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bookgazing) wrote2010-01-29 08:13 am
bookgazing) wrote2010-01-29 08:13 am
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To the Lighthouse - Virginia Woolf
‘She had done the usual trick - - been nice. She would never know him. He would never know her. Human relations were all like that, she thought, and the worst (if it had not been for Mr Bankes) were between men and women. Inevitably these were extremely insincere she thought.’
Reading ‘To the Lighthouse’ is depressing and enlivening in equal measures. It is depressing to see someone express the futility found at the centre of certain types of human interactions. It’s also startling and wonderful to see someone talk so honestly about this shadow of insincerity, which can hang over a perfectly pleasant evening. How brave of Virginia Woolf to be so true.
Woolf keeps delving into the true nature of relationships through the novel, which follows the Ramsey family and the guests they’ve invited to the Isle of Skye for a holiday. In other hands so much harsh truth would be hard to take and might end in the reader jumping off a cliff, but Woolf manages to make her the human disconnection she uncovers palatable by refusing to assign blame, or allow any one character to appear as the superior party, who is endowed with a more intense sense of feeling than others:
‘Lily was listening; Mrs Ramsey was listening; they were all listening. But already bored, Lily felt that something was lacking. Pulling her shawl round her Mrs Ramsey felt that something was lacking. All of them bending themselves to listen thought, “Pray heaven that the inside of my mind may not be exposed,” for each thought, “The others are feeling this. They are outraged and indignant with the government about the fishermen. Whereas I feel nothing.” '
How generous of her to recognise that this kind of dissatisfaction affects everyone from the artist, to the intellectual, to the woman at the centre of the domestic sphere. By offering this depth of feeling to everyone (everyone within the privileged circle anyway, the maid crying in the attic is not given a voice to speak about these kind of issues) she makes what at first seem depressing condemnations of the way humans interact, into liberating revelations. These offer readers the chance to dispense with the carefully cultivated pretence of society and dig deeper in their relationships with others, knowing that the people they meet may also feel a lack of something and wish it wasn’t so.
Emily has already vigorously examined the theme of modern women, fighting against traditional society, in ‘To the Lighthouse’ in her introductory post for this section of ‘Woolf in Winter’. If you want a good close reading of the book from this angle get over there and enjoy, I agree with all that Emily’s said. Considering that this is said to be Woolf’s most autobiographical novel I also think it’s reasonable to see Lily’s thoughts, which shift between admiration for the domestically accomplished Mrs Ramsey and assertiveness against her influence, as Virginia Woolf’s confusion as she tried to find a position between the exclusivity of Mrs Ramsey’s domestic marriage and the artistic apartness of her guest, Lily. Woolf was happily married when ‘To the Lighthouse’ was published, but the book betrays an almost intense foreboding connected to marriage, even from the happily married Mrs Ramsey:
‘Was she wrong in this, she asked herself, reviewing her conduct for the past week or two, and wondering if she had indeed out any pressure on Minta, who was only twenty-four, to make up her mind. She was uneasy. Had she not laughed about it? Marriage needed – oh all sorts of qualities (the bill for the greenhouse would be fifty pounds); one – she need not name it – that was essential; the thing she had with her husband. Had they that?’
Lily, who is desperate to escape marriage is aligned with the artistic side of life. Is this an indication of Woolf’s own confusion about how marriage and art can coexist, or is it a more general comment on the conflict between traditional and modern views about how a woman’s life should progress?
Stylistically ‘To the Lighthouse’ is refreshing. So many of the devices Woolf uses, such as repetition and extended periods of stream of conscious, internal monologues, are commonplace in modern literature, but Woolf really shows how to achieve maximum effect with them. Take the bracketed section above for example, ‘(the bill for the greenhouse would be fifty pounds)’. At first it seems so simple and inconsequential, but by repeating the phrase occasionally, in during seemingly unrelated thoughts about marriage, or children growing up, Woolf fills it with all the everyday worry that Mrs Ramsey has to shoulder because her intellectual husband cannot be burdened and makes it a powerful indicator of the fears Mrs Ramsey has about encouraging others to marry, despite her own happiness. My favourite part of the book is the second section ‘Time Passes’, where the narrative departs from the character’s immediate thoughts and actions to go on a modern stylistic adventure, as a literal, descriptive interpretation of what happens when time passes is offered, inter cut with bits of direct action and thought from the cleaning lady, sent to sort out the Ramsey’s holiday home. The reality of time passing is slowed down and detailed in a way which no one could ever remember observing as time passed, almost like when you watch a stop motion nature program of plants growing, but this is spliced with a more realistic version of how people remember the time that has passed, in snippets with a concentration on the big events.
Thanks to the organisers of ‘Woolf in Winter’ for pushing me to return to Virginia Woolf’s books, something I never thought I’d do after ‘Orlando’. I’m ready for more now, which is wonderful, because there’s nothing worse than when you have to close the door on an author. There’s still time for you to join in, as ‘Orlando’ and ‘The Waves’ will be discussed by two of the other organisers in February.
