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Dorothy opens the window to a domesticated William Wordsworth, the Poet, at work in the acts of creation. Sunday Morning [14th of March 1802] reads, "...while we were at Breakfast that is (for I had breakfasted) he, with his Basin of Broth before him untouched and a little plate of Bread and butter he wrote the Poem to a Butterfly! He ate not a morsel, nor put on his stockings but sate with his shirt neck unbuttoned, and his waistcoat open while he did it."
Many literary critics have chosen to see Dorothy Wordsworth as a shadow of her brother, these readers say that Dorothy does not pocess a coherent self and they fault the patriarchal powers for her lack of an active self. I see Dorothy Wordsworth as a delicate, compassionate and kind person with "A Passion for the Particular."* She is, I feel, well aware of her self as a self, and also well aware of other selves as themselves. Her journal is littered with what she does achieves in her daily life.
This journal is a fantastic bedtime read. Her unique and careful narrative style, her emphasis and focus on truthful detail, all these make reading the journal a real pleasure. I only wish I discovered her earlier.
* This phrase is taken from the title of Elizabeth Gunn's book on Dorothy Wordsworth.
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