Virginia Woolf and the Power of Story: A Literary Darwinist Reading of Six Novels by Linda Nicole Blair

Abstract

MLR, .,   more broadly. is volume provides an excellent foundation upon which Edmundson or other scholars might build. It would be particularly exciting to see more work emerge on women’s African Gothic, given the continent’s diversity, or scholarship that seeks to complicate the gender binary at the heart of this study. As well as suggesting new angles via which we might approach familiar authors, Edmundson introduces us to several strangers in strange lands on whom future scholarship might focus. is is an important step in the reclamation of marginalized voices, both academically and politically commendable. U  B E D Virginia Woolf and the Power of Story: A Literary Darwinist Reading of Six Novels. By L N B. Jefferson, NC: McFarland. vii+ pp. $.;£.. ISBN ––––. As scholars of literature tackle interconnected issues of culture and science that have a potentially global scope, it has become increasingly necessary to bring literary and scientific discourses into an interdisciplinary nexus. It is at such a nexus that Linda Nicole Blair situates Virginia Woolf and the Power of Story. Blair considers how we might see evidence of the evolutionarily adaptive potential of narrative in six of Woolf’s mature works by focusing on how they ‘convey the power of stories to comfort us in grief, to connect us one to another, and to create a world full of possibilities for an as-of-yet undreamt future’ (p. ). In Blair’s schema, Jacob’s Room () and To the Lighthouse () allowed Woolf to process grief over the death of family members, Mrs Dalloway () and Between the Acts () showcase the social connections that are forged through storytelling, and Orlando () and e Waves () engage readers with creativity crucial for training the mind. Stories, Blair contends, were not only essential for Woolf’s personal survival, but offer beneficial adaptive tools for the human species. e result of the six readings is an uneven book that nevertheless offers some keen insights into Woolf’s writings and personal life, and compellingly argues that ‘stories can help us survive in increasingly turbulent times’ (p. ). e key argument of Blair’s book is that stories are more than mere entertainment : ‘without the basic connective tissue of stories, which sometimes appears to be in danger of eroding in our society, we have little hope for survival’ (p. ). Intent on ‘[p]lanting the arts firmly in the ground of our biology’ (p. ), she advocates literary Darwinism, a positivist approach to literature with similarities to the related fields of ‘evolutionary science, cognitive science, cognitive aesthetics, and evolutionary psychology’ (p. ). Blair acknowledges literary Darwinism’s reputation, especially within contemporary poststructuralist theory, for reductionist scientism and biological essentialism. Yet she intriguingly suggests that, given their shared appreciation for meaning’s dependency on contingency and context, ‘there are ways in which Literary Darwinism and some of the basic theories of post-structuralism intersect’ (p. ).  Reviews Blair ultimately dismisses theoretical perspectives though, maintaining a strictly evolutionary line in her readings of Woolf. But while she demonstrates how Woolf’s novels may be therapeutic in some sense, there is little specific evidence in the book establishing narrative’s unambiguous role in evolutionary adaptation. Instead, Blair occasionally resorts to hypothetical just-so stories about early humans and passé Jungian archetypes from Joseph Campbell. Besides these interpretative missteps, the book also suffers from a number of conspicuous errors and stylistic tics. Blair frequently misspells the Ramsay family as ‘Ramsey’ in discussions of To the Lighthouse and incorrectly refers to the title of the novel Mrs Dalloway as ‘Mrs. Dalloway’. She also strings together numerous unanswerable queries, such as, ‘What does it mean to be human? What is the meaning of life? What can life mean in the face of certain death?’ (p. ). It is also unclear why Blair tends to capitalize the first letters of ‘Human’ and ‘Story’, despite never using those terms in anything but an ordinary, non-technical way. One of the main strengths of Blair’s book, however, is how it is framed by personal instances of grief and loss—both from Blair herself and from Woolf—adding a welcome immediacy and urgency to her readings while also making them open to more general...