With this review of Mrs. Dalloway (Virginia Woolf), I have finally completed the pile of books I picked up a few years ago from The Winding Stair bookshop in Dublin (with the exception of a puzzle book). One of the other titles, How Should One Read a Book, also by Woolf, was a great little read. Unfortunately, I’m a bit sad to say that I don’t have the same affection for this particular novel.

The premise of following a cast of characters and their interwoven lives over the course of one sunny summer day in London had promise. I tend to like ensemble stories (and I’m a big fan of London). But, the narrative style of this book was unlike anything I’ve ever read, and not necessarily for the better.

I’ve read a few books that are written through a stream of consciousness, which can be hard to adjust to when you’re used to tidy, first-person perspectives. But, I don’t think I’ve ever come across a book that jumps from character to character between sentences — and that’s exactly how Mrs. Dalloway operates.

The novel has no chapter breaks and hardly any paragraph breaks. You might be in the midst of a complex thought bubble of one character and in the next paragraph, you’ve been transported across the room or the lane or the park into a totally different character’s thoughts for a time. The “head-hopping” experimental technique of a third-person omniscient narrator made me feel like my own head was on a swivel. It was very difficult to sink into, or fully care about, any one character because just as I settled into one voice, the story would suddenly shift to focus on the inner workings of another. In some ways, it was easier to imagine the story in film format, shifting camera angles as if shot in long take. While that style can be engaging (blink and you will miss things), it can also be somewhat anxiety-inducing.

This pervasive feeling of unrest was particularly jarring for me right before and after the untimely death of one character. I suppose it could have been taken as a large metaphor for life, in that one moment, you’re here and the next, you might be gone. But, the speed at which the reader is “moved on” from the moment of grief felt like coldhearted whiplash. And on the note of the death in Mrs. Dalloway — which is a result of a lost mental health battle — I was not only sad for the characters in the book, but also very bummed out to know that the author’s life had also ultimately and unfortunately ended by choice. I had a hard time picking the book back up after that scene.

I think Mrs. Dalloway holds literary merit as a unique piece of fiction and I do not regret reading it. There were plenty of moments of relatable normalcy in the course of a day, as well as poignant reflections in the minds of the characters, but I hesitate to recommend this book.

This book may be for you if you also like: other works by Virginia Woolf; post World War I Britain; stories told from a variety of characters; socialite dinner parties; buying flowers; old friendships; walking through various London neighborhoods; stream of consciousness writing.

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https://bookshop.org/a/109412/9781529078206

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SDG