At first glance, the Death of the Moth seemed like an ordinary essay one would randomly jot down in his or her diary, some unparticularly significant matters on an unspecific day; it seems like the essay is the collective result of a mindless account of things, where nothing is organized, nor does it make any sense to me. However, after taking a closer look at the Death of the Moth, I had finally caught up with the swift thoughts of perhaps one of the most brilliant modernist writers I have ever seen to date, along with her life, her sufferings, and ultimately her death. Contrasting how little I knew when I first read this story, the finally-caught-on realization when I re-read the book 2 or 3 times, magnified my amazement, as well as my respect for Virginia Woolf, this unusually exceptional pioneer of feminism and modernism.
Virginia Woolf is the master in visualizing the complicated thoughts in the human brain which generates endless information at any given time. She represented in her novels the neverending streams of consciousness through a variety of techniques, including using excessively lengthy sentences to portray one’s continuous mindflow, and irrelevant or unconnected subjects in sentences to simulate our brain handling an immense amount of information and could sometimes mess things up.
Virginia Woolf executed the idea beautifully. I felt strands after strands of thoughts coming from her elaborate mind, documenting everything she saw, heard, and even those imaginative ones. Sometimes my thoughts wandered as Woolf’s mind goes somewhere else far from where she originally was; sometimes she was all over the place as if she didn’t mind if the readers could comprehend. This was what Virginia Woolf was. She did not intend to complicate things to confuse readers. Instead, she was actually trying to interpret the most intricate and ancient programming language, our brains, into reading texts while preserving as many characteristics as possible in this fascinating stream of consciousness.