2 February 2026
Yuexi Cai, University of Birmingham
The central part of this story takes place over one day, like Virginia Woolf’s Mrs Dalloway.
‘An apple cleft in two is not more twin
Than these two creatures.’ – Twelfth Night
Seeing the willows flowing, he wanted to embrace; he thought he must have wished to fling himself into women’s arms while he was still shapeless. Heaven be praised that he was a man, or he would have gone mad. If that’s so, what would happen? Alas, there were willows; willows were all her. Everything would make him think of her; nothing could stir a single strand of his affection for this world unless it began to serve as a symbol of her, signifying his love for her. But who was she? It was only a face he wanted night and day, a face, a woman’s face, and under her face, her neck, her breast, her waist, her arms, these being assembled as a hug, a woman’s hug. Any woman, any woman would do (but at the proper age, of course), just… let her have a face, for one could not desire a woman while sleeping, waking, working, eating (all awfully dull), without a face. Walking to his mother’s office, he saw a face being all a blur to him, but as he started to run, he felt a sense of happiness, a tremendous exultation! He was going to meet her now, a woman whom he had once longed to see.
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