Virginia Woolf Ain’t No Punk B!tch: From Queer Subtext to Whatever The F*ck the Marauders Fandom Is
Title courtesy of the Monét X Change, of course.
At the London residence of 46 Gordon Square, a group of writers, artists, and intellectuals started getting together around 1905. They became close friends, exchanged ideas, and encouraged each other’s artistic endeavors. For the next thirty years, the group met regularly, and little did they know that one of their founding members would singlehandedly reshape queer expression in post-modern literature.
I read Orlando at the ripe age of thirteen. In a fit of euphoria and a thirst for knowledge, I fell down a rabbit hole of anything and everything Virginia Woolf. After about an hour of cruising the internet, I learned that Orlando was a love letter to Vita Sackville-West, a woman. And Woolf was also a woman. I knew at the time, of course, that same-sex relationships existed. But I never considered that I could probably be queer as well.
I went deeper and deeper, and I read the letters, some snippets from Mrs. Dalloway, countless video essays, and I even watched the film, “Vita & Virginia”. My obsession with Woolf had suddenly become an obsession with understanding sex, gender, sexuality, and culture. I started consuming queer media, reading research papers, and watching probably hundreds of video essays on the Stonewall riots and the impact of RuPaul’s Drag Race.
During times like the 19th century, writers often addressed their identities by sneaking in hidden meanings, queer subtext, and coded innuendos. Oscar Wilde, Herman Melville, and Walt Whitman were united by their shared appreciation of beauty in philosophy and their personal experiences with same-sex/queer love. But what differentiates Virginia Woolf from the likes of 19th-century queer authors was her openness about her intimate relationships, in both her writing and in her own life.
Woolf, a key figure in modernist literature, had to grapple with writing, technology, and politics during the inter-war period in England. When the Modernism movement spread, a certain set of intellectuals called the ‘Bloomsbury Group’ rose to popularity, supporting young artists and stabilizing the era that would reshape art and literature as we know it. The Bloomsbury Era was an era of progression, adaptability, and fundamental change. An era that would come to an end with the death of Woolf herself.
In her 1925 novel Mrs. Dalloway, Virginia Woolf juxtaposes two disparate characters as parallels: Septimus Smith, a young soldier thinking about suicide, and the title character, Mrs. Clarissa Dalloway, an affluent older woman getting ready for a party. Both of these characters battle with heteronormativity and how they fit into it. Both struggle to find camaraderie with others and are unable to live up to the roles that heteronormativity has forced upon them. A notable moment in the book is when Woolf dives into the complexities of same-sex desire through Clarissa Dalloway’s reflections on her passionate kiss with Sally Seton.
And then there’s Orlando, a groundbreaking piece of work that challenges gender norms, following its protagonist through centuries and multiple gender changes. Woolf’s audacity in addressing queer themes paved the way for more explicit queer narratives in literature. Because, unlike Wilde and Whitman, Woolf was loud and unapologetic. The book itself was a declaration of love, written for Sackville-West out of inspiration from her tumultuous family history. Even in her personal life, Woolf was known to speak openly about her intimate relationships with women, even though she already had a husband at home.
Following Woolf’s groundbreaking work, openly gay writers became more prominent in the mid-20th century, increasing the portrayal of LGBTQ people in literature. A rare happy conclusion for a sapphic couple can be found in Patricia Highsmith’s The Price of Salt (written under the pen name Claire Morgan), while James Baldwin’s Giovanni’s Room provides a moving examination of same-sex love and identity. In this age, the LGBTQ+ rights movement was vital because it enabled writers to write more candidly about their lives as gay people by boosting social and political activism.
Traditional ideas of gender and sexuality were questioned by queer theorists like Eve Kosofsky Sedgwick and Judith Butler, who provided fresh perspectives on literature. This movement in scholarship made it possible to examine LGBT themes in literary works from the past and present in greater detail, confirming the existence of queer narratives that had been long ignored or hidden.
Queer representation in modern literature has expanded in diversity and intersectionality. Writers such as Ocean Vuong and Alison Bechdel explore complex representations of LGBT identities with pieces that examine how gender, race, and class interact, capturing the complexity of contemporary queer lives. Diverse storylines are becoming more and more popular, as evidenced by the rise in LGBT representation in speculative fiction and young adult literature, among other genres. Popular YA writers include Alice Oseman and Casey McQuiston, who also use their platforms to advocate for other activist movements.
A more underrated approach to expressing queer identities is, in my opinion, the involvement of fanfiction. It frequently delves further into the LGBT undertones present in popular culture, making room for more inclusive and outspoken representations. An interesting example of this is the Marauders fanbase, which is centered around characters from J.K. Rowling’s Harry Potter books. From character ships like ‘wolfstar’ and ‘jegulus’, the fandom has become a safe space for many writers, authors, artists, and editors to express their identity on par with their talents. In a way, fandoms have become the new Bloomsbury Group.
Queer literature is important. Queer stories are important. They encourage empathy and comprehension while pushing readers to reevaluate their views on gender and sexuality. Literature contributes to dismantling the prejudices and the advancement of an inclusive society by elevating queer culture. Or as RuPaul would like to say, “Never forget that the most political thing you can do is be yourself.”
While Woolf was certainly not the first queer author, and certainly not the last, it was her openness about her identity that inspired many to write about their true selves. And while the media landscape is still changing every day, the way we approach lgbtq+ stories shouldn’t. Orlando wasn’t written because Woolf wanted to come out, it was written because she wanted to express herself- two very different things.
In a world where the lines between personal identity and artistic expression blur more each day, the legacy of Virginia Woolf stands as a beacon for all who dare to write their truths. Her fearless exploration of gender and sexuality, both on the page and in her life, paved the way for future generations to be unapologetically themselves.
Today, as we near the end of Pride Month, we owe a debt of gratitude to those who, like Woolf, refused to hide in the shadows. Literature is a powerful tool for change, fostering stories that challenge, enlighten, and inspire. Regardless of how the world changes, we must remember that the true power of storytelling lies not just in coming out, but in the freedom to fully express our most authentic selves. So here’s to the writers, the dreamers, and the fans (except the Snamione fans — y’all can rot in hell) who dare to imagine a world where every voice is heard and every story is valued. May we continue to write boldly, love fiercely, and never forget that the pen is mightier than the sword.
