Wat een prachtig verhaal over zussen, broers, neven nichten uit classy Londen begin vorige eeuw. Ze weet tijd goed voelbaar te maken. Zoals ze zeggen, de ziener is altijd meer dan de gezienene. En wat zag Virginia Woolf veel, en wat voelde en dacht ze daarover veel. Scherpe meningen, diepe gedachtes en vrolijke gebeurtenissen wisselen elkaar af, vechten soms om ruimte. Roman laat je voelen dat oorlog veel verwoest maar ook wat blijft. Gezelschap mooie gesprekken en gedachtes. In die zin maakt het strijdlustig. Sowieso veel levenslust. Ook hoe we willen leren maar hoe lastig dat wordt als we ons terugtrekken in onze eigen bubbel,zoj zegt eigen knoop. Met eigen hokje, kruis of heilige boek. Samengebald in plaats van open en met elkaar in gesprek. Leren is interactie. En de 2 gevonden hoofdstukken zijn zeker een mooie aanvulling.
Ook : mensen kunnen geen passende wetten of godsdienst maken, omdat we onszelf niet kennen.

Virginia Woolf can do no wrongs

1.5

Definitely Woolf’s weakest work. While I can absolutely understand why it was her most popular at the time, it’s a departure from her previous works and she was not up to the task for such an ambitious novel. It never achieves what Woolf set out to do.

This was really hard to finish. The final chapter is particularly dull and hard to follow. Glad it’s over

I love Virginia Woolf!!

This is my second meeting with Virginia Woolf, and it was quite an enjoyable one. It followed a whole family of characters throughout the span of 50 years, marvelously hopping from one train of thought to the other. I had always been scared of delving into Woolf's writing as I have heard that it might be a bit hard to follow, but I don't see it. The flow of her writing is masterful, quiet, just like the flowing of the years that she describes.
Each character is so real, and there are too many relatable moments to count on. Everyone was very distinct and found their ways to tug at my heartstrings with their thoughts and reactions. It was an interesting look not into history or politics, but more into the people that lived the day to day life and how they felt about family, choices, the passage of time. It was very bittersweet, but truly a remarkable read, with beautiful descriptions and incredible writing.

2.5/5

Woolf and I have had far too long and (usually) fruitful relationship for me to start mincing words now, so here goes nothing: this work feels like it was explicitly written for money, or, as this edition's blurb calls it, "her most popular and...her most accessible." I'd have more basis if I could remember anything from Lee's biography other than how often Woolf thought her writing pathetic, but as that has all largely flown the coop, I'll have to rely on less contextualized particulars. Coming as this does six years after [b:The Waves|46114|The Waves|Virginia Woolf|https://i.gr-assets.com/images/S/compressed.photo.goodreads.com/books/1439492320l/46114._SY75_.jpg|6057263] and a year before [b:Three Guineas|18854|Three Guineas|Virginia Woolf|https://i.gr-assets.com/images/S/compressed.photo.goodreads.com/books/1442463839l/18854._SY75_.jpg|3165312], 'popular' and 'accessible' is not something I would have expected: indeed, it's not at all what I tend to look for. Rather, the level of writing is that which I would have expected to appear around the time of [b:The Voyage Out|148905|The Voyage Out|Virginia Woolf|https://i.gr-assets.com/images/S/compressed.photo.goodreads.com/books/1328874751l/148905._SY75_.jpg|1412170] and [b:Jacob's Room|225396|Jacob's Room|Virginia Woolf|https://i.gr-assets.com/images/S/compressed.photo.goodreads.com/books/1388466257l/225396._SY75_.jpg|3272732], as while the styles of those two incipient pieces are drastically different in style from this, comparatively realist piece, there is a certain mark of hesitant reticence that plagues this flitting from one time period and persona to the next. Perhaps the insipidness of the character concerns compared to those of the recently finished [b:Company Parade|2702846|Company Parade|Storm Jameson|https://i.gr-assets.com/images/S/compressed.photo.goodreads.com/books/1313190323l/2702846._SY75_.jpg|2728210], published three years earlier to far less lasting aplomb, wore me down. Perhaps it is because this is essentially one of those triple-generation beasts that I have learned to be wary of when it comes to modern publishing advertisements pushing forward the latest rabidly 'diverse' phenomenon. Perhaps having this be my thirteenth work of Woolf's, as well as a rare to the point of non-existence revisit of an author within the span of the same year, really did set the stars against me. Or perhaps it was, after making my way through three quarters of this in relatively peaceful if stodgy meditation, only to run into three pages of three distinct expressions of bigoted vitriol on the part of three of those oh so inspirationally, self-absorbed, narratologically coddled English types, I simply became very, very, very tired. Ah well. Such is the trouble with completionism.

I know this to be a very prattish statement to make, but still: some authors are better the more they obfuscate. Faulkner is one whom I found this to be the case for several years back, and an earlier status I posted for this work, wherein I commented on how I found this work especially 'unWoolfean' due to how it could have been written by those other than herself, makes me think that this is another instance of such. Returning to my edition's blurb, there is talk about 'sympathy, insight and lively wit', youthful anarchists ageing self-righteous conservatives, and explorations of how society oppresses the individual, but I honestly just saw a lot of white folks taking advantage of their country's imperialism while they still could. I remember seeing the word 'satire' somewhere in conjunction with this, but my lord am I sick of that phrase being waved around whenever the politics are uncritically dodgy. All this talk about the 'psychology of great men' and the old cishet lady accepting the one (1) gay white dude and the one (1) Indian and how are we supposed to build a great society without first confront ourselves, and then it's a brand new day and everyone's doddering back to their comfort zones. I'll admit to not having the greatest head for lots of characters, especially when everyone barely gets five seconds to themselves, and there're some pieces written in the frame of Forster's "only connect" that I liked. Still, if you're thinking this sounds more like a two star review than what I currently have the rating at, you'd be correct. I'm simply giving myself time to mull things over after the initial rush of finishing the work dies down before I commit to anything.

If this ends up being someone's gateway drug to the (customarily) wonderful world of Woolf, more power to to them. Having popped my Woolf cherry with 'The Waves' nearly a decade ago, every work I've read of hers since has always been in pursuit of that singular high, to the unfortunate detriment of her more mortal works, and my not insignificant involvement in more 'subjective' breeds of analysis doesn't tend to help out either. However, I'm still eagerly eyeing the half dozen or so works of hers still lingering unread on my shelves, and I've barely delved at all into the volumes of her diaries, essays, and ephemera. So, much like any long term relationship, far from perfect, with aspects of it that can make you want to tear your hair out at times. As I hope can be gathered from this, while this could technically work well as an introduction to Woolf, it sacrifices much of its fireworks for the sake of too much clarity at times, so if you're one of those readers looking to dip a toe in, be aware. These are the times when the white-run world is waking up from its dream of domination, and if you're participating in 'anti-racist' reading with the one hand and letting works slide past due to an encrusted venerability, it's hard to have faith in that being a source of true solidarity.