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Solid Objects
In "Solid Objects" by Virginia Woolf, John seeks to escape from the realities of life by seeking purpose in the collection of esoteric objects. Woolf's condemnation of John's deeds is reflected in the destruction of his political career and his social life. ...
31 pages, Paperback
First published January 1, 1992
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About the author
Virginia Woolf
1,982 books28.4k followers(Adeline) Virginia Woolf was an English novelist and essayist regarded as one of the foremost modernist literary figures of the twentieth century.
During the interwar period, Woolf was a significant figure in London literary society and a member of the Bloomsbury Group. Her most famous works include the novels Mrs. Dalloway (1925), To the Lighthouse (1927), and Orlando (1928), and the book-length essay A Room of One's Own (1929) with its famous dictum, "a woman must have money and a room of her own if she is to write fiction."
During the interwar period, Woolf was a significant figure in London literary society and a member of the Bloomsbury Group. Her most famous works include the novels Mrs. Dalloway (1925), To the Lighthouse (1927), and Orlando (1928), and the book-length essay A Room of One's Own (1929) with its famous dictum, "a woman must have money and a room of her own if she is to write fiction."
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Displaying 1 - 30 of 34 reviews
September 2, 2023
Two manly men with moustaches are on a beach, smoking their pipes and seemingly talking about politics. The protagonist finds a lump of glass in the sand and becomes fascinated by it. He then begins to collect similar worthless but pretty objects. And it’s clear collecting these pretty objects becomes the most important thing in his life.
This starts out a bit weird, as we’re watching the two men from above. But it’s also quite interesting. And I have to admit, this immediately captured my attention. Thus dragging me into the story, which is what the opening of a fiction story should always strive to do.
It’s a very short story. But this is a story that can have so much meaning if you open yourself up to it. At first glance, this is a story about an obsessive hoarder. But you can actually interpret this story in more ways than one. You can say that it’s about seeing beauty in seemingly worthless objects. So it can be seen as a story about appreciating art for art’s sake. It can even be seen as an artist losing himself in his own world. And there might even be other interpretations hidden in here that I’m completely missing out on. That’s what makes this story so interesting.
This starts out a bit weird, as we’re watching the two men from above. But it’s also quite interesting. And I have to admit, this immediately captured my attention. Thus dragging me into the story, which is what the opening of a fiction story should always strive to do.
It’s a very short story. But this is a story that can have so much meaning if you open yourself up to it. At first glance, this is a story about an obsessive hoarder. But you can actually interpret this story in more ways than one. You can say that it’s about seeing beauty in seemingly worthless objects. So it can be seen as a story about appreciating art for art’s sake. It can even be seen as an artist losing himself in his own world. And there might even be other interpretations hidden in here that I’m completely missing out on. That’s what makes this story so interesting.
April 26, 2025
The lump of glass had its place upon the mantelpiece, where it stood heavy upon a little pile of bills and letters, and served not only as an excellent paperweight, but also as a natural stopping place for the young man’s eyes when they wandered from his book.
Meia dúzia de páginas simplesmente prodigiosas que narram um momento aparentemente banal numa caminhada na praia, a descoberta de um pedaço de vidro tão polido pelo mar que parece uma jóia, mas que transforma profundamente o protagonista.
And believing that the heart of the stone leaps with joy when it sees itself chosen from a million like it, to enjoy this bliss instead of a life of cold and wet upon the high road. ‘It might so easily have been any other of the millions of stones, but it was I, I, I!’
Meia dúzia de páginas simplesmente prodigiosas que narram um momento aparentemente banal numa caminhada na praia, a descoberta de um pedaço de vidro tão polido pelo mar que parece uma jóia, mas que transforma profundamente o protagonista.
And believing that the heart of the stone leaps with joy when it sees itself chosen from a million like it, to enjoy this bliss instead of a life of cold and wet upon the high road. ‘It might so easily have been any other of the millions of stones, but it was I, I, I!’
September 2, 2024
Odd. Different. Entertaining.
