Mrs Dalloway

It's Heather here :)
Here’s my review for Mrs Dalloway! I don’t want to spoil the plot since I’m in the process of begging most of my friends to pick up a Woolf book so I can venerate her books with other people so apologies if it is a little vague (and please leave me a comment if you’ve read, or are intending on reading, any of her literature). As I write this, I am listening to a voice clip of Woolf’s on Wikipedia – am I the only one that’s been oblivious to Wikipedia’s mystical powers of putting voice clips in their articles?

Author: Virginia Woolf

Published: May 1925

Publisher: Hogarth Press

This book pans through a day in the Post First World War society and is set around some characters, most of which attend Clarissa Dalloway’s party; including Septimus, a veteran suffering from severe shell-shock causing hallucinations, his wife Lucrezia, Richard Dalloway, Elizabeth Dalloway, the wistful Peter Walsh, Sally and, of course, the hostess herself - Clarissa. That (very brief) summary really does the book no justice, like most of Woolf’s works, the ponderings that most authors dismiss in their writing are her main focus as she utilises the stream of consciousness method. I found reading this book effortless, like chatting to an endearing and close friend or even peering into one’s own head (hopefully not literally), yet the narrative is still eloquent and thoughtful; a perceptive style indeed.

Due to the title, I feel inclined to talk about Clarrisa and the conundrum she is in about love. Clarissa is the typical human; she regrets, she judges others a little (or a lot in the case of poor Mrs Kilman!) and whilst appearing ebullient, she is deeply self-conscious and is consistently picking at ways to improve herself. She is startled by the reappearance of Peter, the man she rejected for her husband, and takes a while to decipher whether she was feeling a pang of relief or remorse at her past refusal for him. Though flawed with moments of critical thoughts, Clarissa is generally a rather nice person who spends more time admiring others. When we enter Peter’s world, we learn that he is consumed with spiteful criticisms of nearly everybody he interacts with; as the reader, we have to decide whether he’s always been so vindicated or if this attitude is a defence mechanism that has sprung to life from the rejection of his true love and if this is forgivable.

Being familiarised with Woolf’s life certainly makes this a fascinating read. The shell-shock that Septimus experiences was unbelievably intriguing to read; especially since our class at school have been studying Regeneration (another excellent book), so to get in the head of someone with shell-shock was remarkable. Woolf herself had suffered from mental illnesses that have been speculated on considerably in many of her biographies, which I would highly recommend reading, this state of extreme depression did sadly lead to her suicide. Her own familiarity with depression and hallucinations make her descriptions from Septimus vivid and chilling.

I flicked to a random page and selected this extract just or reiterate how beautifully she writes (Shani called me a book snob today, which is probably true… but this type of literature is so underrated):

“There was nobody. Her words faded. So a rocket fades. Its sparks, having grazed their way into the night, surrender to it, dark descends, pours over the outlines of houses and towers; bleak-hill-sides soften and fall in.” – extract from Page 27

There is no particular moment which is outstanding because the entire book is a masterpiece, the language seems to flow from her pen in a way I think we all yearn was as effortless for ourselves. Just look at the word ‘grazed’, I’m probably rambling too much here but that is such a lovely choice of word. She could have just said that ‘they felt isolated’ or something simple like that but instead she added that stunning comparison as words fade – not in a PowerPoint effects style, but the way a rocket would scrape the sky to surrender and then fade out in that subtly powerful manner. This kind of imagery is smothered throughout the narratives, making it equally effortless for the reader to comprehend exactly what she wants them to visualise. It’s like reading a picture book but with thoughts and doodles and every little detail one could possibly hold an inkling of inquisitively to see.

Personally, I preferred To The Lighthouse to Mrs Dalloway, but my judgement is probably tainted by the fact To The Lighthouse was both my chosen coursework novel and first encounter with Woolf. This book is considerably darker, the deaths are not modestly placed between polite brackets, but discussed through the mouths and minds of others. If you have not read Woolf before then read both! I cannot guarantee that her style will be as enchanting for everybody, but I think it’s probably a love it or hate it type of thing. Anyway, that's it for this review, please do leave a comment if you would like to, and I'll be back soon with a review for Birdsong.

