“A Stream of Consciousness”
(William James)

At first I found this book, written in the ‘new’ style of the early 20th Century, rather difficult, and thought I might abandon it: however, I pressed on. I soon became fascinated by the dazzling techniques of the author. Reviewed by Gillian Metcalfe

Mrs. Dalloway, wife of a rather dim but wealthy upper-class man, is a society hostess, planning one of her popular parties. Virginia Woolf’s style, identified by William James (philosopher and psychologist, brother of the writer Henry James) as a ‘stream of consciousness’, which relies almost entirely on each individual character’s inner, silent, thoughts, flowing between past, present and future.

Set in London in 1923, we’re aware of passing time: the ‘leaden circles’  of Big Ben, marking the half-hours and hours. The writing is dense and intricate, sometimes poetic, psychological and deep, occasionally humorous. There is vivid use of colour, sound, scent, texture, vision.  Woolf uses contradictory opposites to achieve unexpected effects by juxtaposing words with opposing meanings: ‘…a match burning in a crocus,’  the hot match within the cool petals of a crocus, a match burning to death versus a living, growing flower, the glow of fire contained in the glow of the yellow crocus.

The story (for it is a story) flows like a river without a break; no chapters, no pauses in the stream of thought. Personalities and their consciousness merge and intertwine. The characters see themselves as unfulfilled failures: Clarissa Dalloway’s husband, Richard (who loves his wife but is unable to tell her so) is a failed politician; Peter Walsh (her former suitor), a socialist, has notachieved success as a writer; Clarissa’s exciting friend Sally Seton has married ‘a bald manufacturer from Manchester’, and intellectual Doris Kilman has become an embittered religious fanatic. Sebastian, on the brink of madness, suffers from Post Traumatic Stress. Mrs Dalloway herself, class-bound and socially defined by her marriage, is described as ‘glittering and tinsely’ yet kind and correct in her caring for others. Only ‘…button-faced Miss Pym’, without ambition in the flower shop, seems happy.

Here I quote Clarissa’s visit to the flower shop, to purchase flowers for the party. I think this gives a flavour of a moment in the plot where time seems to stand still, giving way to her silent thoughts and impressions on this hot summer morning in May:

- Advertisement -

“ She advanced, light, tall, very upright, to be greeted by button-faced Miss Pym, whose hands were always bright red, as if they had been stood in cold water with
the flowers.

There were flowers: delphiniums, sweet-peas, bunches of lilac; and carnations, masses of carnations. There were roses. There were irises. Ah yes – so she breathed in the earthy garden sweet smell as she stood talking to Miss Pym who owed her help, and thought her kind, for kind she had been years ago; very kind, but she looked older this year, turning her head from side to side among the irises and roses and nodding tufts of lilac with her eyes half closed snuffing in, after the street uproar, the delicious scent, the exquisite coolness. And then, opening her eyes, how fresh, frilled linen clean from a laundry laid in wicker trays, the roses looked; and dark and prim the red carnations, holding their heads up, and all the sweet peas spreading in their bowls, tinged violet, snow white, pale – as if it were evening and girls in muslin frocks came out to pick sweet peas and roses after the superb summer’s day, with its almost blue-black sky, its delphiniums, its carnations, its arum lilies was over; and it was the moment between six and seven when every flower – roses, carnations, irises, lilac glows; white, violet, red, deep orange, every flower seems to burn by itself, softly, purely in the misty beds; and how she loved the grey-white moths spinning in and out, over the cherry pie, over the evening primroses!

And as she began to go with Miss Pym from jar to jar, choosing, nonsense, nonsense, she said to herself, more and more gently, as if this beauty, this scent, this colour, and Miss Pym liking her, trusting her, were a wave which she let flow over her, and surmount that hatred, that monster, surmount it all; and it lifted her up, when – oh! a pistol shot in the street outside!”

Woolf questions, through the memories and speculations of her characters, war, social problems and society, sex, marriage, death, love, class, time, and the experience of going mad. Perhaps after all London itself is the main character. Constant mention of familiar places – The Strand, Regents Park, Piccadilly, Tottenham Court Road, Regent Street, Oxford Street, Bloomsbury, and above all Big Ben striking, reminding, recalling… Finally The Party – all fun, fairy lights and chatter until…?  We are reminded of a wake, the guests gathering to stave off the terror of death for a little longer, engrossed in their class-ridden loves, hates and temporarily subdued fears.

As an example of collusion between reader and writer, this book has, not surprisingly, been seen as a turning point in literary writing.

 

We hope you have enjoyed reading this article from Hastings Independent. The future of this volunteer led, non-profit publication would be far more secure with the aid of a small donation. It only takes a minute and we would be very grateful.

https://www.hastingsindependentpress.co.uk/wp-content/uploads/2017/05/reviews.jpghttps://www.hastingsindependentpress.co.uk/wp-content/uploads/2017/05/reviews.jpgHIPReviewsMrs. Dalloway,Virginia Woolf“A Stream of Consciousness” (William James) At first I found this book, written in the ‘new’ style of the early 20th Century, rather difficult, and thought I might abandon it: however, I pressed on. I soon became fascinated by the dazzling techniques of the author. Reviewed by Gillian Metcalfe Mrs. Dalloway, wife of...The Hastings & St Leonards non-profit community newspaper