January 2, 2022
”Det kunde så lätt ha blivit någon annan av de miljontals stenarna, men det blev jag. Jag! Jag!”
Den här korta novellen från 1918, inleds med en svart prick långt borta. Som en solid enhet ter de sig – Charles och John – där de promenerar längs stranden. De två männen vars manlighet understryks med attribut som små mustascher, jaktrockar och grova skor framstår när de kommer närmare som ganska barnsliga. John låter handen sjunka ner i sanden och hittar där en grön len glasbit vilken blir den första i raden vackra föremål han samlar på sig. Att gräva i sanden har en positiv konnotation knuten till barndomen. De fasta föremål han hittar – helt utan ekonomiska värden – laddas med mer magi och fantasi vartefter. Den politiska karriären som bundit vännerna samman kommer av sig när John blir alltmer besatt av sina glas-, porslins och järnbitar. Han befinner sig snart ”i en annan värld” och hans vän tar avstånd ifrån honom.
Det skulle kunna vara enbart sorgligt. Att bli lämnad, att inte passa in och gå miste om en karriär, men jag tror att Woolf skulle vilja bjuda in honom till Bloomsberrygruppen. Hon hyser nog både förståelse och medlidande med honom i sin besatthet. Funktionalitet och prestation framstår som banaliteter. Johns känslighet får honom att förundras inför det oändliga antal varierande former och mönster som står att finna, bara i London. Genomskinligheten i en glasbit som visserligen har en fast form men samtidigt kan glittra och ändra färg ”…med en slocknande flamma djupt innesluten i materialet”.
John blir del av konsten, på gott och ont. Det är vad jag tänker mig att Woolf vill förmedla i denna symbol- och metafortunga text. Hon hyllar konsten och filosofin till förmån för politiken, ekonomin och karriären. De fasta föremålen implicerar sakerna John samlar på men är också begrepp för den stabila försörjning och konforma vardag som John förkastar. Man skulle också kunna tolka andemeningen tvärtom. Att John fungerar som en varning för att han kastar bort sin potentiella karriär för dagdrömmeri. Oavsett förmåga att fästa blicken är frihet eller frånvaro av lidande en omöjlighet.
Jag tänker på mannens svårighet att hålla balansen och ägna sig lagom mycket åt en hobby. (Begreppet tjejsamla, att samla på något rimligt mycket är en tydlig indikation på det.) Kanske tänker Woolf också på att män som inte presterar förlorar sin status, först och främst hos andra män.
Jag tycker mycket om hur Woolfs litterära hantverk är inexakt och lämnar halva jobbet åt läsaren.
Den här korta novellen från 1918, inleds med en svart prick långt borta. Som en solid enhet ter de sig – Charles och John – där de promenerar längs stranden. De två männen vars manlighet understryks med attribut som små mustascher, jaktrockar och grova skor framstår när de kommer närmare som ganska barnsliga. John låter handen sjunka ner i sanden och hittar där en grön len glasbit vilken blir den första i raden vackra föremål han samlar på sig. Att gräva i sanden har en positiv konnotation knuten till barndomen. De fasta föremål han hittar – helt utan ekonomiska värden – laddas med mer magi och fantasi vartefter. Den politiska karriären som bundit vännerna samman kommer av sig när John blir alltmer besatt av sina glas-, porslins och järnbitar. Han befinner sig snart ”i en annan värld” och hans vän tar avstånd ifrån honom.
Det skulle kunna vara enbart sorgligt. Att bli lämnad, att inte passa in och gå miste om en karriär, men jag tror att Woolf skulle vilja bjuda in honom till Bloomsberrygruppen. Hon hyser nog både förståelse och medlidande med honom i sin besatthet. Funktionalitet och prestation framstår som banaliteter. Johns känslighet får honom att förundras inför det oändliga antal varierande former och mönster som står att finna, bara i London. Genomskinligheten i en glasbit som visserligen har en fast form men samtidigt kan glittra och ändra färg ”…med en slocknande flamma djupt innesluten i materialet”.
