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3.79 AVERAGE
3.79 AVERAGE
challenging
emotional
reflective
medium-paced
Quite literally a bunch of people thinking about other people. It made me feel neither good nor bad but definitely empty. Nothing really happened.
The writing is beautiful, and there were some sentences that really resonated with me, but all that introspection with very little happening is just not the kind of book I really enjoy.
mysterious
reflective
slow-paced
Loveable characters:
Yes
Diverse cast of characters:
No
Flaws of characters a main focus:
Yes
challenging
emotional
reflective
sad
slow-paced
Plot or Character Driven:
Character
Strong character development:
Complicated
Loveable characters:
Complicated
Flaws of characters a main focus:
Yes
Incredibly, this is the first I've read of Virginia Woolf. But often it's about timing: the right book in the right moment of your life. Would I have gotten so much out of this book when I was younger? Or before I was a mother, and had experience with the particular kind of heartbreak that involves your children? The reflection of your own life as the sum of so many details of motherhood, summer vacation, the mundane - so bittersweet? The slow fading of your prior life, your prior self, your prior everything? Perhaps yes. But now was the right time for me.
Woolf was a master of her craft. Every aspect of this book is gorgeous, rich, and though-provoking, from the storyline to the characters, even the structure. The middle section, "Time Passes", is itself a work of art. This book sets the bar high for whatever the readers chooses next - most everything else will pale by comparison. My copy has a lovey introduction by Eudora Welty which contributed greatly to what I took away from the novel.
This is a book I'll return to year after year.
Woolf was a master of her craft. Every aspect of this book is gorgeous, rich, and though-provoking, from the storyline to the characters, even the structure. The middle section, "Time Passes", is itself a work of art. This book sets the bar high for whatever the readers chooses next - most everything else will pale by comparison. My copy has a lovey introduction by Eudora Welty which contributed greatly to what I took away from the novel.
This is a book I'll return to year after year.
three readings later and i'm still not entirely sure how to begin reviewing virginia woolf's to the lighthouse. in just 226 pages this book conveys and delicately touches on so many poignantly close truths and anxieties i've felt, and felt completely alone in feeling -- the loneliness and temporality of individual existence, the transient and inarticulate nature of human desire, the complexity of perception and so on. woolf writes with a poetic and distinctly impressionistic tone, her digressions and sojourns into the inner monologues of her characters flow with such natural ease, and the whole novel feels like an ode to the limits of our own ability to reconcile the ineffable mysteries that permeate existence, and the knowledge that that's okay. the magnum opus you spent your life working on will be forgotten, as will the portrait you spent 10 years realising, the families and lives you tried against all hope to bond together, even the most transcendental and lucid moments that occur once or twice in life will be subjected to the ravages of time -- no sooner than you've felt it it's already passed, leaving nothing behind but the vague impressions of a memory, distorted and slanted by the fallibility of our own perception.
i especially love the section "time passes" and how it captures the terrifying and inevitable forces of decay and age (the house eventually does get restored, but anyway) and the irrelevance of human agency in the face of time. i love how, within no more than 20 pages, woolf takes the idyllic carefreeness of "the window" and basically smashes it to bits. various characters die senseless and unjust deaths, robbed of any kind of valour or majesty and merely included as an afterthought. the beaches and seas now recall the desolation of war rather than the pastoral bliss commonly associated therein. by the time the ramsays and co. do reunite in "the lighthouse", the permeating feelings of grief and loneliness have come to the fore for all characters, as they each struggle to comprehend the impossibility of complete understanding, both of one another and the world around them, as well as the vague and mutable nature of their ambitions and the irrelevance of human achievement in the face of the universe.
