Virginia Woolf’s Mrs Dalloway baffled me. I’ll freely admit I wasn’t ready for this kind of book at the time when I attempted to read it. There isn’t much of a story there, the book is simply a day in the life of Clarissa Dalloway, a woman who married for privilege rather than love, as she is preparing to host a social party that evening. We learn about her past, how she got in to her marriage, and the man she left behind (as he shows up in town after an extended absence, on today of all days). People in her circle float in and out throughout the short novel, and most of the book is told inside each person’s head. It isn’t quite stream-of-conscious writing, but it is close. Thoughts pop in and get explored before moving on to the next one. The only real action of the book is told through the story of Clarissa’s acquaintance Septimus, a war veteran who is descending into depression and madness, who kills himself towards the end of the book (we are privy to his delusional thoughts as well).
This is my second Woolf reading, after I was bored to tears by Orlando last year. This one is beautifully written, but I really struggled to get through it. You have to approach this book as you would a piece of art. It needs to be read slowly, digesting the words before moving to the next passage. It is definitely one for which the journey is more important than the destination. After having read two of her books now, I have to say I’m not a big fan of Woolf’s style (I deplore the “realism” of stream of consciousness writing, give me a true story to follow any day of the week), but you can’t argue against her prose, she is a true master of the language. Knowing now how Mrs Dalloway goes together, I’ll probably attempt this one again sometime down the line, give it another chance to move me.
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