John blir del av konsten, på gott och ont. Det är vad jag tänker mig att Woolf vill förmedla i denna symbol- och metafortunga text. Hon hyllar konsten och filosofin till förmån för politiken, ekonomin och karriären. De fasta föremålen implicerar sakerna John samlar på men är också begrepp för den stabila försörjning och konforma vardag som John förkastar. Man skulle också kunna tolka andemeningen tvärtom. Att John fungerar som en varning för att han kastar bort sin potentiella karriär för dagdrömmeri. Oavsett förmåga att fästa blicken är frihet eller frånvaro av lidande en omöjlighet.
Jag tänker på mannens svårighet att hålla balansen och ägna sig lagom mycket åt en hobby. (Begreppet tjejsamla, att samla på något rimligt mycket är en tydlig indikation på det.) Kanske tänker Woolf också på att män som inte presterar förlorar sin status, först och främst hos andra män.
Jag tycker mycket om hur Woolfs litterära hantverk är inexakt och lämnar halva jobbet åt läsaren.
August 29, 2017
"That impulse, too, may have been the impulse which leads a child to pick up one pebble on a path strewn with them, promising it a life of warmth and security upon the nursery mantelpiece, delighting in the sense of power and benignity which such an action confers, and believing that the heart of the stone leaps with joy when it sees itself chosen from a million like it, to enjoy this bliss instead of a life of cold and wet upon the high road."
November 15, 2018
Dude knows what he likes and what he likes is broken garbage.
June 5, 2024
Politics be damned indeed
March 15, 2024
very interesting fuel & fodder to analyse personal relationships with objects & ownership, beauty & patterns, plus post war guilt in creating & engaging with art and leisurely practices of the bourgeois. also there's a surrealist undertone that could be read as an essay on oneself, solid & real in a life that often seems too abstract.
November 2, 2021
traumatised
November 4, 2022
well, i've come to the conclusion that Virginia Woolf novels are not for me
May 31, 2022
Embora escreva muito bem, adoro as descrições dos lugares, dos jardins, das pessoas, poucos contos tiveram uma narrativa que me cativasse ou prendesse minha atenção.
November 4, 2022
The writing! The prose! The waves!
More to follow once I’ve read it a few times more
11.3
Read it again, amazing, the sheer grasp of Woolf—I call it looking into the heart of “life”, dismantling objects, recounting stories.
What is it, that lives behind the cold coated dusty cover of the rock, the story of the rock! The stories after stories that we neglected.
Every broken heart deserves a play, so does every broken stone. The spilt drips tears, each quite differently from another.
11.4
After seminar. I said to Ellis, Woolf’s genius and people don’t know shit. Period!
I kept telling myself to always stay alert when it comes to the stylistic aspects of the work—the narrative, the use of tenses, the syntax—to be concise and lazy—form—and this story reminds me, greatly, of why I started to consciously think about form.
The sheer style! The narrator!
So many layers—the way that John handles *things*, stripping them off from the dualistic system of subject and object—the way that the narrator looks at John, how an artist writes about an artist, without much or any presupposed condescension, just purely looks at the acts of his—the way that we, as audience, engage with the text, as John looks at his stone, think about how it came into being, to ponder over it! Not to bash it with mundane rules!
Ahh, what is literature if not this.
More to follow once I’ve read it a few times more
11.3
Read it again, amazing, the sheer grasp of Woolf—I call it looking into the heart of “life”, dismantling objects, recounting stories.
What is it, that lives behind the cold coated dusty cover of the rock, the story of the rock! The stories after stories that we neglected.
Every broken heart deserves a play, so does every broken stone. The spilt drips tears, each quite differently from another.
11.4
After seminar. I said to Ellis, Woolf’s genius and people don’t know shit. Period!
I kept telling myself to always stay alert when it comes to the stylistic aspects of the work—the narrative, the use of tenses, the syntax—to be concise and lazy—form—and this story reminds me, greatly, of why I started to consciously think about form.
