"The writer catches the changes of his mind on the hop. Growth is exciting; growth is dynamic and alarming. Growth of the soul, growth of the mind"
About this Quote
Writing, for Vita Sackville-West, isn’t a tidy record of who you already are; it’s a chase scene. “Catches the changes of his mind on the hop” frames thought as something quick, half-wild, and liable to slip away if you reach for it too slowly. The line quietly dismantles the romantic idea of the novelist as a serene observer. Her writer is an athlete of attention, tracking the self mid-metamorphosis, not posing it for a portrait.
The real sting is in her insistence that growth is “alarming.” Most talk about artistic development like it’s a straight ascent: more craft, more wisdom, more polish. Sackville-West admits the cost. Growth means you outgrow yesterday’s convictions, styles, even loyalties. The mind’s upgrades come with a kind of bereavement: you lose the comfort of a stable identity. That’s why the sentence feels almost breathless, stacking “exciting,” “dynamic,” “alarming” like someone talking themselves through a risky leap.
Context matters here: a modernist-adjacent novelist shaped by a world reorganizing itself through war, shifting gender roles, and new ideas of psychology and interior life. In that climate, the “soul” and the “mind” aren’t pieties; they’re contested territories. She’s defending the writer’s inner volatility as a serious instrument, arguing that literature’s job isn’t to embalms the self but to document its live evolution - and to make the reader feel that unease as proof something real is happening.
The real sting is in her insistence that growth is “alarming.” Most talk about artistic development like it’s a straight ascent: more craft, more wisdom, more polish. Sackville-West admits the cost. Growth means you outgrow yesterday’s convictions, styles, even loyalties. The mind’s upgrades come with a kind of bereavement: you lose the comfort of a stable identity. That’s why the sentence feels almost breathless, stacking “exciting,” “dynamic,” “alarming” like someone talking themselves through a risky leap.
Context matters here: a modernist-adjacent novelist shaped by a world reorganizing itself through war, shifting gender roles, and new ideas of psychology and interior life. In that climate, the “soul” and the “mind” aren’t pieties; they’re contested territories. She’s defending the writer’s inner volatility as a serious instrument, arguing that literature’s job isn’t to embalms the self but to document its live evolution - and to make the reader feel that unease as proof something real is happening.
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