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The First World War aroused skepticism and disillusionment of the whole post-war generation. Desperation and despondency prevailed among the intellectuals. As a man of letters in that age, Virginia Woolf was imbued with pessimism, so deeply as bordering on despair.
Such is the very state that Woolf falls in when she notices a moth fluttering on a window-pane. The little creature really catches her attention so much that she can not concentrate herself on her book any longer. As an onlooker, she is almost indifferent towards the simple activities of the moth at the very beginning. But along with her fascinated observation, a stream of sympathy fills her, for he is so simple a form of energy, yet he still shows his existence as much as all he can by dancing and zigzagging. Later on, she is deeply touched by the living picture of the bitter struggle of the moth against the gigantic effect—death.
The sight strikes the chord in Woolf’s heart, as if a sentimental poet, on seeing a withered leaf falling down, despite himself begins to lament his own fate. A sympathetic response flashes upon her, in spite of the barrier of the different nature of life, for “nothing, I know, had any chance against death”. That is the universal rule without exception.
On contemplating this, Woolf is sunk on the deeps of pessimism in spite of herself. How insignificant life is compared with the energy of the universe! Is the life of human race really much superior to that of the moth? All means go to the same effect. Woolf realizes the futility of life, as she puts it, “one saw life, a pure bead.” The American poet Freneau intones, “If nothing once, you nothing lose / for when you die you are the same / The space between, is but an hour / the frail duration of a flower.” Life is relative, while death is absolute. Pessimistic though she is, philosophical as well.
While Woolf unfolds the helpless hounding to the death of the moth, the tragic figure Tess by Thomas Hardy calls to mind. The overwhelming force of destiny dogs Tess every step to her doom. However intensely she struggles, the dice is still against her all her life, just as the very insignificant moth makes continuous attempts for resuming dancing, but in vain. Then an abrupt turn arises. Tess kills Alec; the moth succeeds in righting himself. The last straw! For an instant, they both triumphs over the formidable force that has oppressed them so long. One can easily visualize their desperate satisfaction and happiness at that very moment, but like the last radiance of the setting sun, instantaneously they both meet their tragic ending in common — death. So, “‘Justice’ was done, and the President of the Immortals (in Aeschylean phrase) had ended his sport with Tess”; so, “O yes, he seemed to say, death is stronger than I am.”
Hardy explores the tragic theme of the novel — the helplessness of man. While here, Woolf condenses the same theme in so short an essay.
As to the skills Woolf employs in the essay, the use of contrast merits brief mention. Woolf briefly depicts the scene outside the window twice. From morning to midday, the previous animation has been replaced by solemn stillness, while “the power was there all the same.” The former animation sets off the pettiness of the moth by contrast; the latter, the helplessness. The two parts echo each other; the lot of the moth has changed utterly, though. Such contrast permeates thorough the whole essay. The moth is petty and low per se, and, by the foil of the immense power of nature, its unfavourable situation becomes so noticeable as to the degree of cruelty, as if to add insult to injury. But that is something truly realistic, to expose reality mercilessly; that is something Woolf always seeks for — greater realism.
Woolf’s exquisite and lively descriptions, and her language full of artistic appeal set off the senses she is trying to convey. Informal, personal, emotional and intimate in tone, her essay has an engaging air of spontaneity, like a spring splashes from its funtainhead inexhaustibly. One fells as if Woolf were whispering in one’s ear about her life philosophy when one is thoroughly indulged in her delicate language.
Though essays are only the by-product of her novel works which took her infinite pains, the value of these essays are not at all obscured. As for “the Death of the Moth”, short and concise as it is, its implications are profound and meaningful, for regardless of time and space, the philosophy of life is eternally the same.
Such is the very state that Woolf falls in when she notices a moth fluttering on a window-pane. The little creature really catches her attention so much that she can not concentrate herself on her book any longer. As an onlooker, she is almost indifferent towards the simple activities of the moth at the very beginning. But along with her fascinated observation, a stream of sympathy fills her, for he is so simple a form of energy, yet he still shows his existence as much as all he can by dancing and zigzagging. Later on, she is deeply touched by the living picture of the bitter struggle of the moth against the gigantic effect—death.
The sight strikes the chord in Woolf’s heart, as if a sentimental poet, on seeing a withered leaf falling down, despite himself begins to lament his own fate. A sympathetic response flashes upon her, in spite of the barrier of the different nature of life, for “nothing, I know, had any chance against death”. That is the universal rule without exception.
On contemplating this, Woolf is sunk on the deeps of pessimism in spite of herself. How insignificant life is compared with the energy of the universe! Is the life of human race really much superior to that of the moth? All means go to the same effect. Woolf realizes the futility of life, as she puts it, “one saw life, a pure bead.” The American poet Freneau intones, “If nothing once, you nothing lose / for when you die you are the same / The space between, is but an hour / the frail duration of a flower.” Life is relative, while death is absolute. Pessimistic though she is, philosophical as well.
While Woolf unfolds the helpless hounding to the death of the moth, the tragic figure Tess by Thomas Hardy calls to mind. The overwhelming force of destiny dogs Tess every step to her doom. However intensely she struggles, the dice is still against her all her life, just as the very insignificant moth makes continuous attempts for resuming dancing, but in vain. Then an abrupt turn arises. Tess kills Alec; the moth succeeds in righting himself. The last straw! For an instant, they both triumphs over the formidable force that has oppressed them so long. One can easily visualize their desperate satisfaction and happiness at that very moment, but like the last radiance of the setting sun, instantaneously they both meet their tragic ending in common — death. So, “‘Justice’ was done, and the President of the Immortals (in Aeschylean phrase) had ended his sport with Tess”; so, “O yes, he seemed to say, death is stronger than I am.”
Hardy explores the tragic theme of the novel — the helplessness of man. While here, Woolf condenses the same theme in so short an essay.
As to the skills Woolf employs in the essay, the use of contrast merits brief mention. Woolf briefly depicts the scene outside the window twice. From morning to midday, the previous animation has been replaced by solemn stillness, while “the power was there all the same.” The former animation sets off the pettiness of the moth by contrast; the latter, the helplessness. The two parts echo each other; the lot of the moth has changed utterly, though. Such contrast permeates thorough the whole essay. The moth is petty and low per se, and, by the foil of the immense power of nature, its unfavourable situation becomes so noticeable as to the degree of cruelty, as if to add insult to injury. But that is something truly realistic, to expose reality mercilessly; that is something Woolf always seeks for — greater realism.
Woolf’s exquisite and lively descriptions, and her language full of artistic appeal set off the senses she is trying to convey. Informal, personal, emotional and intimate in tone, her essay has an engaging air of spontaneity, like a spring splashes from its funtainhead inexhaustibly. One fells as if Woolf were whispering in one’s ear about her life philosophy when one is thoroughly indulged in her delicate language.
Though essays are only the by-product of her novel works which took her infinite pains, the value of these essays are not at all obscured. As for “the Death of the Moth”, short and concise as it is, its implications are profound and meaningful, for regardless of time and space, the philosophy of life is eternally the same.