I’m going to come back a bit later this a.m. with some more comments, as well as a few books about Woolf and her Bloomsbury circle to recommend.

That being said, this was not an easy book for me to read. It took me a good hundred pages to hook into, and I continually felt lost in the first half with the large cast of characters, often having to flip back to see who was who (all those children!).

But I was largely impressed by Woolf, her insights, her long, long sentences, the use of metaphor and simile in such a persistent way. Stylistically, she’s a genius. What I loved most was her characters, how full they were, I seemed to feel adoration and disdain, compassion and disappointment for each one.

On a personal level, it was everything I loved about reading: I could get into their heads. We are all neurotic, I thought triumphantly, and felt normal. I agree that the story, and the process of reading it, is a journey. All in all, I found it a challenging, worthwhile read, and a wonderful pick. I won’t be so hesistant to dive into Woolf again.

Sure, I’ve still got questions about what happened in parts of the book, but I’m not too worried about it (as someone mentioned the blundered quote by Mr. Ramsey). I figure this will be a book I’ll consider long after I’ve finished it.

BTW, all: the model for WR Classics is that I, your host, pop in and out all day… if you leave a comment and don’t get a response from me, I hope someone else will leave one — but rest assured, I’ll return!

Not sure if that makes any sense, but when I read Moments of Being (a collection of her memoirs), she spoke of the fact that there is no difference (to her) between events in the past and present. They are all relevant. They inform one another. They rely on one another. One couldn’t possibly understand who they are without thinking back but at the same time a remembrance of things past cannot disable the future.

OK. I haven’t had my morning joe yet, however, overall, I was struck by Woolf’s fascination with time and how all her characters are affected by it (via events, memory, etc).

Cheers, f.

With Virginia Woolf, everything is intentional; that’s not simply me being flip, that’s true. She never set down a word that wasn’t meant to signify something else — it was her style, but also her metier, if that makes sense.

Mrs. Ramsays’ shawl: to me, it’s always been the garb of an true earth mother, a sign of deliberate, Martha-Stewart-esque care and beauty — but also a foreshadowing of her eventual shroud.