In this latter sense, he shares a dynamic, processive view of genre with most of the writers surveyed here. Hans Jauss takes a somewhat similar view, but explores the boundaries of genre rather than the fact of membership. Existing convention provides a basis from which to approach literature and a horizon of expectations for readers. These conventions provide

4 a framework of meaning that can be varied, extended, corrected, but also transformed, crossed out, or simply reproduced. Variation, extension, and correction determine the latitude of a generic structure; a break with the convention on the one hand and a mere reproduction on the other determines its boundaries (88). As with Reichert, breaking convention does not signal the obsolescence of genre as a paradigm, but rather extends the boundaries of convention. The measure of a literary works value, for him, is directly correlated to the extent to which it modifies boundary divisions. For Jauss, Reichert, and Derrida, genre convention is inescapable: even those breaking it are still within the realm of the law of genrethey just happen to be on an alternative side of the law. Once that side has been explored, it is absorbed into the existing field of convention, creating an everexpanding horizon of expectations for the modern reader, and an ever-expanding realm of convention for the modern writer. Therefore, Woolfs conception of herself, or at least of her ideal writer self as apart from the denomination of genre convention reveals a fundamental misunderstanding of the way in which genre convention works. Genre convention is not the only thing that Woolf seems to have a lack of understanding for at the fundamental level. In Modern Fiction, she asks of conventional fiction, Is life like this? (160). The writer that she seems to idealize for attempting to come closer to life is James Joyce, a similar writer to herself in the sense that he employs stream-of-consciousness heavily. Along with thinking that she can exist apart from convention, Woolf also mistakenly believes that doing so will allow the creation of realism to an unsurpassed degree, which she implies is the highest ideal in literature. Wayne Booth, in his extensive survey of rhetorical strategies in literature, shows that not everyone thinks literature should be realistic at all. According to him, among the modern authors who do

5 subscribe to this idea, their definitions of realism vary widely (53-54). In part of his second chapter, he discusses Woolf in particular and her rather pushy ideas about realism. He observes that while there is nothing wrong with making value judgments on a set of criteria for determining quality of literature, writers like Woolf often forget the initial arbitrary exclusiveness of the general definition of quality that they have created (32). C. S. Lewis, in his book An Experiment in Criticism, observes that in general, there have been two major types of realism portrayed, as a convention, in literature. Realism of presentation, the art of bringing something close to us, making it palpable and visible, by sharply observed or imagined detail, and realism of content, the minimization of suspension of disbelief measured by how true to life something is, how probable, represent two very different ideals of realistic convention (60). He gives examples in fiction of all four permutations of these two conceptions of realism. Lewis writes, The dominant taste at present demands realism of content But we should be making a disastrous mistake if we erected this historically conditioned preference into a principle (ibid), which of course is exactly what Woolf does with her idealization of writing that is true to life. Derrida would confirm this, for he exerts significant effort to expose the falsity of claims made about the naturalism of conventions that are actually historically based, concerning which many, apparently including Woolf, have a tendency to retroactively ascribe to inevitable paths of human development (60-62). Finally, there is one more relevant criticism to be made about Woolfs conception of realism. In literature, it must be acknowledged that nothing on the pages actually is real life. In response to Woolfs question Is life like this? we can confidently answer no, that life is not the words on a page of book and based on what we know, never will be. A more

6 useful analog of this mode of thought is touched on by Booth, in which he points out that reality and characters are impossible to depict in a way that is perfectly equivalent to the experience of life; rather, he points out Henry James intensity of illusion as productive way to approach this (Booth 42). James acknowledges that reality in literature is simply about effect, not duplication or transcription of experience. What Woolf (specifically Booth fittingly looks at her and Joyce together in this section) seems to miss is that psychological reality she strives for in particular requires extensive development of narrative structure and technique to support. He describes their work as being characterized by distinctive patterns of stratagems to give form to what is really formless. The invention of structure thus becomes a kind of rhetoric to support the illusion, rather than the other way around (54-55). Woolf therefore, in her attempt to run away from convention to pursue realism, actually ends up running head-on into it. This is not to say that she does not do a good job at creating realism, simply that she misunderstands the role she has as an individual writer in relation to genre convention. The last area of Woolfs flawed vision of genre convention has to do with the incorrect degree of restriction that she ascribes to it. According to Cohen, genre is processive, meaning that a mandatory existence in the system of the law of genre (either inside or outside of genre boundariessee Derridas ideas above) does not necessarily entail restriction. Even for a work that exists mostly within the boundary of a genre (or several: most works straddle several generic subsets), every genre is subject to repeated redefinititions or abandonment (210). Essentially, what Derridas law of genre demands is not legality, but simply a legal status; genres do not demand inclusion from works, simply a relationship. Northrop Rye confirms this, and furthermore sees this relationship

