The year is 1926. Queen Elizabeth II is christened. Wage cuts and increased working hours for coal miners precipitate a general strike of workers. A.A. Milne publishes Winnie-the-Pooh. The League of Nations accepts Germany as the sixth permanent member on the council deeming it a “peace-loving country”.
It is also the year that Virginia Woolf published her essay, On Being Ill, in January’s volume of The New Criterion – the literary review headed up by T.S. Eliot. The essay had been written from her sickbed, as Woolf lay recovering after fainting at her nephew Quentin’s 15th birthday dinner months before.
In the essay, Woolf argues that illness is “the great confessional” which is never talked about in literature because of the “poverty” of language when it comes to sickness and disease. Books on influenza, poetry on pneumonia and tomes on toothache and typhoid are “null, negligible and non-existent”, she declares, reckoning with Shakespeare, Milton, Pope, Proust, Donne and Keats.
Recounting a conversation with her husband Leonard Woolf about the essay in her diary a month before its publication, she remarked it was the “article which I, & Leonard too, thought one of my best”. However, not everyone was of the same opinion.
Woolf’s diaries reveal that a postcard sent by Eliot illustrated that he was “not enthusiastic” about the piece, prompting her to write: “So, reading the proof just now, I saw wordiness, feebleness, & all the vices in it.” It “increased” her “distaste” for her own writing and “dejection at the thought of writing another novel”.
Nevertheless, a revised version of On Being Ill was published months later, in April 1926, in an American magazine called The Forum. This time it was under the title Illness: An Unexploited Mine. Despite her critics, Woolf persisted with the topic, believing the absence of our ailments in literature called for censure.
In November 1930, a slim quarto of 250 numbered and signed copies of On Being Ill was hand-printed by the Woolfs’ printing press, The Hogarth Press. It was printed in an original vellum-backed green cloth with marbled endpapers, woodcut vignette on final leaf and an original dust jacket designed by her sister, Vanessa Bell. Woolf set the type herself. She spent Sunday June 15 1926, in the full swing of summer doing so, writing in her diary: “I was so methodically devoting my morning to finishing the last page of type setting: On Being Ill.”
On or about December 2019, human character changed
Two years before the writing of On Being Ill, in one of the most quoted lines in literature, Woolf wrote “on or about December 1910, human character changed”, in her essay, Mr Bennett and Mrs. Brown (1924), continuing that when “human relations change there is at the same time a change in religion, conduct, politics, and literature”.
Human character changed in December 2019, when SARS-CoV-2 was discovered and the COVID pandemic began in earnest.
Pandemic Pages, the podcast that I founded and co-host with Dr Catherine Wynne at the University of Hull, charts this tectonic shift in our lives and literature through interviews with authors, creatives, academics and medical professionals. Previous guests include Booker Prize winner and chair Roddy Doyle; NHS doctor and award-winning author, Dr Roopa Farooki and Professor Lucy Easthope, the UK’s leading expert on disaster recovery and advisor to the Prime Minister’s office during COVID.
The podcast has just launched its third season, which aims to create a living dialogue with the centenary of Woolf’s On Being Ill. In one episode, I chat to associate professor of Graphic Design from the Oslo National Academy of the Arts, Ane Thon Knutsen, a letter press print artist who printed one sentence of On Being Ill every day in the early days of lockdown.
Knutsen, whose wedding was postponed due to COVID, said this project “fell into her life” when lockdown began in Norway after everything she had planned fell apart: “A couple of days into the pandemic, I read On Being Ill. I’d read it before and I had planned to work on it, but I read it again and I was just like, my God, this essay is about just what’s happening right now.”
In the introduction to Knutsen’s book, Mark Hussey, emeritus professor of English at Pace University in New York, writes that her daily meditations on a single sentence painstakingly rebuild Woolf’s words one letter at a time, resulting in a collective slow reading. Her work urges us to savour words, to ponder them, to roll them around on the tongue before swallowing.
In the UK’s National Year of Reading 2026 – a UK-wide campaign designed to inspire more people to make reading a regular part of their lives – Woolf’s essay and Knutsen’s diary feel particularly poignant to press books into the hands of everyone we can – to regift ourselves the slowness of suspended pandemic time, the stillness in that season of survival.
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