Reviews
believe me when i say im a virginia woolf stan … however … can’t say i adored this one. she started cooking towards the end there though. i also started drinking more camapari and sodas as i kept reading so maybe that’s just it.
THE VIRGINIA WOOLF PROJECT: THE VOYAGE OUT Book 1: Orlando [3.5/5] Book 2: To The Lighthouse [5/5] Book 3: Mrs. Dalloway [4/5] Book 4: The Waves [4.5/5] Book 4.5: A Room of One's Own [5/5] Book 5: The Voyage Out [4.5/5] Welcome back to another instalment of the Virginia Woolf project. I, too, am terrified of the person I will become when I have nothing by Virginia Woolf left to read. Thankfully, there are still four novels of complex prose to tackle before such a thing can happen. Some terrified people who followed me while I was lost in the abhorrent grasp of the outdoors (read: on holiday in Vancouver) may be curious as to what the Virginia Woolf project is. I am aiming to read all of Virginia Woolf's novels, a choice I made on a complete whim, and review each of them as I read them so you can suffer with me.* I haven't read a new Woolf novel since June, thanks to the aforementioned existential terror of running out of novels to read, but I enjoyed The Voyage Out quite a lot and I'm excited to tell you all about it. The Voyage Out is Virginia Woolf's first novel. It depicts the story of a young English woman called Rachel Vinrace who travels to South America. In a very broad sense, it's a coming of age story. Rachel discovers the world and the different types of people who inhabit it, and in doing so discovers more about herself. However, Woolf's true talent lies in her subversion of the genre's conventions; so the story becomes a meaningful portrait of a character who is by nature undefined. It's hard to believe that this was her debut, as it displays a degree of intelligence and accuracy one tends to find only in more experienced author. The start of the story is rather slow, so the reader is permitted to languish in the beauty of the prose while the important elements of the plot and characters begin to click into place. By the second or third chapter, once the voyage is begun and the primary players are introduced, one finds that the assiduous nature Woolf applied to her novels makes for an original and captivating read. I loved the character of Rachel, as I found her introduction to the world intricate and meaningful to her development as a person, and as a fan of Woolf's in general** I was tickled by the appearance of Richard and Clarissa Dalloway. Despite the flaws in the key romance that one might pick up on as a reader from the twenty-first century, there can be no doubt that the bloom and joy of a first love is captured with compassion and understanding. I was swept away by the beauty of the descriptions and the understanding between the characters. Within chapters, I went from not anticipating the connection the characters would have to being invested in them as a couple. It was a marvelous thing to watch unfold, and I'm being intentionally vague because I do think that the appeal will be increased if you go into it blind. I thought the ending was devastating, narratively compelling, and beautiful; and these words together are of course the highest praise I can bestow upon literature. The Voyage Out accomplishes that ultimate but elusive goal of tragedy; to convince the reader that such an ending was unavoidable but at the same time utterly contrived by the characters themselves. The characters, then, must be well-established enough to choose in specific and distinct ways, and to make choices so obvious to them but so tragic in hindsight. It is a tall order for a debut writer, but not when that debut writer is Virginia Woolf. I cannot decide which of Woolf's works to read next—I will devote quite a bit of brainpower to making this decision today—but I do hope that there are people who enjoy these reviews enough to look out for what's to come. “For some time she observed a great yellow butterfly, which was opening and closing its wings very slowly on a little flat stone. "What is it to be in love?" she demanded, after a long silence; each word as it came into being seemed to shove itself out into an unknown sea. Hypnotized by the wings of the butterfly, and awed by the discovery of a terrible possibility in life, she sat for some time longer. When the butterfly flew away, she rose, and within, her two books beneath her arm returned again, much as a soldier prepares for battle.” * If there's another author who you think I should aim to read the complete works of, please comment below and I might make it my next reading project! ** She's one of my favourite authors, as this project must make abundantly clear. [Much like several of Woolf's works, this book includes some offensive commentary at the expense of native people in South America. It is minimal, but still existent, and I should like to only recommend this book with this warning included.]
I tend to rate novels not by how much I enjoyed reading them, but on my ability to speak once I’ve finished. I haven’t a word.
Highlights
a slight but perceptible wave seemed to roll beneath the floor; then it sank; then another came, more perceptible. lights slid right across the uncurtained window. the ship gave a loud melancholy moan.
to speak or to be silent was equally an effort, for when they were silent they were keenly conscious of each other's presence, and yet words were either too trivial or too large.
that was the strange thing, that one did not know where one was going, or what one wanted, and followed blindly, suffering so much in secret, always unprepared and amazed and knowing nothing; but one thing led to another and by degrees something had formed itself out of nothing, and so one reached at last this calm, this quiet, this certainty, and it was this process that people called living.
I've cared for heaps of people, but not to marry them' she said. 'I suppose I'm too fastidious. all my life I've wanted somebody I could look up to, somebody great and big and splendid. Most men are so small.'
'What do you mean by splendid?' Hewet asked. 'People are-nothing more.
That was the strange thing, that one did not know where one was going, or what one wanted, and followed blindly, suffering so much in secret, always unprepared and amazed and knowing nothing; but one thing led to another and by degrees something had formed itself out of nothing, and so one reached at last this calm, this quiet, this certainty, and it was this process that people called living.
but even the ordinary was lovable,
If I were a woman I'd blow some one's brains out. Don't you laugh at us a great deal? Don't you think it all a great humbug? You, I mean-how does it all strike you?"
Rooms, she knew, became more like worlds than rooms at the age of twenty-four.
How little, after all, one can tell anybody about one's life! Here I sit, there you sit- both, I doubt not, chock-full of the most interesting experiences, ideas, emotions - yet how communicate? I've told you what every second person you meet might tell you." ,,I don't think so," she said. "It's the way of saying things, isn't it, not the things?"