Between the Acts - Virginia Woolf

This week, for my module called Writing the Thirties – about the literature produced during the 1930s, in the run-up to the second World War – I read Between the Acts by Virginia Woolf.

I am going to say now, just in case there’s an avid Woolf fan reading this, that I mean absolutely no offence to her, but I just don’t get it.

More on that later.

It’s basically about… well, not much. If you’ve ever read a Virginia Woolf novel, you’ll understand. It’s funny, because I love reading her essays – I find them a lot more comprehensive and fascinating than her novels. I’ve read Shakespeare’s Sister, A Room of One’s Own, Chloe Liked Olivia, Androgyny and The Leaning Tower, and they were all fantastic. Especially Shakespeare’s Sister, which explores the idea of Shakespeare having a sister with the same genius as him, and the awful life she would have led because of her sex. It was, quite simply, brilliant.

But I can’t honestly say I feel the same about her novels. Last year I read To The Lighthouse, and I didn’t know what to expect. That was certainly a detriment to my reading of it, because when I found out that the first hundred pages were dedicated to describing one day (in which literally nothing happened), I was quite put out.

So luckily this time I had some suspicion of what I would encounter, which did help my enjoyment slightly. Although I wouldn’t say I liked it, I appreciated it a lot more. That said, I didn’t understand it. And that annoys me. But the thing is, I’m not sure if we’re supposed to understand it. There’s a character in it who is directing a village pageant, and she realises half way through that the audience have no clue what’s going on, and are trying desperately to understand. But she doesn’t want them to understand: that’s not the point of the pageant. The point, I think, is to simply accept it as one person’s view of English history; and I think you can relate this to the novel. I think that this character, Miss La Trobe, is Woolf’s alter ego, and that Woolf is speaking to us through her: saying don’t spend ages demystifying the meaning of this, just let the impression of English village life wash over you.

But I am not by any means suggesting that I’m right: on the contrary, read my last post to see my idea about how analysis shows more about the analyser than the text. My lecturer said today that every time he reads the novel he gets a different idea about what it means, which verifies this idea that analysis is subjective.

Another thing I had to note was how miserable everyone was. We only saw a day in their lives, but I think if we had to read any more about them it would have been completely interminable. They just didn’t say what they meant, or hid things, or moped about and sighed and wished for better things. It really infuriated me. It’s the same in To The Lighthouse, and I daresay all Woolf’s other novels too. Now, I do like depressing books. Among some of my favourites are Revolutionary Road and Atonement (and don’t even get me started on the end of The Hunger Games, because I still haven’t got over it and my heart breaks a little bit every time I think of it). I also love depressing music (I’m listening to The Civil Wars right now, and I’m feeling emotionally raw – in a good way). But these people were so dreary and silly that I just couldn’t empathise with them one bit.

I don’t think they’re meant to be likeable people. It’s probably some deep and meaningful commentary on the lives of wealthy people in rural England with nothing to do but wait as the shadow of war looms towards them, but it was frustrating, and I couldn’t have endured it much longer.

Fortunately, it’s the last book I have to read this year, so soon I can start reading easy books… although by the sounds of third year, I should already have started the reading for it =S

But what do you think? Have you read this or any of Woolf’s other books/essays? Are you a Woolf fan? If so, please tell me why, because I really think I’m missing something here!!