Virginia Woolf to Ottoline Morrell, 18 August 1922: 'Poor Rebecca West's novel bursts like an over stuffed sausage. She pours it all in; and one is covered with flying particles; indeed I had hastily to tie the judge tight and send it back to Mudies [Library] half finished. But this irreticence does not make me think any the worse of her human qualities [...] I do admire poor old Henry [James], and actually read through the Wings of a Dove [1902] last summer, and thought it such an amazing acrobatic feat, partly of his, partly of mine, that I now look upon myself and Henry James as partners in merit. I made it all out. But I felt very ill for some time afterwards. I am now reading Joyce, and my impression, after 200 out of 700 pages, is that the poor young man has got the dregs of a mind compared even with George Meredith. I mean if you could weigh the meaning on Joyces [sic] page it would be about 10 times as light as on Henry James'.'