By Sallie Bingham
Every three seconds during the five night I’ve spent in North Truro, the Highland Light strokes its beams across my bed. In Virginia Woolf’s magnificent, To The Lighthouse, a lighthouse on the coast of Cornwall strokes the family’s beds. When, after a series of deaths, they no longer come and the house begins to deteriorate, the lighthouse still strokes their empty beds.
As Woolf’s novel has become for me the measure of what a great novel should be, empathetic, courageous, unexpected, the Truro lighthouse’s beams have become the symbol of fidelity in women’s friendships.Read More »