Mrs. Dalloway (Virginia Woolf)

A portrait of a lady named Dalloway. A portrait of every soul that walks the streets of London. A portrait of one spring day in June. As the famous sentence goes,

"In the people's eyes, in the swing, tramp, and trudge; in the bellow and the uproar; the carriages, motor cars, omnibuses, vans, sandwich men shuffling and swinging; brass bands; barrel organs; in the triumph and the jingle and the strange high singing of some aeroplane over head was what she loved; life; London; this moment in June."

Woolf's (at the time revolutionary) stream of consciousness can be considered a map of the human psyche and a true representation of thought. I've heard that. I can see it. Truth of the matter is that, one by one, all of her well-crafted sentences and characters and chain reactions of words flowing from rock to rock in the creek of humanity are amazing. Like museum pieces under glass to be studied, ooooohed, and lit from the right angle in an acid-free environment for future generations enjoyment and education. Ming vases or King Tut's crispy bandages.

All strung together, though, it can be a bit much to take. That river is hard to trudge against. Not that it isn't worth the journey--I recommend it as heartily as I do backpacking in the Grand Canyon. And no, watching The Hours and staring at Nicole Kidman's enhanced nose will not cut it! However, I tried to read this on the treadmill and wound up repeating the same paragraph at least four times. It's quite easy to lose track of the subject of the sentence and have to backtrack in search of a noun.

I love Woolf not only for what she writes but for what she represents to the modern world--feminine author, equal marriage, equal rights, mental instability, the coexistance of genius and madness, and the incredibly powerful symbolic image of walking into a river with stones in your pockets. Man, what woman hasn't contemplated such a poignant passing in moments of delicious desperation--the beauty of death and through an act that replicates literally the feelings that are weighing you down. I can just see her stirring the stones around her palm with a resigned yet sly smile on her face. Don't write me love notes of encouragement now. I'm not suicidal--just overly dark and Woolfish. Grrrr.