The sheer style! The narrator!
So many layers—the way that John handles *things*, stripping them off from the dualistic system of subject and object—the way that the narrator looks at John, how an artist writes about an artist, without much or any presupposed condescension, just purely looks at the acts of his—the way that we, as audience, engage with the text, as John looks at his stone, think about how it came into being, to ponder over it! Not to bash it with mundane rules!
Ahh, what is literature if not this.
Read
February 3, 2025Er sah nicht, oder falls doch, so bemerkte er es wohl kaum, dass John, nachdem er das Glasstück noch einen Moment länger betrachtet hatte, es auf eine zögernde Art in die Tasche gleiten ließ. Auch dieser Impuls mag der eines Kindes gewesen sein, eines Kindes, das auf einer mit Kieselsteinen übersäten Straße einen von ihnen aufhebt, ihm ein Leben voll Wärme und Sicherheit auf dem Kaminsims seines Zimmers verspricht, sich dabei in dem Gefühl von Macht und Güte sonnt, das eine solche Tat mit sich bringt, und das Herz des Steins springen zu fühlen glaubt vor Freude darüber, sich unter Tausenden auserwählt zu sehen und statt eines Daseins in Kälte und Nässe auf der Chaussee dieser Glückseligkeit teilhaftig zu werden. »Wie schnell hätte es einer der Tausenden anderen Steine werden können? Aber nein, ich, ich, ich bin es geworden!«
Ob John dies nun dachte oder nicht, das Glasstück fand seinen Platz auf dem Kaminsims, wo es, schwer auf einem kleinen Stapel Rechnungen und Korrespondenz liegend, nicht nur einen hervorragenden Briefbeschwerer abgab, sondern auch dem von der Buchseite abschweifenden Blick des jungen Mannes als natürlicher Haltepunkt diente.
(…)
Während seine Ansprüche stiegen, sein Geschmack sich an immer weniger erfreute, wuchs die Zahl der Enttäuschungen ins Unermessliche, doch stets lockte ein Schimmer Hoffnung, ein auf interessante Weise zerbrochenes oder gemustertes Stück Porzellan oder Glas ihn weiter vorwärts. So verging Tag um Tag. Er war nicht länger jung. Seine Karriere - also, seine politische - gehörte der Vergangenheit an. Die Leute gaben es auf, ihn zu besuchen. Er war zu schweigsam, als dass es sich gelohnt hätte, ihn zum Dinner einzuladen. Nie verlor er ein Wort über seine großen Ambitionen, weil das Verhalten der anderen deutlich bezeugte, wie wenig sie ihn verstanden.
Gerade lehnte er sich im Sessel zurück und beobachtete Charles dabei, wie er im Takt seiner Rede über das Tun der Regierung Dutzende Male die Gegenstände auf dem Kaminsims anhob und mit Nachdruck wieder absetzte, ohne ihnen auch nur die geringste Beachtung zu schenken.
Wenn er keinen Zweck mehr erfüllt, löst sich sein Selbstgefühl auf und sein Wert scheint zu verschwinden. Sowohl Woolf als auch Kafka thematisieren für mich die tiefgehende emotionale Entfremdung, die entsteht, wenn der eigene Wert ausschließlich an das geknüpft ist, was man leisten kann – was einen leer zurücklässt, sobald dieser Nutzen entfällt. Für mich geht es in Feste Gegenstände nicht darum, Schönheit in scheinbar wertlosen Objekten zu sehen, sondern darum, dass Objekte – wie das Wort selbst andeutet – durch ihr Sein prinzipiell bereits einen Wert haben. Woolf zeigt, dass so wie ihre abstrakte Sprache, es weniger um eine ästhetische Betrachtung geht, sondern um die Idee, dass Dinge, auch wenn sie uns entglitten sind, weiterhin Teil unseres Selbst und unserer Wahrnehmung bleiben.