To The Lighthouse

Hello, it's Heather! I've been busy updating the site's aesthetics (see the book blog page, it looks a little nicer now). I'm slightly obsessed with Virginia Woolf at the moment; I have three of her books downstairs on the window sill waiting for me to read them... so expect more soon.

Author: Virginia Woolf

Published: May 1927

Publisher: Hogarth Press

My rating (out of five): ★★★★★

“She had known happiness, exquisite happiness, intense happiness, and it silvered the rough waves a little more brightly, as daylight faded, and the blue went out of the sea and it rolled in waves of pure lemon which curved and swelled and broke upon the beach and the ecstasy burst in her eyes and waves of pure delight raced over the floor or her mind and she felt, It is enough!”

I read an extract of Mrs Dalloway at a university open day and was compelled to read some of Virginia Woolf's work due to the lecturer’s pure adoration and love of her books. I decided to begin with To The Lighthouse, but am sure that I will read Mrs Dalloway imminently. This writing style is so remarkably different; its focus being not about the plot, not about dialogue, not even about reliability (debatably), but on everything that floats through the character’s head, every little silly thought. I found myself reading bits aloud, murmuring lines and feeling the bias, the loathing and the favouritism resound in each word. The stream of consciousness style can be a little tedious for those that feel impatient for something big to happen, but for anyone that just wants to appreciate the present, however meaningless it may seem, this is the book for you.

The novel investigates many matters that one may ponder when they zone out. For instance, is it right to raise a child’s hopes and teach them optimism or to blunder these dreams with the swift reminder of reality? On one hand, it may be kinder to get the truth out there before the child imagines and hopes and believes in intangible adventures, but on the other, it seems harmless to let a child anticipate for something even if the thing they look forward to may be postponed, provided it will eventually happen. Then there are the trivial things to consider – do they like me? What is your opinion on them? How does it change every second? These ever-present thoughts make the reader realise the complexity of the human mind, it’s constantly humming, little bees of thought darting to and thro: the blankest of moments in life seem to be coloured in with the most interesting brain activity.

Virginia Woolf’s writing seems effortless, like she’s become possessed and has put her pen to paper and - whoop - an entire book has emerged. None of the words struck me as odd or pretentious, but there wasn’t the usual blend of ‘the house was red brick, the grass an emerald green’, she uses words like ‘blandishments’ and ‘fecundity’. I like these words. I wish authors would use these words more instead of sustaining with the usual, safe list of simple words. Say ‘fecundity’ to yourself now, slowly, feel it, each sound. It’s just such a great word (it means healthy, powerful productivity or growth).

As far as characters go, I would have liked to have seen more of Charles. The reader gains some mixed expressions on the man; he tells Lily that women cannot paint or write (Woolf must have hated these kind of people) which made her adamant to paint, he annoys Mrs Ramsay at the start by unnecessarily dampening James’ spirits; he is smart yet annoying, craves attention and controversy. I would have also loved to see more of Prue and Cam. There is definitely a strong feminist argument present in this book, note how Mrs Ramsay dies (I’d say spoiler alert but the plot is hardly the main part of the book), Prue dies, Cam feels stupid and Minta has her heart broken. Lily stands out for these reasons. I adored how she didn’t feel the necessity to marry despite Mrs Ramsay trying to persuade her to and how she pursued her dreams against the will – perhaps especially because of the will – of Charles not to paint.

This is such a fantastic book. I wouldn’t class it as an easy read, it takes time and literally every other line needs to be highlighted (I did this on my kindle as I have a thing against highlighting in books). Anyone that is an avid reader or has an interest in people (how they work, why they do what they do, what some of them are thinking) or wants to study the art of English, please read it. Partly because I need more people to chat about Virginia Woolf with, partly because it’s just a beautiful masterpiece of a novel.