I really want to read Mrs. Dalloway again. Then again, there is a lot that I want to read right now. But when I read Mrs. Dalloway for the first time, I feel like I rushed through it and didn’t appreciate it enough. Reading the Diary of Virginia Woolf makes me want to read it again.
How badass was this lady, anyway? I knew nothing about her life before starting the diary, and really, I still know almost nothing about it. I do, however, know that she was proposed to about eight hundred times before marrying Leonard Woolf, and that alone makes her somewhat of a badass. It’s eerie, because in the beginning of her first diary, she is writing as a 23-year-old. Eerie for me, anyway.
Admittedly, I am at the boring part now. She has had her last nervous breakdown, a lot of time has passed before she has picked up her diary again, and she can only write a few sentences at a time, and these sentences are less-than-fascinating. But I’m trying to stick with it because she is writing more and more as time goes by.
I, by the way, am reading more and more as time goes by.