Ob John dies nun dachte oder nicht, das Glasstück fand seinen Platz auf dem Kaminsims, wo es, schwer auf einem kleinen Stapel Rechnungen und Korrespondenz liegend, nicht nur einen hervorragenden Briefbeschwerer abgab, sondern auch dem von der Buchseite abschweifenden Blick des jungen Mannes als natürlicher Haltepunkt diente.
(…)
Während seine Ansprüche stiegen, sein Geschmack sich an immer weniger erfreute, wuchs die Zahl der Enttäuschungen ins Unermessliche, doch stets lockte ein Schimmer Hoffnung, ein auf interessante Weise zerbrochenes oder gemustertes Stück Porzellan oder Glas ihn weiter vorwärts. So verging Tag um Tag. Er war nicht länger jung. Seine Karriere - also, seine politische - gehörte der Vergangenheit an. Die Leute gaben es auf, ihn zu besuchen. Er war zu schweigsam, als dass es sich gelohnt hätte, ihn zum Dinner einzuladen. Nie verlor er ein Wort über seine großen Ambitionen, weil das Verhalten der anderen deutlich bezeugte, wie wenig sie ihn verstanden.
Gerade lehnte er sich im Sessel zurück und beobachtete Charles dabei, wie er im Takt seiner Rede über das Tun der Regierung Dutzende Male die Gegenstände auf dem Kaminsims anhob und mit Nachdruck wieder absetzte, ohne ihnen auch nur die geringste Beachtung zu schenken.
Wenn er keinen Zweck mehr erfüllt, löst sich sein Selbstgefühl auf und sein Wert scheint zu verschwinden. Sowohl Woolf als auch Kafka thematisieren für mich die tiefgehende emotionale Entfremdung, die entsteht, wenn der eigene Wert ausschließlich an das geknüpft ist, was man leisten kann – was einen leer zurücklässt, sobald dieser Nutzen entfällt. Für mich geht es in Feste Gegenstände nicht darum, Schönheit in scheinbar wertlosen Objekten zu sehen, sondern darum, dass Objekte – wie das Wort selbst andeutet – durch ihr Sein prinzipiell bereits einen Wert haben. Woolf zeigt, dass so wie ihre abstrakte Sprache, es weniger um eine ästhetische Betrachtung geht, sondern um die Idee, dass Dinge, auch wenn sie uns entglitten sind, weiterhin Teil unseres Selbst und unserer Wahrnehmung bleiben.
May 18, 2025
I just absolutely love it when humans get obsessed with collecting the most random kind of objects ever like John out here collecting Patrick-shaped glass. You go man. Don't let anyone stop you from doing what you want.
Okay but in all seriousness this was such a beautiful and thought-provoking piece. Time and time again I get impressed by how much fun short stories are, and the fact that this one left me with a lot of thoughts in under 3~ pages is so cool. I keep wondering about the broken glass shards the mantelpiece and the displaying of glass and what each and all of it can symbolise. There's so much room for interpretation there and I think it's so neat that she manages to layer that in merely a turn of a page.
Okay but in all seriousness this was such a beautiful and thought-provoking piece. Time and time again I get impressed by how much fun short stories are, and the fact that this one left me with a lot of thoughts in under 3~ pages is so cool. I keep wondering about the broken glass shards the mantelpiece and the displaying of glass and what each and all of it can symbolise. There's so much room for interpretation there and I think it's so neat that she manages to layer that in merely a turn of a page.
February 8, 2024
This illusorily humble yet very very warped anecdote of two young men, John and Charles, raises precarious theoretical questions. Unquestionably it is an admonitory tale cautioning against aesthetic hoarding and captivation to the detriment of the real, the moral, the political. It might have been the purpose of Woolf to scorn all who honour the virginally visual and purely artistic over the ethical, and concrete. The post World War 1 revulsion with power politics is at play too. The story is indeed very short and would not take more than a quarter of an hour to complete. Give it a try and come up with your own assumptions.
Recommended.
Recommended.
