Book 4: Mrs Dalloway

Mrs Dalloway (1925) by Virginia Woolf

“I’ve never seen so many semicolons in my life,” was one of the first things that I thought as I was reading Mrs Dalloway. Woolf’s penchant of stringing together a bunch of clauses, the collective effect of which is compounded with each additional clause, can be jarring for someone not accustomed to “modern” novels. However, the skill with which this running-on is employed makes the end product easily digestible; palatable even.

I usually get sleepy with books like this.  My short-term memory reaches its capacity. My mind starts to wander. Focus shifts from the prose on paper to my afternoon activities, what I will have for dinner, mischievous scheming, the meaning of life, the correct way of wiping oneself with toilet paper–front to back or back to front. My eyes scan the words but don’t process them, for processing has been shut off two or three paragraphs ago. The printed words merely visual noise as the cacophony of tangential thoughts dance in the foreground.

I guess the fact that I was able to easily focus on Mrs Dalloway shows that I have grown as a reader. I stumble on less words; need to reference the dictionary less (though still quite often). As you read more and more, you get accustomed to things. Descriptions are more easily understood. Differing rhythms and styles of prose no longer novel. In some respect it’s like appreciating certain mathematical subjects: you need to internalize rudimentary arithmetic and algebra before calculus problems become simple and elegant, as opposed to an exercise in recursively referencing old proofs and postulates.

Or it could also indicate that my focus has improved. I go into books with a clearer mind, and a clearer intention and motivation to read. Maybe the external stresses in my life aren’t like they were before. Or maybe it’s just that I’ve learned how to deal with them better. Whatever the case, the interaction between my mind and the pages is operating more smoothly. Rather than my inconsequential thoughts spilling over into the page, the book’s story, ideas, and emotions are flowing into and germinating in my mind.

Some quick points about the book since I don’t want to make this post too long:

• The layering of detail in the book is beautiful. Woolf’s long descriptions give the depth of nuance and history to the characters.
• This layering is also accomplished by looking at the same event or same period of time through multiple perspectives.  This is introduced early on in the book as Clarissa Dalloway walks the London streets to do shopping and Woolf seamlessly shifts the focus and perspective to the different characters (mostly minor) in the scene. On a larger scale, Clarissa’s dinner party is the big event of the book, and Woolf shifts between the thoughts, activities, and feelings of different attendees leading up to and during this event.
• The cover illustration (by Susan Gallagher) of my copy of Mrs Dalloway is eerily well done. I remember a couple of times darting back to the cover of my book after reading one of Woolf’s descriptions of the title character’s appearance and demeanor and being immediately struck.
• I think I am equally vexed and intrigued by the dinner parties of this time period and social class.

Book 3: A Farewell to Arms

A Farewell to Arms (1929) by Ernest Hemingway

There is a sense of inevitability in A Farewell to Arms.  As Lieutenant Henry’s courtship of Catherine Barkley proceeds so simply; as the collective feelings towards the war turns sour so abruptly; and as Lieutenant Henry’s escape from the front (by foot, river current, and rail) back to Catherine and then safely to Switzerland goes so perfectly—there is a sense, as one notices the pages dwindling down and sees things proceeding too uneventfully, that, just like in the hopeless war, triumphs are short-lived and, ultimately, reality will fatally strike our characters as a matter of course.

This inevitably is to a great extent due to Hemingway’s writing style, which is direct and economical.  The narrative does not get sidetracked with flourishes of rhetorical bravado or tangential stream-of-consciousness. Even dialogue between characters tends to be efficient, with the characters speaking in a manner congruent to Hemingway’s writing (i.e. terse). Instead of probing the minds of characters and entering the infinite world of thoughts, conflicting motivations, and memories, Hemingway focuses on the resulting end product of such processes.

This focus does not mean that Hemingway merely leaves the reader with the worthless husks of the novel’s characters. The end products of internal processes are actually the seed from which things happen.  They are the choices ultimately made. What is said as opposed to what is thought.  Man’s interaction with his environment. In the real world, these are the only things that we can look at in others to judge their character.

However, a byproduct of this is the feeling that the characters are automations. Perhaps the strings of fate are pulling them along. Or perhaps they are acting in accord with an algorithm precisely attuned to their personality and circumstances. Whatever the case, a sense of inevitability pervades.