There are some points where I think Woolf wrote this as if being in love is a illogical, crazy punishment, and freedom in life is a condition where we work for higher cause and free from 'love'.

I need to calm myself down a bit, will be writing more later.

This book was a solid 4 stars until it started drawing to a close. I was disappointed throughout the novel that the two female characters that are supposed to be contrasted rarely have any interactions of consequence. Mary is by far the most likable character in the novel, but really does not get much time devoted to her. And Katherine seems to change unexpectedly from beginning to end. And her love story makes no sense. I wish Woolf had just made her strongly independent and disinterested in love altogether. And then there’s Ralph, I don’t get what he’s supposed to be doing. He complains a lot and develops a DEEP obsession with Katherine but doesn’t really seem to like her nearly as much as he likes his imagined persona that he has dreamt up for her. Rodney is simple. He’s a bit selfish, a bit vain, but his motivations and actions are easy to understand and fit nicely with his character.

Overall could’ve been a lot better. Makes sense that this is one of Woolf’s first novels. It lacks finesse and shies away from a strong or meaningful statement about women (which is odd considering the central theme of women’s education and suffrage being woven throughout)

Only the beauty of Virginia Woolf's fine prose managed to pull me through this wholly conventional novel. It surprised me just how conventional Night and Day is, given the interesting narrative subversions of her previous (and first) novel The Voyage Out. I'm not sure if Woolf was aiming for some kind of mainstream success or trying not to offend anyone, but the utter predictability and ordinariness if this story, its characters, and the novel's narrative style disallowed more than a passing interest in any of these elements. There was some odd variations in tone, too--veering from what appeared to be serious descriptions of lover's rapture to character parodies, none of which really payed off at either extreme. The novel was best when it merely presented the acts and facts of the characters' struggles to get on with the day-to-day. But 500 pages are a lot to read about privileged and middle class Londoners of the 1890s having minor love problems. There were some politics brought in, but nothing about them even remotely prescriptive or controversial, so even that fizzled as a sub-theme or plot, leaving the reader saddled with the stiffest lovers ever to be featured in a novel--seriously emotionally repressed British types with no George Emerson to stir things up. The plot lacked the color or characters of Forrester, the irony that Henry James or Edith Wharton would have given the story, or even the bells and whistles that some of the other, flashier modernists like Hemingway or Jean Rhys narrative style might have done for it. Somehow Virginia's heart just didn't seem to be in this one. Well, on to Jacob's Room, which I've read before, but of which I remember very little.

5 ⭐️ / this book is essentially about people discovering that true, deep love between two people does not always take the shape and form of one stiff model western society implemented into its moral compass.
im not gonna lie, i wanted to put this book away at times, i was pretty bored other times. but certain books desire to be chewed slowly, to be read slowly and to be understood slowly. so now, here, have some of my thoughts surrounding this book:
- if this ever gets adapted as a movie it should be directed by no other than wes anderson
- cassandra need so be played by mia goth and katharine by anya taylor joy or i shall drop dead
- one of the few times that i actually really rooted for a cis hetero couple, like, in a long time. also, i LIKED both male characters?
- im not sure what to think of mary‘s ending. it‘s sorta stereotypical for her to end up like she did, but i also cant consider it sad.
- the book gets progressively better and just outright hilarious toward the half of it. especially the last third
- the only better way this could have turned out would have been a queer happening

The first 400 pages of this novel were damn near insufferable. I almost quit the book wholly and entirely on several occasions (which I have never done, mind you). I couldn’t bring myself to care for such fickle characters. I grew exhausted of every little examination of personality, movement, thought, and feeling. I cursed the characters. The author. Myself. But I hunkered down and trudged through it page by page, determined to see it through.

Little did I know, the last 100 pages cradled such an extraordinary crescendo that I abandoned my apathy, discontentment, and vexation over the hours of time it took me to get there. I devoured these pages. Highlighting entire paragraphs and coloring the margins black with my thoughts. I fell in love with the character’s idiosyncrasies. Their disjointed minds. Their reckless abandon. I came away realizing that none of this —these gradations of character especially—would have been possible without the first 400 excruciating pages. The nuances of character, after all, is what Virginia Woolf obsesses over and takes great care to engender across the great expanse of her literary achievement.

Virginia Woolf certainly doesn’t make it easy. But those who are willing to be steeped in the sheer brilliance of her mind will be well rewarded. This novel will leave you in a “lapsed space” pondering existence, feeling, intellectual freedom, and with a disoriented feeling of “how did I end up here?”. Trademark of Virginia Woolf. She establishes herself early on in her literary career as sui generis in both viewpoint and style with, this, her second novel. I’m glad I didn’t give up on this tour de force.

Young Edwardians play musical chairs with each other's affections for a hundred more pages than necessary. Part historical document and part psychological exploration, this is a quiet novel, almost obsessed with the interior experiences of its characters.

The first half is more polished than the second, resulting in an unevenly balanced story that meanders toward a not-entirely-satisfactory conclusion, with some pit stops in the realm of dramatic farce along the way. Its strength lies in Woolf's expert handling of the subtle and unspoken undercurrents of longing that unrequited love inspires.

It's a novel of manners, though without particular effervescence or excess of layers.