January 19, 2021
Debes conocer la biografía de Virgina Woolf para darle significado a este cuento, que desde mi perspectiva, narra con una metáfora de vida. Las piedras y objetos brillosos pero sin valor, para mi representan los momentos que cada persona vive, dentro de su corazón son sumamente valiosos y siempre está la necesidad de buscar más, diferentes y que nos llenen un poco más. Fuera, muchas veces carecen de sentido y no tienen peso en la balanza de éxito, metas o carreras profesionales ante la sociedad. Disfrute mucho esta narrativa al ponerle ese significado en mi vida.
This entire review has been hidden because of spoilers.
April 20, 2024
Easy and fast read. A man who looses focus for his career, or is it the adult modern busy life that is superficial? Friends who try to keep him grounded. He is focused on the simple things, like a child, that bring him delight and pleasure. Looking for the next small object of interesting shape and color. Is it a mental breakdown, living in a fantasy world but thinking by neglecting reality all is ok?
This entire review has been hidden because of spoilers.
May 23, 2025
Interesting analogy of humans and objects. The contrast between fluidity and solidity is very presence enriching the imagery of the scene and the underlying emotions of the imaginary and real world. Woolf might have wanted to critique the outcaststing of artist in a society that values things by their functionality instead of its beauty and imaginary attributes. Good piece!
May 19, 2020
"The Solid Objects" by Woolf, Virginia. ***
When obsession swamps a man's mind and life, at the exclusion of friends.
"He now began to haunt the places which are most prolific of broken china ..."
When obsession swamps a man's mind and life, at the exclusion of friends.
"He now began to haunt the places which are most prolific of broken china ..."
May 18, 2021
I enjoyed the story. The descriptions are impressive. It really indulges the senses. Itc just strange.
It's a strange story about a man obssessed of collecting shiny, broken things he basically threw his life away.
It's a strange story about a man obssessed of collecting shiny, broken things he basically threw his life away.
This entire review has been hidden because of spoilers.
June 6, 2023
"He remembered that, after digging for a little, the water oozes round your finger-tips; the hole then becomes a moat; a well; a spring; a secret channel to the sea."
The idea and something behind it were beautiful. I suddenly felt like a child again.
The idea and something behind it were beautiful. I suddenly felt like a child again.
August 16, 2023
I am surprised how much this story story touched me on a personal level. I quite enjoy the discussion on the subject-object relationship framing in the context of the everyday and this story reminded me a simpler, discarded version of the opening and very last paragraphs of "Jacob's Room".
December 6, 2024
Here we have the story of a man with promising career who becomes obsessed with random obscure objects, none of them have any discernible value. He just goes from dump to dump collecting rubbish. What will come from this? Will he choose his objects or a career?
August 23, 2025
to be creative and artistic that path contrasts with the traditional pursuit of career and stability, that then shows the tension between individual imagination and societal expectation
guys i’m trying to be more thought provoking!
guys i’m trying to be more thought provoking!
September 28, 2025
⭐️3.5
“Looked at again and again half conciously by a mind thinking of something else, any object mixes itself so profoundly with the stuff of thought that it loses its actual form and recomposes itself a little differently in an ideal shape which haunts the brain when we least expect it.”
“Looked at again and again half conciously by a mind thinking of something else, any object mixes itself so profoundly with the stuff of thought that it loses its actual form and recomposes itself a little differently in an ideal shape which haunts the brain when we least expect it.”
November 7, 2022
It took some time for me to digest, but I thoroughly enjoyed the whole idea of all-consuming distractions and being carried away by escapism.
April 17, 2024
I believe Virginia Woolf was saying that random lumps of rubbish have more intrinsic worth than anything in the political sphere.
May 23, 2024
???????
pretty stones
pretty stones
January 30, 2025
I too feel the urge to collect things. I too wish to abandon the realms of society in order to satisfy my urge to collect these things.
May 17, 2025
beautiful & puzzling
Displaying 1 - 30 of 34 reviews