Reading Log, no. 6-4

And they went further and further from her, being attached to her by a thin thread (since they had lunched with her) which would stretch and stretch, get thinner and thinner as they walked across London; as if one's friends were attached to one's body, after lunching with them, by a thin thread, which (as she dozed there) became hazy with the sound of bells, striking the hour or ringing to service, as a single spider's thread is blotted with rain-drops, and, burdened, sags down. So she slept.

...

And as a single spider's thread after wavering here and there attaches itself to the point of a leaf, so Richard's mind, recovering from its lethargy, set now on his wife, Clarissa, whom Peter Walsh had loved so passionately; and Richard had had a sudden vision of her there at luncheon; of himself and Clarissa; of their life together; and he drew the tray of old jewels towards him, and taking up first this brooch then that ring, "How much is that?" he asked, but doubted his own taste.

Virginia Woolf
Mrs. Dalloway

I did not like this book. I did not like it because I was expecting something great, or at least classic, and instead I read something forgettable. While reading it I felt peeved that I was investing time reading something that I think has been arbitrarily selected for praise by snobby literary critics.

Or maybe I just didn't get it.

However, consider the following. Literary innovation, which is supposedly one of Mrs. Dalloway's accomplishments, is generally a good thing, but that does not mean that we should spend our time reading innovative books when such books' innovative ideas have since been improved upon and perfected in other works. Sure, read it if you're an English major working on your semester thesis. But don't put the novel on a list of the 100 greatest novels of the 20th century.

But maybe I just didn't get it.

If Mrs. Dalloway were first published today by a no-name author, I highly doubt it would be discovered to be a great novel.

Then again, maybe I just didn't get it.

I struggle to imagine a novel with characters I find any more boring than the ones that exist within Mrs. Dalloway. I couldn't care about the characters or the plot. Any messages concerning contemporary issues of the day were lost on me, and any timeless philosophical wisdom were too obscure to have been of practical use to me.

Or maybe I just didn't get it.