To The Lighthouse
is a modern classic. Everybody says it,
so it must be true. I mean, I'm not too
sure how this compares to other works of Virginia Woolf like Mrs Dalloway in regards to books that
academics like to get their knickers in a twist about, but it's definitely up
there. And it's good. I know that's
damning it with faint praise, I mean to, it is good- I'm just not sure that
it's all that. I know that whenever it
comes up I'm quick to point out that Modernism just isn't my thing, and I think
it's just a case of that. For a
Modernist tale, it is good.
The novel is split into three parts and the story, such as
it is, follows the Ramsay family (Mr, Mrs and eight children) on two days ten
years apart- these are dealt with in parts one and three of the book. The first day follows a visit by friends to
the Ramsays at their summer home in the Hebrides. I'm not sure why anyone would have a summer
home in the Hebrides, but still. The
family talk about visiting the lighthouse, don't visit the lighthouse and then
there's some chat about soup, a brooch and the (in)ability of women to be as
good artists or writers as men. Standard
dinner party fodder. Ten years later, in part three, most of the interpersonal
relationships detailed in part one have fallen apart, but Mr Ramsay and his two
youngest children do eventually reach the lighthouse.
My first issue with the book is the children. I feel like, in both life and literature,
eight children is too many children.
It's impossible to keep track of them all. I've read the book very recently, and I could
only name half of them for you now.
On a more serious note, I did like the middle section. I feel like this is a little bit
hypocritical, having banged on about hating Modernism and then saying that my
favourite part was the most Modernist bit.
But, whatever. The section is
called Time Passes and focuses on the
constant rather than the transitory human lives. The abandoned summer home is described in
detail, Mrs Ramsay's death given only a couple of sentences. Her death and the deaths of two of her
children are sudden- we're given little context and no warning or closure. They are realistic deaths. And, in being so realistic, you experience a
sense of loss. The deaths are concise in
a way not even Ernest Hemingway could have managed. They are not overwrought.
I find Woolf difficult as a writer. She is someone I want to like more than I
actually do like. I can read her work
and see the objective goodness- the quality of it- but still, I have trouble
warming to her. This is despite A Room of One’s Own. Maybe one of the problems was that I was
reading this on a coach- it’s neither easy, nor is it relaxing reading Woolf
and I think I could have enjoyed To The
Lighthouse more in a more appropriate setting.
Another coach-read net: Pierre
et Jean by Guy du Maupassant.
