There are literary masterpieces, whose beauty and force can only be experienced by approaching the work after a necessary period of intellectual and emotional preparation. This is obviously not a mandate. We are free to read any book without any conditions, but then we must be prepared to be disappointed, prepared to realize that the book may not open all its beauty and secrets to you. Reading such books is a commitment, and therefore only serious readers will even attempt the task. And for those who do, the end result is extraordinarily satisfying. I can think of a few books that may need this kind of approach. James Joyce’s “Ulysses” and Marcel Proust’s monumental “ Remembrance of lost time” immediately come to mind. Let’s take Ulysses for instance. I dare any reader who can make sense of “Ulysses” in the first reading. It is a dense, conspicuously obscure novel full of arcane references and antiquated mythic symbolism. Without a guide like Joseph Campbell’s “Mythic worlds, Modern worlds – on the art of Joyce”, or William York Tindall’s scholarly guide, reading Joyce can be relentlessly exasperating, and readers are likely to give up after a couple of chapters. But once we have the key to unlocking Joyce, it opens a world of richness. Similarly Proust. It may take years to read “remembrance of lost time”, and its long winding sentences and intimate introspective prose may often make it difficult to get through more than a few pages in a single reading; but if one persists, then Proust’s novels gradually yield and thaws, and the reader is transported to a sacred space that only the work of a genius can take us to.
Few authors, however, have been so widely studied, reinterpreted, and enjoyed as Virginia Woolf – that great early twentieth-century novelist, essayist, diarist, a feminist who wrote and spoke eloquently about female rights and freedom, and a prominent member of the famous Bloomsbury group. Certainly, her life was dramatic enough. Prone to periodic episodes of depression from a young age, mercurial, moody, tormented by splitting migraines that would keep her in bed and darkness for days and weeks, uncomfortably married to a publisher husband, an incurable romantic, a trusted friend, an intellectual giant, Woolf contained in herself all the creative fires and intolerable furies of a creative genius. Her writing often reflected the changing kaleidoscopic dimensions of her perceptive mind and astonishing insights into the human condition. In her hands, language blossomed and flowered, but all that beauty and grace was bequeathed only to a serious reader who possessed the commitment to follow the train of her thoughts. But, my God, could she write some scintillating prose!! Every novel sparkles with her genius: “Orlando”, “Waves”, “ To the Lighthouse” and many more; but there is one, in particular, in which Woolf reaches the crescendo of her art — it is “Mrs. Dalloway”.
It is a slim novel, not more than 200 pages in length, and the story of the book is this: A normal day in the life of Clarissa Dalloway, a high society socialite, who plans a party at her home in the evening. That is all. There are no dramatic twists and turns, no palpable plot, nothing. From the first sentence in the novel, we are drawn into the inner life of Clarissa, and few other characters that touch her life on that single day, and through Woolf’s unique narrative style, descriptions, and delicate use of language, we are given to experience the stream of consciousness that dances, leaps, surprises, and chokes within each individual. The reader is thrown back into an inner world of memories and associations, with paragraphs of monologues breathlessly flitting from the mind of one character to the other with seamless, and often disarming continuity. Sentences roll into succeeding sentences, just as individual waves of an ocean arise, stretch and dissolve into themselves to reemerge as another wave. Contexts are switched in a blink of an eyelid, and evocative metaphors and sublime language tear open the hearts and minds of characters with the directness of an arrow. There is no meandering prose here, there is no beating around the bush — the sentences are chiseled, precise, and do not reflect or indicate anything, but instead constitute the very sum total of the consciousness of the characters on that day. In Mrs. Dalloway, Woolf manages to achieve a very rare quality in a novel, which very few writers manage to achieve, but all aspire to; and that is the dissolution of the boundaries between the reader and what is read: that the content of our consciousness, our living self that we project as “now” and yesterday and tomorrow are nothing but a string of moments punctuated and stitched together by our memories of pain, suffering, love, friendship, jealousy, pride and compassion, and it is in the very ordinariness of daily living that man can find his bliss and nowhere else, is sublimely brought forth in Virginia’s carefully laid out structure of Mrs. Dalloway.
But to find that structure, that breathtaking cadence of her prose, to identify those deep insights scattered throughout the book, we have to do some preparatory work. I recommend two books and a movie ( at the very least) before a reader can safely enter the text of Mrs. Dalloway. Start with “The Mrs. Dalloway reader”, a collection of essays, reflections, and memoirs by authors, literary critiques, and reflections of sensitive readers on the influence of the novel in their personal and professional lives. This volume is edited by Francine Prose, a brilliant novelist herself. This collection also contains a wonderful preface by Prose, on Woolf and her creative powers, along with the original short story that Virginia attempted as a blueprint for the longer novella. The short story clearly shows how the mind of a creative genius incubates an idea, a thought, an insight, and gropes to find the right expression to lay it out to the reader. Once we have read this delightful collection of essays, the next book to pick up is Michael Cunningham’s Pulitzer-winning novel “The Hours”. For those who wish to enjoy the texture of Virginia’s language and her thematic handling of the plot, “The hours” is the best possible introduction one can have. Cunningham is a deep lover of Woolf’s work, especially Mrs. Dalloway. And in “The Hours”, he recreates the magic of Woolf’s prose and plot for the reader who hasn’t tasted the original yet. It is a beautiful book in itself, and every page sizzles with inspiration and homage to Virginia Woolf. After one has read Cunningham’s novel, it is time to watch the movie adaptation of his book. The Movie hours was released in 2000 and bagged several Academy awards. It also featured the mesmerizing background score by the classical composer Philip Glass which continues to haunt and enthrall listeners even today. The movie featured three great actors – Meryl Streep, Juliane Moore, and Nicole Kidman, who infused life into Cunningham’s characters. A better ensemble of actors than this is inconceivable. What the movie will clarify for us, in preparation to read Virginia’s Mrs. Dalloway, is the psychological structure of the plot and the juxtaposition of timelines, both of which are intrinsic to Virginia’s narrative in Mrs. Dalloway, and both these qualities often elude the reader approaching the novel without sufficient background.
Once this preparation is done, now pick up Mrs. Dalloway, and I assure you, you will not be able to put it down. A whole new meaning and worldview will open up with each page. You will read and reread sentences and paragraphs, mesmerized and delighted at the felicity and expressiveness of the language. You will feel a tingle pass through the spine at regular intervals when Woolf’s breathless prose throws up insights from nowhere. You will see Woolf’s prose dance in front of your eyes as trembling images, you will visualize Clarissa walking along the streets of London hearing the clocks chime in unison with her stream of consciousness, you will Septimius Warren Smith Observing the tree outside and contemplating suicide. You will notice the economy of words and the appropriate use of language, and finally, you will gratefully realize why Mrs. Dalloway is considered one of the finest works of English literature ever, and why Virginia Woolf ranks among the finest writers of the last century.
God bless…
yours in mortality,
Bala