7 as the primary characteristic of interest: The purpose of genres is not so much to classify as to clarify ... traditions and affinities, thereby bringing out a large number of literary relationships that would not be noticed as long as there were no context established for them (247-48). Not only does the intertextual relationships between works of literature emphasize their similarities, but also accents their individuality in a way that a genre-less world in the literary sense (i.e. a world without literature at all) could never do. Cohen claims specifically that, an individual instance of a genre can reveal its individuality only by comparison within the genre (213). Finally, genre and literary conventions can amplify meaning within an individuals experience of an individual work of literature, without consideration of any intertextuality at all. First, at a most basic, but perhaps the most important level, if conventions are seen as units of meaning, then they provide a basis and extension for meaning. Usage, intersection, and extension of convention gives meaning to works that other culturally unassociated constructions cannot provide. Cohen also identifies two more uses of genre in relation to a larger audience. First, he shows through examples of a few specific works how shifting genre conventions can make a literary work accessible to different groups of people (215). In addition, he shows that using cultural conventions can universalize a work in ways that are impossible to do otherwise (204). In her complaint against the restriction of genre, Woolf never mentions any of these positive attributes.

III. An Application: T.S. Eliot, Tradition and the Individual Talent, and A Game of Chess T. S. Eliot, on the other hand, takes essentially a viewpoint that is Woolfs polar opposite in the matter in his essay Tradition and the Individual Talent. The crux of his

8 argument is contained in his view on how conventions enhance meaning: No poet, no artist of any art, has his complete meaning alone. His significance, his appreciation is the appreciation of his relation to the dead poets and artists (37). This is perhaps an even stronger version of Cohens view on the matter; he also reflects Cohens idea that genre is processive and develops with each new work. His perspective, which is understandable as a writer, is focused on the responsibility of new authors to consider the way in which their work fits into the canon of their predecessors, given that the conventions shift with each new work of literature. Concerning the author, he writes: The necessity that he shall conform, that he shall cohere, is not one-sided; what happens when a new work of art is created is something that happens simultaneously to all the works of art which preceded it. (37). For Eliot, art never improves, but what distinguishes new art is the fact that its artists must consider their position in relation to the past (38). This leads to his ideal of the traditional writer, or what he terms his Impersonal theory: while Woolf wishes to express reality as she sees it, Eliot wishes to express the Language, for which he sees him self as an impersonal catalytic instrument (39). The Language for Eliot is the tradition of literature that he is descended from; he sees his writing as the natural development of that tradition and strives to remove himself as a feeling human from disrupting that process as much as possible. Whether or not this is actually possible, it is very clear that Eliot has a fundamentally opposite view of the existing literary convention as Woolf. J.S. Childs holds that Eliot when writing has completely different goals than Woolf: Eliots concern is not to make primary the individual text, but to privilege intertextuality itself (319). For Childs, Eliots impersonal and objective approach actually causes liberation from the relationships among author, reader, and text which had been institutionalized (321) due

9 to conscious and intentional interaction with them. Eliot essentially says the same thing, distinguishing inheritance from the past (unconscious, passive) and intellectual development and incorporation of tradition. He writes, If the only form of tradition, of handing down, consisted in following the ways of the immediate generation before us in a blind or timid adherence to its successes, tradition should positively be discouraged (37). It should be quite apparent that Eliot embodies the opposite literary ideals as Woolf in regards to the question of genre convention; however, for Woolfs claims about the problems with such convention to be proven false, it is necessary to provide actual counterexamples, not just theory. Luckily, unlike Derrida (the meaning of this will become clear later), Eliot successfully implements his theory. A good example of this can be found in his poem, The Waste Land. In particular, part II of the poem, titled A Game of Chess, is sufficient to justify his claims and in doing so, the claims of most of the other theorists referenced above. In addition to concerns about too much material, limiting analysis to the second part is particularly interesting because of the great diversity of material that is to be found, especially in the differences between its three subsections. This analysis will not seek to justify all the arguments made above in an itemized fashion, but rather will be organized according to the three levels of problems with Woolfs perspective outlined in the introduction, since to do so otherwise would require tedious accounts of theoretical overlap. Perhaps the most difficult area of theory to apply is that concerning the fundamentalism of genre and convention. After all, the only way to directly show the veracity of these ideas would be to try to eliminate genre convention in a genuine way,