still, perhaps we're not meant to understand any of it, or find a way to cheat time. perhaps being able to experience the world and life and partake in its infinite complexities with our own set of eyes to perceive whatever we so choose, to discover the answer in the attempt to connection, to realise the only knowable truth is nothing but what we make of it -- perhaps that's enough. it's the journey to the lighthouse, after all, that misty and amorphous figure at the other end of the shore casting circles of light into our field of vision, that keeps us going through our day to day existence, not the tangible concrete structure that the ramsays eventually reach at the end of the book. and likewise, every trip to the lighthouse thus far has left me with something different each reading, some new takeaway about life, some vague comfort i didn't realise i needed. to the lighthouse is a book about nothing and everything at the same time. it might just change your life.
i especially love the section "time passes" and how it captures the terrifying and inevitable forces of decay and age (the house eventually does get restored, but anyway) and the irrelevance of human agency in the face of time. i love how, within no more than 20 pages, woolf takes the idyllic carefreeness of "the window" and basically smashes it to bits. various characters die senseless and unjust deaths, robbed of any kind of valour or majesty and merely included as an afterthought. the beaches and seas now recall the desolation of war rather than the pastoral bliss commonly associated therein. by the time the ramsays and co. do reunite in "the lighthouse", the permeating feelings of grief and loneliness have come to the fore for all characters, as they each struggle to comprehend the impossibility of complete understanding, both of one another and the world around them, as well as the vague and mutable nature of their ambitions and the irrelevance of human achievement in the face of the universe.
still, perhaps we're not meant to understand any of it, or find a way to cheat time. perhaps being able to experience the world and life and partake in its infinite complexities with our own set of eyes to perceive whatever we so choose, to discover the answer in the attempt to connection, to realise the only knowable truth is nothing but what we make of it -- perhaps that's enough. it's the journey to the lighthouse, after all, that misty and amorphous figure at the other end of the shore casting circles of light into our field of vision, that keeps us going through our day to day existence, not the tangible concrete structure that the ramsays eventually reach at the end of the book. and likewise, every trip to the lighthouse thus far has left me with something different each reading, some new takeaway about life, some vague comfort i didn't realise i needed. to the lighthouse is a book about nothing and everything at the same time. it might just change your life.
Virginia Woolf is never less than fascinating. She has a fairly bleak perspective on life, famously so, but what strikes me as most significant in her work is the emotional honesty that never seems anything less than extraordinarily astute. In [b:Mrs. Dalloway|14942|Mrs. Dalloway|Virginia Woolf|http://d.gr-assets.com/books/1319710256s/14942.jpg|841320] in particular, I found myself quite often nodding my head, acknowledging that, yes, that is precisely how one would feel in those circumstances and, oh, my, yes, humiliating as it is to admit it, I have thought just those thoughts about other people.
Using stream of consciousness to great effect, Woolf here tells the story of the Ramsay clan at their summer house at two different times about ten years apart. Along with Mr. and Mrs. Ramsay and their eight children, there are several guests inhabiting this space with them, creating a web of intersecting thoughts and feelings that are intricate, delicate, knowing and intuitive. Nothing much happens: they eat, they sleep, the go to the beach, they don't (then do) sail to the lighthouse, they paint, they knit, they read. But their inner lives are as lively as a hive of bees in full career; their hatreds, loves, charms, the mercurial nature of their feelings toward each other are writ as clearly and honestly as we could ask.
I must admit that the second half of the book (ten or so years later) felt more like an analysis of the first than a separate story. Of course, a big part of this come from the fact that the central character from the first book is missing from the second. In fact, much of the latter is commentary on this very fact and how that loss changes not only the relationships she had, but also how this missing piece warps the entire weave of how all these characters consider the others.
Though to my way of thinking a less successful evocation than Mrs. Dalloway, this is another truly great novel by one of the most unique voices to write in any era. I am only sorry it took me so long to get around to it.
