Why Do You Hurt Me, Mrs. Dalloway?

I have a confession to make. I can't read Virginia Woolf's Mrs. Dalloway. I know you don't care, but I feel like a terrible librarianator, so you might as well laugh at my pain. I wanted so much to read it. I read and loved The Hours. I wanted to love Mrs. Dalloway! When we picked it for the next read in my book club I was excited. And I really tried to read it. Oh Lord how I tried. But I just couldn't seem to get past the first few pages. Or even the first page, actually.... I kept zoning out at 'what a lark!' and before I knew it I would be a couple of pages ahead with absolutely no comprehension of what I'd read.

At first I thought it was because the copy I'd purchased at the used book store was highlighted and had annoying little notes all over it. I hate reading other peoples highlights and/or notes. I feel it taints my reading experience. So I cast aside the polluted paperback and borrowed the book on cd. Here is what I heard:

Snotty English voice: "Mrs. Dalloway said she would buy the flowers herself....blah blah blah blah....What a LAAAARK!...blah blah...zzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzz."

Needless to say I didn't even get past the first track on CD 1.

A pretentious and condescending voice in my head told me not to sweat it because "Virginia Woolf is difficult." This enraged me. "Oh shut up voice!" I argued. "The book is in English, which is a language I've been reading for like 30 years. And I've read plenty of "difficult" authors, motherfucker! I was a LIBRARIAN!!!"

Then it occured to me that I was arguing with a voice in my head. I think the voice sounded so much like one of those horse-faced prep school bitches who used to hang all over Vile Niles that it made me go a little crazy. Get out of my brain, prep school bitch! I'll kick your anorexic ass back to Greenwich... Whoops, sorry! There I go again.

All this ranting is to say that not being able to read Mrs. Dalloway made me feel like I wasn't as smart as I liked to delude myself. And that was pretty deflating. As the book club meeting date grew nearer, I found myself reading other, trashier things in place of Mrs. Dalloway. Like Sex, Murder and a Double Latte and Fear of Flying. Oh I was doomed.

Then, just days before the meeting, Bamalama e-mailed to admit that she hadn't read any of Mrs. Dalloway. Jujube and Natasha soon replied that they too had not read it and/or were not compelled to finish it. It turned out that the entire librarian posse was not loving old Mrs. D. If all these smart, well-read women couldn't finish the book, then I didn't have to beat myself up about it anymore. Hooray!

Still it bugs me. Mrs. Dalloway glares at my from the shelf where I have spurned her, unfinished. But Bamalama and I just watched the movie version of The Hours, which sparked my interest once again. Will I continue the cycle of punishment? Probably. What a lark!

- Gigi 05.08.06