an excerpt: “They came there regularly every evening drawn by some need. It was as if the water floated off and set sailing thoughts which had grown stagnant on dry land, and gave to their bodies even some sort of physical relief. First, the pulse of colour flooded the bay with blue, and the heart expanded with it and the body swam, only the next instant to be checked and chilled by the prickly blackness on the ruffled waves. Then, up behind the great black rock, almost every evening spurted irregularly, so that one had to watch for it and it was a delight when it came, a fountain of white water; and then, while one waited for that, one watched, on the pale semicircular beach, wave after wave shedding again and again smoothly, a film of mother of pearl”.

Amazing in so many ways: as an exploration of the way our consciousnesses interact with the outside world, as an example of the modernist movement at the beginning of the 20th century, and as proof that in the hands of a masterful writer even the slightest of stories can be moving and affecting.

Still trying to get through this one…

I haven’t to read it and analize it to death for class made me semi-loathe it, but it is so well written and definately not light reading.

There sure are a lot of characters.

contains one of the greatest lines of fiction ever: “Mr. Ramsay, stumbling along a passage one dark morning, stretched his arms out, but Mrs. Ramsay having died rather suddenly the night before, his arms, though stretched out, remained empty.”

too mathematical.