I’ve Never Been Afraid of Virginia Woolf

Here’s the truth: I haven’t finished Mrs Dalloway. I meant to. I even got quite far in. I enjoyed it, admired it, felt genuinely impressed by how modern and sharp and emotionally clear it was — and then I just… stopped. Not out of boredom, not because I didn’t “get it,” but because life happened, that and a couple of new book acquisitions that kept calling to me from the TBR pile.

And yet, I haven’t stopped thinking about it. I have the Penguin Classic edition with a portrait of Virginia Woolf painted by her equally amazing sister - Vanessa Bell.

There’s something about Virginia Woolf’s writing — the way she shifts so seamlessly between people’s inner lives, how a single moment can hold so much depth. It’s technically brilliant and somehow tactile at the same time. Even in the bits I did read, I could see what makes this book so beloved and so important. You don’t need a degree in modernism to feel its impact.

I’ve always felt a strong sense of loyalty with books — like if a writer poured so much into something, the least I can do is see it through. But maybe it’s also fine to appreciate something without having finished it. Maybe even stopping partway through can be a kind of tribute — a sign that a book made enough of an impression to stay with you.

So this is my imperfect centenary celebration of Mrs Dalloway. Not a full review, not a close reading. Just an honest appreciation for a book I didn’t finish — but still kind of love.

Mrs Dalloway isn't part of Bookishly's range...yet. But in the meantime you can get it from bookshop.org here.