I think often about professorial Mr. Ramsay from Virginia Woolf’s To the Lighthouse. His, she writes, was “a splendid mind. For if thought is like the keyboard of a piano, divided into so many notes, or like the alphabet is ranged in twenty-six letters all in order, then his splendid mind had no sort of difficulty in running over those letters one by one, firmly and accurately, until it had reached, say, the letter Q. He reached Q. Very few people in the whole of England ever reach Q.” But the question that plagues Mr. Ramsay: What if he never gets to R?
From Rachel Toor’s recent post at CHE