There appears to be no end in sight to the mythification of Bloomsbury. As a phenomenon of late twentieth-century Anglo-American cultural life, Bloomsbury has long ceased to be the coterie interest it once was. It has expanded its domain to become one of the mainstream myths of the modern era. In the universities, the study of Bloomsbury is a flourishing industry. On the literary scene, its participants are the subject of an immense biographical and critical literature. Even more improbably, the sex life of Bloomsbury has found its way into the manufacture of romantic idylls for the stage and screen. (Who, even a few years ago, would have dreamed that a character as unappetizing as Lytton Strachey could be turned into a romantic figure for the movies?) If there is not yet a Bloomsbury coloring book, there is already a Virginia Woolf calendar and a Virginia Woolf T-shirt. It hardly matters, moreover, that Bloomsbury produced, besides Virginia Woolf, only two...

 
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