Mrs. Dalloway

A book that is almost entirely description and no plot, written in a stream-of-consciousness style; in short, my ultimate snooze-fest. There were times this weekend when I felt open to description that served no purpose, to simply have a picture painted in my mind, and at these times I liked the book. The rest of the weekend I was more my normal self, wanting a story that would grab me and whisk me away, and at these times I was bored with the book. Glad to have read it in case it comes up sometime in my life, and that's about the best feeling I can muster for this book.

I'm a classics fan but I've never been particularly drawn to Virginia Woolf. I picked up a copy of Mrs. Dalloway because the cover was pretty. I hadn't the faintest idea what it was about. When the Audrey app chose this as one of their listen-alongs, I figured now was as good a time as any to read it. 

Some classics are wasted on people... this one was wasted on me. I wanted to like it so much given the time it was written and the portrayals of PTSD and mental health disorders. By the time I got to this point, I was painfully bored and cared nothing about the characters. Personally, it was not a good time to read it, either. 

Whether it's a matter of the wrong place, the wrong time, or the book itself, it wasn't for me. I know I'm in the minority here but even lively discussion couldn't draw me in. It only made me ask if I was really listening to the same book as everyone else. 

Thought I'd be safe with a short classic but that was DENSE. It's a little blurred by the stream of consciousness narrative, but there is an endless array of sharp observations about humanity in the individual and as a group, about society itself and how it grinds people down. What struck me most was the heartbreaking reality of a writer lending first hand experience with how poorly mental health conditions were understood, treated, disclaimed or ignored at this period in history. How suffocating living under a narrow range of expectations is; how suffocating it is to know/discover you'll only be ‘loved' if you behave a certain way, show the right interests, associate accordingly, equally as oppressive a notion for both men and women; how suffocating to have another cling to you as their only possibility of happiness because they don't consider they have any ability to pursue actions which should make themselves happy.  Written in 1925 at the epicenter of the ‘British Empire' so be on the lookout for every unenlightened, offensive sentiment that came with that era. The sapphic romance references were as impressive in their honesty as they were saddening in their brevity.  If I weren't scrambling for sensemaking in run on sentences I may have been more captivated by the descriptions. If I knew London, I might have more kinship with the intimate placement of various characters throughout this day.