Using stream of consciousness to great effect, Woolf here tells the story of the Ramsay clan at their summer house at two different times about ten years apart. Along with Mr. and Mrs. Ramsay and their eight children, there are several guests inhabiting this space with them, creating a web of intersecting thoughts and feelings that are intricate, delicate, knowing and intuitive. Nothing much happens: they eat, they sleep, the go to the beach, they don't (then do) sail to the lighthouse, they paint, they knit, they read. But their inner lives are as lively as a hive of bees in full career; their hatreds, loves, charms, the mercurial nature of their feelings toward each other are writ as clearly and honestly as we could ask.
I must admit that the second half of the book (ten or so years later) felt more like an analysis of the first than a separate story. Of course, a big part of this come from the fact that the central character from the first book is missing from the second. In fact, much of the latter is commentary on this very fact and how that loss changes not only the relationships she had, but also how this missing piece warps the entire weave of how all these characters consider the others.
Though to my way of thinking a less successful evocation than Mrs. Dalloway, this is another truly great novel by one of the most unique voices to write in any era. I am only sorry it took me so long to get around to it.
A magnificent and strange achievement. This novel takes place almost entirely subjectively, inside the minds of the characters. There is almost no action, and very little narrative to speak of. The first half of the story focuses on a large English family and a number of guests who are vacationing in a place like the Isle of Skye. They have a large cottage near the ocean, and there is a lighthouse off the coast which some of them hope to visit the following day to bring supplies to the man and his son who live there. Some are painting, some are composing poetry, some are walking along the beach, some are philosophising. They all gather in the evening for dinner, and one of the couples gets engaged a little beforehand.
That is the extent of the outside, objective action, but the inside, subjective action is massive. Each character’s viewpoint is examined, at great length. Subjects such as the conflict between men and women; the nature of beauty; the possibility of advancing abstract thought; permanency vs temporality; and the grounding force of love are all minutely and passionately explored.
I personally don’t know any person - let alone a group of people - who think like the people described in this book, but I don’t think it is the point. The first half of the book is all about the power and potential of life, and the focal point is Mrs. Ramsey, a staggeringly beautiful woman, wife of Mr. Ramsey, mother of eight children, and the centrifugal force around which the other characters tend to revolve. She is the stabilising factor and the impetus for the advancement of life. She brings order into chaos, and most love her for it.
There is then an interlude, which is the only “objective” portion of the book, and in which time rushes into change and in some cases destroys the stability and potentiality offered up in the first half.
The second half of the book, which takes place ten years later, again at the cottage, is then largely about the consequences of change and chaos and inevitability of death. A journey to the lighthouse is finally made, and Lily completes her painting, which she describes as a vision in the last line of the book. The entire book is a vision, almost an apocalypse or revelation, of the spiritual/mental/emotional depths lurking underneath the surfaces of our everyday experiences. Not an easy read, but well worth the effort.
That is the extent of the outside, objective action, but the inside, subjective action is massive. Each character’s viewpoint is examined, at great length. Subjects such as the conflict between men and women; the nature of beauty; the possibility of advancing abstract thought; permanency vs temporality; and the grounding force of love are all minutely and passionately explored.
I personally don’t know any person - let alone a group of people - who think like the people described in this book, but I don’t think it is the point. The first half of the book is all about the power and potential of life, and the focal point is Mrs. Ramsey, a staggeringly beautiful woman, wife of Mr. Ramsey, mother of eight children, and the centrifugal force around which the other characters tend to revolve. She is the stabilising factor and the impetus for the advancement of life. She brings order into chaos, and most love her for it.
There is then an interlude, which is the only “objective” portion of the book, and in which time rushes into change and in some cases destroys the stability and potentiality offered up in the first half.
The second half of the book, which takes place ten years later, again at the cottage, is then largely about the consequences of change and chaos and inevitability of death. A journey to the lighthouse is finally made, and Lily completes her painting, which she describes as a vision in the last line of the book. The entire book is a vision, almost an apocalypse or revelation, of the spiritual/mental/emotional depths lurking underneath the surfaces of our everyday experiences. Not an easy read, but well worth the effort.