An Anacoluthon of Memory and Identity in Virginia Woolf's "The Waves"

“The pure present is an ungraspable advance of the past devouring the future. In truth, all sensation is already memory.” – Henri Bergson

There is a certain obsession with consolidating identity, or “I,” to the present moment. Virginia Woolf challenges the hegemonic view of memory as being fixed in her experimental novel, The Waves, by illustrating how memory instead ripples into the present. Either formed by a dominant culture or by personal relationships, memories can be transplanted into an individual due to the fluidity of identity seen in Woolf’s six narrators. Similarly, scientist and scholar Douglas Hofstrader illustrates the self as permeable in “How We Live in Each Other,” a chapter in his book I Am a Strange Loop. He defines humans against animals based on the ability for us to modify and borrow elements of other people’s souls—similar to how the six narrators borrow memories from one another. In tracing the development of consciousness, Woolf’s representation of “I” as interdependent and intersectional feeds into Hofstrader’s theory of identity by illustrating the transmissibility of memories from impersonal past experiences. 

I am a Strange Loop incorporates elements of cognitive science, computer science, and chemistry not to demonstrate Hofstrader’s impressive academic prowess, but to synthesize an understanding of his theory behind human consciousness. Focusing our attention on Chapter 17, “How We Live in Each Other,” provides an evocative understanding of what it means to be. According to Hofstrader, humans are perpetually hosting symbols in our brains, opening the gateway for representation. He analogizes this experience to computers, or what he calls “universal machines'' due to their “critical level of flexibility” which enables them to imitate or copy any form of content such as texts, music, and videos. In other words, computers are integer-calculation machines whose outwardly complex display can be diluted down to integer arithmetic patterns. Similarly, he ascribes universality to humans through the term “universal beings'' fueled by “representational universality,” which is the ability to translate external arbitrary patterns into our internal hardware. Hofstrader further elaborates on the process of transplantation by noting that any pattern has the potential to be copied, although there are individuals who exist in our periphery such as people walking down the street or cashiers who exist in a “truncated corridor.” Because we have no sense of their souls or being, we cannot represent them through a complex network of symbols. Central figures, on the other hand, can be imported into our interiority through the process of “accretion.” Accretion in this context refers to the action of adopting aspects of other people’s identities such as their ideas, habits, or styles, and can occur between people we know virtually and personally. There is a “degree of fidelity,” as the exact memories or “portraits” presented through patterns will never have the clarity of first-person experiences and are inherently blurrier, yet the more intimately a person knows another’s memories, the finer-tuned these “copies of experiences” are to the importer. Hofstrader uses his late wife Carol as an example, discussing how he has imported her first-hand memories into his hardware reduced from patterns.“Patterns are the bearers of consciousness. ”

Throughout the novel, the thoughts and actions of the narrators are reduced to soliloquies that interrupt and interweave into one another without warning. By doing so, Woolf contributes to the overarching theme of collectivism.There is a political edge to this, as there are domineering values and ideas which constantly interrupt and mold the collectivism of society and culture—such as the belief that women are inferior to men. Woolf’s feminism and overall social commentary do not escape this novel. Let’s take a look at Jinny. Arguably out of all the narrators, the composition of her “I” intersects with the collectivism of a patriarchal culture which has manifested itself throughout generations into a cultural memory. To clarify, what I mean by cultural memory is a form of memory that is molded by the voices and ideas accreted history, thus informing our subjective experiences. This is evidenced by the need for Jinny to perform her identity, which only intensifies as she ages. She strays away from representing a pretty, young woman who she believes is valued more in society than an older woman:

“Therefore I will power my face and redden my lips. I will make the angle of my eyebrows sharper than usual, I will rise to the surface…I will put ready cigarettes, glasses and some gaily covered new unread book in case Bernard comes, or Neville or Louis. But perhaps it will not be Bernard, or Neville or Louis, but somebody new…He will come this afternoon; somebody I do not know,” (195). 

