mrs. dalloway said she would buy the flowers herself
When I originally read Virginia Woolf's Mrs. Dalloway in high school, I knew that I had been impacted pretty strongly by a book. I read this book around the same time I read Kate Chopin's The Awakening and I found myself completely enamoured with classic literature.
Mrs. Dalloway had begun as a novel meant to be read in order to prepare me for the AP Literature exam. I read the book and spent many days after school discussing it with my English teacher/mentor extraordinnaire. It was the first time I really came *alive* with a book. Talking about it, analyzing it...it transformed the way I viewed literature. At that time, I had wanted to be a doctor, but I think it was with this book that I jumped tracks and knew I would study literature when I went to college.
From there, my teacher recommended The Hours by Michael Cunningham and I was a goner. Woolf and Cunningham have equally taken me to places that few books have. I have a difficult time really expressing how much these books mean to me, especially as I see myself so wholly in the characters. It's like holding up a mirror at times. It's wonderful and terrifying.
I bring this up now because I'm currently rereading Mrs. Dalloway. What's more, I've taken to reading the book aloud. The sensory aspects of this pasttime transform the words on the page into something much greater than I had ever anticipated. I've read until my voice grew hoarse. I can't seem to want to put the book down, and all because of how I feel when I'm reading it. I never used to like reading out loud but now that I'm doing it, I almost wish I had someone to read to.
Anyway....I guess I just wanted to gush a little about my love for this book. Perhaps soon I'll copy out a few of my favorite passages. For now, I think I'm going to put on The Hours and allow myself to be immersed once again.
Mrs. Dalloway had begun as a novel meant to be read in order to prepare me for the AP Literature exam. I read the book and spent many days after school discussing it with my English teacher/mentor extraordinnaire. It was the first time I really came *alive* with a book. Talking about it, analyzing it...it transformed the way I viewed literature. At that time, I had wanted to be a doctor, but I think it was with this book that I jumped tracks and knew I would study literature when I went to college.
From there, my teacher recommended The Hours by Michael Cunningham and I was a goner. Woolf and Cunningham have equally taken me to places that few books have. I have a difficult time really expressing how much these books mean to me, especially as I see myself so wholly in the characters. It's like holding up a mirror at times. It's wonderful and terrifying.
I bring this up now because I'm currently rereading Mrs. Dalloway. What's more, I've taken to reading the book aloud. The sensory aspects of this pasttime transform the words on the page into something much greater than I had ever anticipated. I've read until my voice grew hoarse. I can't seem to want to put the book down, and all because of how I feel when I'm reading it. I never used to like reading out loud but now that I'm doing it, I almost wish I had someone to read to.
Anyway....I guess I just wanted to gush a little about my love for this book. Perhaps soon I'll copy out a few of my favorite passages. For now, I think I'm going to put on The Hours and allow myself to be immersed once again.