It has been so very long since I have sat down and written something and anything here. I have neglected what I had promised to do: which was write more, be it here, in my journal, napkins, my hand. I don't know why I feel it necessary to apologize to the reader of this, because I have let down myself more than anyone who reads my simple blog. I must say that I have good reasons (nay, excuses) for not writing more of my thoughts on reading and books and life and such. Once finishing my school, I quit my job a month later, began packing up my life, selling/donating my possessions, and now I am (sort of) on the road to Texas.
This being said, I will take this time to read more, write more, ponder more, pontificate more... Stop me before I get too carried away. As for the showers part of the post, I will say this: they are cleansing and rejuvenating, refreshing and invigorating. Such a hectic start to a long road trip, and I haven't even left the state of Oregon yet. The best thing I have done, besides turn off my alarms and sleep in, is to shower and contemplate what I wanted to say here, my plan to take this blog to the next level, how to better approach what I want to do here... I just decided it best to just get out of the shower before I became a prune, and sit down and just start writing.
BACK TO BASICS:So I originally started this blog to read through the 1001 Books to Read Before You Die listed suggestions. This mostly pertains to the books that I would have overlooked, passed by, and "said" that I had read them (without having finished them). So I plan, with my new-found unemployment, to begin again. Although life may interject itself into my posts, I will stop using this as a platform to discuss life before the books. Now, I say this, but who knows where it may lead, as I have neglected to keep previous promises to myself about these posts.
Without further ado...
THE REVIEW:
So, upon my return from Hawaii, I have finally finished Virginia Woolf's novel, Mrs. Dalloway. This book was similar in many aspects to Woolf's other book I have read, To the Lighthouse. TTL was so beautiful and, yet, so devastatingly lonely that I could not help but draw comparisons between the two. In total, I have read of Woolf's: A Room of One's Own (1929), Orlando (1928), To the Lighthouse (1927), and now Mrs. Dalloway (1925). ARoOO was a speech given to a college about the importance of a woman to have a room to herself, a stipend, and time alone in order to be a productive creator/writer/woman. Orlando was a mismatched race through time of a man loving women, to being a woman loving men, and a woman loving women. This novel is definitely the most different out of all of her works, even in prose and structure: it is not written by the Woolf that is known for her stream of consciousness, internal dialogues.
So, upon my return from Hawaii, I have finally finished Virginia Woolf's novel, Mrs. Dalloway. This book was similar in many aspects to Woolf's other book I have read, To the Lighthouse. TTL was so beautiful and, yet, so devastatingly lonely that I could not help but draw comparisons between the two. In total, I have read of Woolf's: A Room of One's Own (1929), Orlando (1928), To the Lighthouse (1927), and now Mrs. Dalloway (1925). ARoOO was a speech given to a college about the importance of a woman to have a room to herself, a stipend, and time alone in order to be a productive creator/writer/woman. Orlando was a mismatched race through time of a man loving women, to being a woman loving men, and a woman loving women. This novel is definitely the most different out of all of her works, even in prose and structure: it is not written by the Woolf that is known for her stream of consciousness, internal dialogues.
Reading Mrs. Dalloway after having read TTL (even though it was written prior), I noticed the similar themes and styles. It's telling that Woolf loves the complexity and distrust that modernity has brought to society. Overall, it appears that Mrs. Dalloway was simply a practice novel for To the Lighthouse, where she perfected the levels of a tortured soul, stuck living inside her own mind, watching a husband she does not love do a job he loves more than her, watching her children grow up. I loved Mrs. Dalloway so very much, if only for the intense profile of a man left ruined by the First World War. Septimus is devastated, left alone, hearing voices, reliving the death of his best friend in the fox hole next to him, unable to make his wife (or anyone) understand exactly what is going on inside his mind. I will not spoil the ending of this novel, although, there isn't a big moment, a big finish. It's Virginia Woolf. She has been able to finish a grand work with just 3 words.
I noticed, when having finished Mrs. Dalloway, that I love reading the last lines of books almost as much as the opening sentences. I have found that the best closing sentences have nothing to do with much of the novel, itself. They speak to something larger than just the plot. In TTL, it was "It is finished," and in Mrs. Dalloway, it was "It was Clarissa. It was her." Everything fits in those three words.
(originally published 19 May, 2013)
No comments:
Post a Comment