9 October 1922 – 15 October 1922

I have had two letters, from Lytton and Carrington, about Jacob’s Room, and written I don’t know how many envelopes; and here we are on the verge of publication. I must sit for my portrait to John o’ London’s on Monday. Richmond writes to ask that date of publication may be put ahead, so that they may notice it on Thursday. My sensations? they remain calm. Yet how could Lytton have praised me more highly? prophesies immortality for it as poetry; is afraid of my romance; but the beauty of the writing, etc. Lytton praises me too highly for it to give me exquisite pleasure; or perhaps that nerve grows dulled. I want to be through the splash and swimming in calm water again. I want to be writing unobserved. Mrs. Dalloway has branched into a book; and I adumbrate here a study of insanity and suicide; the world seen by the sane and the insane side by side—something like that. Septimus Smith? is that a good name? and to be more close to the fact than Jacob: but I think Jacob was a necessary step, for me, in working free. And now I must use this benignant page for making out a scheme of work. I must get on with my reading for the Greek chapter. I shall finish The Prime Minister in another week—say 21st. Then I must be ready to start my Essay article for The Times: say on the 23rd. That will take say till 2nd November. Therefore I must now concentrate on Essays: with some Aeschylus, and I think begin Zimmern, making rather a hasty end of Bentley, who is not really much to my purpose. I think that clears the matter up—though how to read Aeschylus I don’t quite know: quickly, is my desire, but that, I see, is an illusion. As for my views about the success of Jacob, what are they? I think we shall sell 500; it will then go slowly and reach 800 by June. It will be highly praised in some places for “beauty”; will be crabbed by people who want human character. The only review I am anxious about is the one in the Supt: not that it will be the most intelligent, but it will be the most read and I can’t bear people to see me clowned in public. The W.G.* will be hostile; so, very likely, the Nation. But I am perfectly serious in saying that nothing budges me from my determination to go on, or alters my pleasure; so whatever happens, though the surface may be agitated, the centre is secure.