Status Updates From Mrs Dalloway

A huge problem with Virginia Woolf's writing, in Mrs. Dalloway anyway, is that it is virtually impossible to immediately discern which of her character's is thinking the written words. From the top of page 180, it wasn't until the bottom of page 181 when I discovered whose thoughts I was reading. Finally, as I relaxed and learned to savor her singular writing style, her last 22 pages were fairly delightful,

Woolf writes a very fruitful character study, navigating Septimus’ PTSD with such brutality, yet, simultaneously, such grace. It’s really disheartening to navigate, but a great read from a literary perspective.

Truly love the way Woolf writes of everyday things as miracles and luxuries

Othello Act 2 referenced in the most beautiful of ways. It made my heart do a little flutter.

Zara was right. This is really hard to digest. Not only does Clarissa seem to narrate the lives of everyone she knows and passes throughout her walk through Victoria to the flower shop and back home, but Woolf writes prose as if she’s writing poetry, which is a chore to take in. I’ve found myself rereading nearly every page twice. Regardless, I’m determined to finish this before tomorrow afternoon.