Other Reviews
Medieval Bookworm
Birdbrained Book Blog
Reading ‘To the Lighthouse’ is depressing and enlivening in equal measures. It is depressing to see someone express the futility found at the centre of certain types of human interactions. It’s also startling and wonderful to see someone talk so honestly about this shadow of insincerity, which can hang over a perfectly pleasant evening. How brave of Virginia Woolf to be so true.
Woolf keeps delving into the true nature of relationships through the novel, which follows the Ramsey family and the guests they’ve invited to the Isle of Skye for a holiday. In other hands so much harsh truth would be hard to take and might end in the reader jumping off a cliff, but Woolf manages to make her the human disconnection she uncovers palatable by refusing to assign blame, or allow any one character to appear as the superior party, who is endowed with a more intense sense of feeling than others:
‘Lily was listening; Mrs Ramsey was listening; they were all listening. But already bored, Lily felt that something was lacking. Pulling her shawl round her Mrs Ramsey felt that something was lacking. All of them bending themselves to listen thought, “Pray heaven that the inside of my mind may not be exposed,” for each thought, “The others are feeling this. They are outraged and indignant with the government about the fishermen. Whereas I feel nothing.” '
How generous of her to recognise that this kind of dissatisfaction affects everyone from the artist, to the intellectual, to the woman at the centre of the domestic sphere. By offering this depth of feeling to everyone (everyone within the privileged circle anyway, the maid crying in the attic is not given a voice to speak about these kind of issues) she makes what at first seem depressing condemnations of the way humans interact, into liberating revelations. These offer readers the chance to dispense with the carefully cultivated pretence of society and dig deeper in their relationships with others, knowing that the people they meet may also feel a lack of something and wish it wasn’t so.
Emily has already vigorously examined the theme of modern women, fighting against traditional society, in ‘To the Lighthouse’ in her introductory post for this section of ‘Woolf in Winter’. If you want a good close reading of the book from this angle get over there and enjoy, I agree with all that Emily’s said. Considering that this is said to be Woolf’s most autobiographical novel I also think it’s reasonable to see Lily’s thoughts, which shift between admiration for the domestically accomplished Mrs Ramsey and assertiveness against her influence, as Virginia Woolf’s confusion as she tried to find a position between the exclusivity of Mrs Ramsey’s domestic marriage and the artistic apartness of her guest, Lily. Woolf was happily married when ‘To the Lighthouse’ was published, but the book betrays an almost intense foreboding connected to marriage, even from the happily married Mrs Ramsey:
‘Was she wrong in this, she asked herself, reviewing her conduct for the past week or two, and wondering if she had indeed out any pressure on Minta, who was only twenty-four, to make up her mind. She was uneasy. Had she not laughed about it? Marriage needed – oh all sorts of qualities (the bill for the greenhouse would be fifty pounds); one – she need not name it – that was essential; the thing she had with her husband. Had they that?’
Lily, who is desperate to escape marriage is aligned with the artistic side of life. Is this an indication of Woolf’s own confusion about how marriage and art can coexist, or is it a more general comment on the conflict between traditional and modern views about how a woman’s life should progress?
Stylistically ‘To the Lighthouse’ is refreshing. So many of the devices Woolf uses, such as repetition and extended periods of stream of conscious, internal monologues, are commonplace in modern literature, but Woolf really shows how to achieve maximum effect with them. Take the bracketed section above for example, ‘(the bill for the greenhouse would be fifty pounds)’. At first it seems so simple and inconsequential, but by repeating the phrase occasionally, in during seemingly unrelated thoughts about marriage, or children growing up, Woolf fills it with all the everyday worry that Mrs Ramsey has to shoulder because her intellectual husband cannot be burdened and makes it a powerful indicator of the fears Mrs Ramsey has about encouraging others to marry, despite her own happiness. My favourite part of the book is the second section ‘Time Passes’, where the narrative departs from the character’s immediate thoughts and actions to go on a modern stylistic adventure, as a literal, descriptive interpretation of what happens when time passes is offered, inter cut with bits of direct action and thought from the cleaning lady, sent to sort out the Ramsey’s holiday home. The reality of time passing is slowed down and detailed in a way which no one could ever remember observing as time passed, almost like when you watch a stop motion nature program of plants growing, but this is spliced with a more realistic version of how people remember the time that has passed, in snippets with a concentration on the big events.
Thanks to the organisers of ‘Woolf in Winter’ for pushing me to return to Virginia Woolf’s books, something I never thought I’d do after ‘Orlando’. I’m ready for more now, which is wonderful, because there’s nothing worse than when you have to close the door on an author. There’s still time for you to join in, as ‘Orlando’ and ‘The Waves’ will be discussed by two of the other organisers in February.
Other Reviews
Medieval Bookworm
Birdbrained Book Blog