A book to read slowly, in sips. One image, then the next, then the next: how jarring it is at the start, to step into one character’s thoughts, then another’s, then another’s. The tension between aloneness and connection, or the balance. How time passes. The poetry of place: the sea, the garden, St. Paul’s with “the polished brasses; the flapping and the chanting, while one boy’s voice wails round the dome like some lost and wandering dove” (281).
The Waves by Virginia WoolfHarvest Books, 1978 (originally Hogarth Press, 1931)
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