[AnotherCat]

This is my take on the book. It will be a little lengthy, but still fall short of presenting all of my views of it, and will not be pretty. Again, it just how the book struck me; others love it, perhaps for the same reasons as I dislike it.

As an introduction as to how I got to read Mrs Dalloway, the following.

For many years I had been intending to read it as a first go at a Woolf novel, but was put off by the preponderance of almost breathless positive superlatives in reviews, whereas for the works of other important authors, including those of her contemporaries, review criticism generally includes both the positive and the negative. Some reviewers also praised her for things they incorrectly attributed to her, such as claiming her to be the first to craft a novel covering the course of only one day.

Such breathless praise puts me off approaching any book or movie as such perfection does not exist, I just wonder where the honest child that exclaims that the emperor has no clothes has got to (although I do remember hearing one reviewer when asked about his views on a recent novel that all other critics were fawning over, just state that he would not be reading it any time soon - so there are honest children around, even if they prefer not to be as forthright as Andersen's honest child).

However, late last year I read Gordon Bowker's biography of James Joyce, and of course Woolf is mentioned; for example, as a critic of his work and for the rejection of Ulysses by Woolf's Hogarth Press (owned by her and her husband). While she seemed to be of two conflicting minds about the qualities of Ulysses her following diary entry seems to represent her predominant and later view (Woolf never met Joyce, by the way)

...? an illiterate, underbred book ? the book of a self-taught working man ? egotistic, insistent, raw, striking; and ultimately nauseating. When one can have the cooked flesh, why have the raw??

She also seemed to have a destructive and snobbish opinion of Harriet Weaver (owner of Egoist Press), who she did meet when Weaver offered Ulysses to Hogarth Press. And so it went on. Driven by these views of her I looked elsewhere and found that she was free with negative opinions of many others, including important authors such as Hemingway and H. G. Wells for which, it seems to me, she wrote off their works more for her ideology driven opinions of the authors as people rather than for the actual quality of their work.

It seemed to me that here was an author who readily and negatively criticised the works of others, but who seems to get nothing but praise from critics of her own work. So I thought I better get around to reading Mrs Dalloway for myself.

First, Mrs Dalloway is the only book throughout many decades of reading I have genuinely regretted setting out to read. It was only my interest in the matters above that lead me to it in the first place that made me persist through it. Otherwise I would have dumped it.

In my view it is essentially plotless, it is not driven by a conventional plot in any way but rather by relating events and thoughts during a day in which virtually nothing is done by the characters. That may not be a fault, but in my view does contribute to my later claims as to how I perceived the book.

The book is full of cryptic and often indeterminate prose, which is fine if the exercise of unravelling that is what a reader is looking for. I don't look for that myself, but in my view if one is going to write such a book then the analogies, similes, metaphors, etc. presented to the reader must be correct and determinate when laying the path to deciphering the message or meaning. That might sound picky but we expect such clarity in non-fiction and in cryptic crossword clues, so why not in novels?

The first such example that I ran into was right at the get-go where Clarissa

...burst open the French windows and plunged at Bourton into the open air. How fresh, how calm, stiller than this of course, the air was in the early morning; like the flap of a wave; the kiss of a wave; chill and sharp and yet (for a girl of eighteen as she then was) solemn, feeling as she did, standing there at the open window, that something awful was about to happen;

I assume she is referring to waves in water, water being her unnatural fascination, in which case, unless they are breaking, waves do not "flap" at all; that because they have no momentum. But the air is calm and she is standing still at the window, so the "flap" comparison seems misleading, there is no air movement to be able to compare to a breaking wave. So one could assume, perhaps, that the "flap" is related to the feeling of the "chill and sharp" air upon opening the window. Again, chill air, even if sharp, has no momentum when still and so cannot "flap". In my view, a good author should not make a specific comparison as a simile with something such as "like the flap of a wave" which actually does not exist.

That paragraph also includes her first reference in the book to waves and water, things she refers to repeatedly, frequently with dark meanings. In my view she does so to the extent of displaying a manic attraction to them (she, of course, choosing them a decade or so after writing the book to end her own life in).

Another example, which happens to also use the word "flap", is when Peter Walsh is in London pondering Clarissa's marriage refusal

As a cloud crosses the sun, silence falls on London; and falls on the mind. Effort ceases. Time flaps on the mast. There we stop; there we stand. Rigid, the skeleton of habit alone upholds the human frame. Where there is nothing, Peter Walsh said to himself; feeling hollowed out, utterly empty within. Clarissa refused me, he thought. He stood there thinking, Clarissa refused me.

where I assume the sentence Time flaps on the mast, eliminating time, is a comparison to a flag on a mast. However, flags never "flap" on their mast, they either fly or if the wind drops, no matter how suddenly, they float gently down to the mast (that because they are of light fabric so they will fly in as light a breeze as possible). Again, in my view, a good author should not use as metaphors/similes things which actually do not exist or behave as the author would like them to do in order to make their prose seem pretty. The only other masts that I can think of are those on a sailboat, but again sails don't flap on the mast in the sense Woolf is using.

I might be letting my physics and a lifetime associated with the sea and sailing run away with me with those examples as criticisms, but personally I don't think good authors should, whether they have done so unknowingly through ignorance or on purpose, be excused for such flimsy usage. In any event, as I said, those are just some examples.

As a reader I have no problem with streams of consciousness in writing but Mrs Dalloway came across to me as being an artificial construct. A tool to display pretty prose and perhaps, unintentionally, it is a vehicle that gives some insights into Woolf's own ideologies and mental states (she suffering from both manic and depressive episodes). I mentioned the fascination with water and waves, but another matter that struck me was that the content of the flashbacks that the characters often have seemed somewhat manic in their briefness, nature, etc. Perhaps that would be appropriate for Septimus, who we know is mentally ill, but not for others; is this an unintended reflection of Woolf's own illness?

While the book is often described as being non-linear I really did not feel it was much so, the memories and flashbacks are just narrations that naturally fall in the past and so are not a jumping of the storyline backwards and forwards in time (remembering that the book is essentially plotless and the characters don't do much at all in current time anyway). However, I have recently read Elvis Costello's very well written autobiography/memoire Unfaithful Music & Disappearing Ink which is extraordinary in that genre in being very non-linear, jumping backwards and forwards in time throughout but still all hanging together, so I may have been conditioned somewhat (I am not a fan of Costello's at all, I read his book after being referred to it because of the merits of its writing).

Comparisons to and the influences of Joyce's Ulysses (which preceded Dalloway) are often made because both use the tools of streams of consciousness and non-linearity, and both cover the course of one day. For me, Ulysses comes across as a much more solidly constructed read. While Joyce is obviously exploring methods and styles in his writing of it (for example, its style changes from episode to episode) and he strives to produce polished prose, Ulysses comes across to me as being a much less artificially constructed read.

It has a feeling of realism throughout it rather than Mrs Dalloway's striking me as a book having no real storyline, and smelling of an author's self important display of prose construction prowess; too many fine words hung together. I think, for me, Ulysses differences in these things are due to Joyce's characters being based closely on actual people he knew well. And the events in it are also, in the main, based on his or close acquaintances real life experiences - for example, the characters Mulligan and Dedalus in real life did live in Sandycove Martello tower as depicted in the opening episode. Etc...

That all said, I could extract many examples of fine writing from Mrs Dalloway but in the end, in my view, it is supposed to be a book which is supposed to be liked as a read or be held in some regard due to the merits of its construction, rather than it being a source of some pretty quotes. For me it fails as a book to be read.

Others do, of course, regard it as a fine book and they may be right.