10 which of course Eliot has no intention of doing. However, there are several aspects of his poem that indirectly show that genre convention is fundamental to art and unavoidable in communication and artistic existence. At the most basic level is the way the Eliot signals that this is a poem, as opposed to prose (non-poetry) or a helicopter assembly instruction manual (non-art). Of course, there are many extra-textual means by which this occurred in history (before the poem was even release), after which it was generally accepted that The Waste Land was a poem. However, for the purpose of contradicting Woolf, it is useful to derive this conclusion directly from the text of A Game of Chess itself. There are several signals throughout the text that are traits specific to poetry. Enjambment can be found throughout, perhaps most pronounced in the second section (lines 111-138) with notable examples on lines 121 and 127. In the first subsection, there are flashes of meteriambs and the occasional rhyme or slant rhyme. Essentially, Eliot uses the language of poetry to distinguish it as poetry: Reicherts special conventions. Less obviously, his content, which is fictional and figurative, places the work automatically into the genre of literature, or at least fiction. While Cohen speaks of reading conventions that can make even an instruction manual artistic, at least in the hypothetical future sense, Eliot holds that the obligation of tradition is only to past works, not to uncertain projections of future convention (Cohen 13)(Eliot 40). As a result, this work is signaled to be within the genre of poetry, and probably within the genre of literature (which contains a subset of poetry)from the moment of its creation. While with a writer such as T. S. Eliot, the need to justify this might seem rather trivial, the signals in this specific portion of the text can serve by themselves to make such generic distinctions, a viewpoint with which Hugh Kenner agrees (561).

11 From this point, counterpoints to Woolfs claims become much easier as they become less theoretical. On line 103, the simple usage of two words, Jug Jug, is highly significant in that it reveals the necessity of literary convention as a basic unit of communication and unique encapsulation of experience. Certainly, Eliot consciously uses an (old) cultural rather than scientific description of the nightingales sound. But no matter what he uses, is it not necessary that this be culturally fixed? If he tried to replicate such a sound phonetically no one would understand it. If he explicitly labeled it as a sound that a nightingale makes by stating it as such, there would be a horrible awkwardness of language that would take away from the passage, particularly given its poetic nature. In this case, the human experience of hearing a nightingale is encapsulated in Jug, Jug, and while no one actually thinks that is the sound the bird makes, it is impossible to capture this experience, at least with any reasonable concision, without such a convention, or at least some convention. How can Woolf reasonably hope to escape such problems as the one of fundamental communication without convention? Eliot also gives much insight into the nature of realism in this passage. Subsections two and three, which utilize a realistic stream-of-consciousness style narration, differ markedly from the first section and its mythical overtones. However, in all sections, Eliot incorporates conventions from older works and genres; this shows that such elements do not necessarily exclude the possibility of striking realism. In section two, his realism of content (from the C. S. Lewis paradigm) is not high, for it is not probable at all that one would think of dead mens bones, rats alley, or pearls in eyes in a literal succession while being blabbered at by ones wife. On the other hand, he conveys an incredible realism of presentation by making the scene vivid using a stream of consciousness mixed in with a

12 dialogue-turned-monologue. Despite his perhaps odd manner of doing so, Eliot vividly captures the way in which an empty, postwar marriage might feel, perhaps his empty postwar marriage. The repetitious, often nonsensical half-dialogue paired with the narrators inner thoughts creates a delirious, echoey, trapped mood. Such a mood is very vivid, yet not likely to in its exact form. However, the overall effect captures the essence of an marriage in which both members are driving each other insane. To create the effect that he does, it would be impossible to have a true realism of content. As Booth says, he must construct a structure to support his narrative since there simply is no realistic way to portray the two disparate yet similarly desperate vantage points on the same empty marriage. The stream of consciousness, while historically new at the time of his writing, is still a convention, an emerging convention, according to Bakhtin. In this way, Eliot increases realism while still depending on an emerging literary convention. In section three, both realism of content (until the last line) and of presentation are high. This could be read as a stream of perception by the person listening to the speaker and the bar. The narrative structure created by Lils friend is certainly that, a narrative structure. Though of course Eliot did not invent such a narrative structure, it only increases the realism of the passage, particularly as Eliot extends the convention by inserting brief POV statements from the barroom vantage point. More importantly, he throws on another allusion at the end, this one to Shakespeare, which rather than taking away from the scene, complements its final real words very well and greatly changes the way it is perceived as a whole, underscoring the lunacy of the entire situation with the quote from mad Ophelia. Of course, no one quotes Ophelia when they go home for the night. But such insertions, while improbable in the literal sense, enhance the essential reality of the passage, that is, the

