William Marvel: Backwoods Bloomsbury

I spent a week in Bloomsbury in August of 1993 while researching Confederate naval intrigues in England and its colonies. I selected my hotel mainly for its proximity to the British Library but partly for the nearby buildings Confederate agents and emissaries had frequented in the 1860s. The intellectual history of Bloomsbury exerted no influence on my choice: I had little interest in the literary emanations of the Bloomsbury Group and even less in the more unconventional tendency of its extracurricular excesses.

Bloomsbury seemed far too crowded and noisy for the satisfactory indulgence of creative pursuits, which could explain my tepid enthusiasm for the artistic output of its more renowned residents. Visual arts may be less vulnerable to the distractions of street sounds and chattering neighbors, but assembling words in a pleasing and persuasive fashion requires long periods of silence — first for reflection, and then for expression. That maxim was continually reinforced during my years in a newsroom, where there was no door to close against the din of competing discussions.