Jinny’s more than willing to spring into action by applying makeup or picking up books not for her own sake, but for the sake of men in her life and men in general. Notice the key pronoun “he” here. Somebody new has to be male because it is men and the idea of men which have deeply infiltrated Jinny’s identity, her “I.” Jinny is bringing Hofstrader's idea of representational universality into focus. The influences of people, ideas, or events can influence the present identity of any person, even if they didn’t directly experience them fully. Certain symbols trigger responses in humans; this helps us interpret Jinny’s obsession with vanity. Jinny, like every woman, has experienced the inescapable touch of a society that favors men. Yet, she hasn’t experienced each event—or what Hofstrader would call patterns—which have worked to immortalize patriarchy into the veins of history. Furthermore, Hofstrader largely associates representational universality on an individual-to-individual basis, illustrating the craving humans have to enter into the interiority of other individuals they have not witnessed or interacted with personally.  I am stretching this idea to a concept-to-individual basis instead, as a concept, just like an individual, has the potential to actualize into a memory that flows into the self. Patriarchy is an overarching and expansive collection of patterns, and Woolf suggests that Jinny’s view of herself and her actions are dictated by the way she has internalized such an external concept. We study the past, not only for its own sake, but to meet the needs of the present as well; the past and its memory is continuously rippling into the present. 

Stepping off the larger scale of dominant culture as a form of memory, let’s direct our attention to memories manifested by the central role loved ones play in our lives. The childhood companions all collaborate in formulating their separate identities. For Bernard especially, his being—or rather identity—relies heavily on his six childhood companions to the point where he grapples with forming a self severed from the memories of them from the past. Acquiescing to this reality, he exclaimed that “It is not one life that I look back upon; I am not one person; I am many people; I do not altogether know who I am—Jinny, Susan, Neville, Rhoda, or Louis; or how to distinguish my life from theirs,” (276). Occurring in the last chapter of the novel where Bernard has reached old age, he reflects on the meaning of his life but struggles to contain a unified definition of his identity without being flooded by the memory of his friends. Such an interdependent relationship even results in Bernard questioning his gender with his inability to tell if he’s a man or a woman. Let’s boil this idea down to a specific relationship Bernard has a high degree of fidelity with—Percival. Unlike the other characters, Percival is unique because his consciousness isn’t included in the novel; his lack of voice results in the reader being able to only see him through the perspectives of the other characters, who essentially idolize him as a god. Percival, in essence, is Bernard’s version of Carol. Although he doesn’t harbor romantic feelings for Percival, (like Neville arguably does) Bernard’s love and admiration for him are only amplified by Percival’s sudden death:

“I do not know which is sorrow, which is joy. My son is born; Percival is dead…Oh yes, I can assure you, men in felt-hats and women carrying baskets—you have lost something that would have been very valuable to you. You have lost a leader, whom you would have followed; and one of you has lost happiness and children. He is dead who would have given you that. He lies on a camp-bed, bandaged, in some hot Indian hospital,” (153). 

Bernard’s immediate reality is eroded by the passing of a loved one. His son is born, but he is unaware of how he should identify with or perceive that experience due to the weight of Percival, “the leader’s” memory crashing into him, triggered by the momentum of death. Bernard even goes a step further to insert himself into Percival’s world, floating above him in India as if he were an omnipresent entity by describing where he lay dead in “some hot Indian hospital.” Bernard’s illusions and imagination are representative of “mosaics of a different grain size.” Hofstradter clarifies this term by dispelling the importance between actual, real memories and pseudo-memories by differentiating them as finer-grained images. Bernard’s imagination of Percival is a mosaic manifested through accreting aspects of Percival’s “habits and ideas and styles and tics and jokes and phrases and tunes and hopes and fears'' (Hoftradter, 251), albeit these aspects of Percival’s identity aren’t entirely accurate because they’ve been absorbed by Bernard’s subjective understanding of him. The men in felt-hats and women carrying baskets don’t and shouldn’t care about the death of a stranger. Yet, Bernard’s memory of him is profound enough to alter his way of viewing the world as well as identifying himself in light of his son’s birth. 

“I” is not a statement or a singular point, but rather a multiplicity of functions and constant actions. The self is porous, full of holes that allow for the penetration of memories at any given point of time, with or without warning. In essence, we’re always experiencing the past and therefore our identities are largely informed by a past represented and accessed through memory. External experiences manifested through a dominant cultural memory or pseudo-memories from those we love are, in a Hofstradian sense, being actively transplanted into us. The Waves itself is continuously being transplanted into modern Americans despite the different frequencies of both time and location. Both Woolf and Hofstrader recognize how memories are powerful enough to surpass both of these frequencies and still influence an individual. A memory is an anacoluthon, ready to interrupt the present at any given moment. 

Works Cited:

Hofstadter, Douglas R. “How We Live in Each Other.” I Am A Strange Loop, Basic Books, New York, 2008, pp. 241–259. 

Woolf, Virginia. The Waves. Harcourt, Brace, 1931