13 intensity of illusion from Booth and Henry James. Through these various passages, it is thus easy to see that Eliot focuses on a realism of presentation, making his scenes vivid. Their content does not match perfectly, but somehow the essence of the effect of these passages manages to convey a strong sense of reality, despite heavy borrowing from convention. Eliots treatment of class applies jointly to questions of realism and of convention. The three subsections transverse three levels of social station: royalty, upper middle class, and working class. Besides mirroring the various levels of chess pieces, the juxtaposition of the first section with the other dialogue types universalizes its rather esoteric imagery by giving it some application in the common experience. While this does not make the first section realistic, it certainly increases its applicability and interrelatedness with texts of a more modern subject. The juxtapositional increase in realisms relation to the first subsection is not to the point of being realistic, just more realistically applicable. However, realism plays a much stronger role in the last subsection concerning topics of class injustice. This subsection is incredibly realistic in its raw treatment of working-class womanhood. Lil has done everything righthad many children, been faithful to her military husband, worked hard for her familyand yet is being severely punished by her reproductive system. What could be more realistic and universal than that? Not anything Woolf wrote, according to Kenner (563). More importantly, there are two types of universalization going on in A Game of Chess: that due to the use of the classical (or Shakespearean) themes of the first subsection, and that due to the treatment of common experience and suffering in the second. Together, they add meaning to each other: the common experience increases the applicability of the classical, and the classical references

14 add higher, more complex meaning to the common experience. Not only is this a sort of realism, but it is a grand elegance, the value of which Woolfs narrow definition of literary excellence in Modern Fiction does not seem to accommodate. Finally, we come to just a few examples of the way in which Eliot uses convention to extend meaning. Given the plethora of allusions in The Waste Land, this is not all hard to doone might even venture that using convention to extend meaning is Eliots specialty, which of course is perfectly in line with his ideals. Just a few examples follow. First, quite obviously, Eliot uses rhyming to draw emphasis to various lines. However, the degree to which he rhymes seems not entirely unrestrictive, for his rhyme is only ocassional: at the end of subsection 1 (107-110) he briefly rhymes stair and hair, then continues until the end of the subsection where he stops the rhyming with the word still. This emphasizes the savagely part of the stillness by making the final unrhymed word (stillness) seem slightly shocking, since it does not correspond with the expectation of the ear. Later, at the end of section two, he rhymes lines 136 and 138, with his last line a sort of sing-song string of iambs, leading to an overall sense of routine. In terms of allusions, Eliot also seems about as unrestricted as a writer could be with such heavy usage of them. While this is more pronounced in other parts of the Waste Land in general, the first part of A Game of Chess is full of allusions as well. Eliots allusions do not seem forced: they flow naturally with the poem, belonging to it as much as to their original source. As Kenner says (561), This is not really an allusion; we are not being invited to compare it is an appropriate grace of expression, the language containing not only the words Eliot finds suitable, but for several phrases the very sequence of words. The beginning, with the burnished throne, holds strong similarities

15 to Anthony and Cleopatra. Compare The barge she sat in, like a burnish'd throne \ Burn'd on the water: the poop was beaten gold; \ \ Stood pretty dimpled boys, like smiling Cupids (Anthony and Cleopatra, Act II scene II) to The Chair she sat in, like a burnished throne \ Glowed on the marble, where the glass\ \ From which a golden Cupidon peeped out (77, 78, 80). Despite having such incredible amounts of allusion, in a few cases containing rather large chunks from the source text, Eliot shows makes the allusion fit with ease. It never seems that he is trying to build his poem around allusion, but rather that he incorporates allusions into his poem in a way that suits the extension of meaning that he desires. This provides a strong example of how convention can be modified, as he does by placing it into a different context. Certainly, if anyone is dictating the rules of convention at this point, it is Eliot, not Shakespeare or Ovid.

