Shredding and slicing, dividing and subdividing, the clocks of Harley Street nibbled at the June day...
It is images like that that give me a feeling of exhilaration as I read Mrs Dalloway.
Finally I've picked this up again. My re-reading of Mrs Dalloway has been progressing painfully slowly but it's partly because the writing is so intense; a little bit goes a long way. Today I picked it up again after a hiatus of several months. The afternoon was warm and rainy and Mrs Dalloway was the perfect book to read on the balcony in between the batches of biscuits I was baking.
I'm beginning to realise what a socially aware novel this is. Woolf works important social and political changes such as the fall of the British Empire and the fall-out from the First World War into what is also an intensely psychological and internal narrative. That's probably not news to anyone else but I don't remember noticing this political aspect the first time I read the novel when I was an undergraduate.
Anyway, time now to head off to bed, listen to the rain fall on the roof and let a little more of Woolf's writing wash over me.