IV. Conclusion The question of whether Woolfs specific claims have very much merit thus seems to be settled in the realm of both literary theory and practice. Though Eliots impersonal theory seems a tad theoretical, perhaps like Poes essay about how he wrote the Raven, he has a much better idea about the role of genre, convention, and originality in the production of literature than Woolf. Why might someone as intelligent as Virginia Woolf make such a mistake? For starters, Derrida made it too, though in a different, and perhaps less egocentric way. The problem is how they conceive originality: Derrida believes that genres contradict themselves (a viewpoint not really discussed in this essay), and Woolf believes she can be original outside of the realm of convention. A fruitful picture of this is found in the concept of free jazz. Every jazz musician understands that good jazz

16 improvisation is not original invention, but rather a spontaneous synthesis of wellpracticed musical figures interspersed with one or several evolutionarily original ideas. A jazz musician can no more invent a brand new form of music on the spot than Virginia Woolf, or Eliot for that matter (which seems more unlikely). Derrida did not understand this about music, and Woolf did not understand this about literature. The final question is whether there is any truth to Woolfs conception of originality, or any elements of truth. Emerson asks this question in Nature almost a century before her: Why should we not also enjoy an original relation to the universe? (1110). Like Woolf, he understands that imitative use of convention in language deadens its meaning (1120). Also like Woolf, he yearns for a greater beauty in art, hoping to express what he think the true nature of things really is, like Woolfs ideal of unencumbered expression of reality. And yet, he espouses a sort of Eliot-centric viewpoint, at least in some ways, concerning his ideal: Nothing is quite beautiful alone: nothing but is beautiful in the whole. A single object is only so far beautiful as it suggests this universal grace (1117, italics added). However, by sharing some ideas with both parties, Emersons viewpoints, along with those of C.S. Lewis in his reflections referenced previously, reveals what Woolf might be right about pursuing. The two writers in essence describe an originality of meaning as the center of value. Regardless of how and with what conventions ideas are presented, their value is often in their essential meaning, not just in their form of presentation. Woolf did, in fact, have some novel ideas about form of presentation, perhaps leading her to confuse the relationship between convention and originality in general. In jazz too, at least from the outside, these two are confusing in their relationship. However, as T.S. Eliot or any proficient jazz musician knows, convention and originality of meaning form the best partners.

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18 Works Cited Booth, Wayne C. The Rhetoric of Fiction. University Of Chicago Press, 1983. Print. Childs, J.S. Eliot, Tradition, and Textuality. Texas studies in literature and language 27.3 (1985): 311323. Print. Cohen, Ralph. History and Genre. New Literary History 17.2 (1986): 203218. Print. Derrida, J., and A. Ronell. The Law of Genre. Critical inquiry 7.1 (1980): 5581. Print. Dorst, J.D. Neck-Riddle as a Dialogue Off Genres: Applying Bakhtin's Genre Theory. The Journal of American Folklore 96.382 (1983): 413433. Print. Eliot, T.S. The Waste Land. W. W. Norton & Co, 2001. Print Eliot, T.S. Tradition and the Individual Talent. Perspecta 19 (1982): 3642. Print. Emerson, Ralph Waldo. Norton Anthology of American Literature Vol. B 1820-1865. 7th ed. Ed. Nina Baym. B. New York: W W Norton & Company Incorporated, 2004. 11101138. Print. Frye, Northrop. Anatomy of Criticism. Princeton, 1957. Print Hirsch, C. Perspectives on Literary Realism: a Review. Children's Literature Association Quarterly 5.3 (1980): 915. Print. Jauss, Hans Robert. Literary History as a Challenge to Literary Theory. Theory and History of Literature- Volume 2. Toward an Aesthetic of Reception. Ed. Wlad Godzich & Jochen Schulte-Sasse, Trans. Timothy Bahti. Vol. 2. Minneapolis: University of Minnesota Press, 1982. 145. Print. Kenner, Hugh. Eliot and the Tradition of the Anonymous. College English 28.8 (1967): 558564. Print. Lewis, C. S. An Experiment in Criticism. Cambridge University Press, 1961. Print Reichert, J. Do Poets Ever Mean What They Say?. New Literary History 13.1 (1981): 5368. Print. Stein, Joel. "Life with the Father of Deconstructionism." Time. Time, 18 Nov. 2002. Web. 07 May 2012. Woolf, Virginia. Modern Fiction: the Common Reader. (1925): 157-164. Print.