Tag Archives: The Hours

Reading on time

My mind has been on the passing of time as the lockdown continued. At some point I decided to stop viewing the confinement as some kind of hiatus and accept that it was just how we are living at this time. It helped. But I think a lot about how many days, what we did this time last year, when will we be able to do some things again. It is a theme in fiction as well.

Here’s a celebration to enjoy of days, weeks, months and even years in fiction and memoir.

  • The Hours by Michael Cunningham (1998)
  • The Heat of the Day by Elizabeth Bowen (1948)
  • The Remains of the Day by Kazuo Ishiguro (1989)
  • The Fortnight in September by RC Sherriff (1931)
  • A Month in the Country by JL Carr (1980)
  • The Year of Magical Thinking by Joan Didion (2005)
  • The Years by Virginia Woolf (1937)
  • The Years by Annie Ernaux (2008, in English translation 2019)

The Hours by Michael Cunningham

This is a kind of riff on Mrs Dalloway. The title was Virginia Woolf’s own first idea for her novel. Set in three different times and locations The Hours examines society and its difficulties. As someone who has loved reading and rereading Virginia Woolf, I find it adds a new perspective to the original without detracting from it. We have a version featuring Virginia Woolf herself, another with an American suburban housewife from the 1950s and the third set in recent decades in New York, when HIV/AIDS was rampant. 

It won a Pulitzer Prize and was made into a film (2002), largely successful. 

The Heat of the Day by Elizabeth Bowen

When I reviewed this thriller six years ago, I noted that rereading it had allowed me to appreciate more its admirable features. You can find that review here.  

It is set in London during the Second World War, and follows a couple of lovers, Stella and Robert, and a creepy man who appears to be a stalker. But the dilemma this man Harrison, presents to Stella is at the heart of the tension. Sometimes Elizabeth Bowen’s writing forces the reader to slow down and pay attention. Overall it is an excellent and highly recommended novel.

The Remains of the Day by Kazuo Ishiguro

This is another book that is worth rereading. I find it hard to get Anthony Hopkins out of mind as the butler, Stevens, who narrates the novel. He remembers his experiences in the years leading up to the Second World War. We see that he was in love with the housekeeper, but let the opportunity to be with her slip away. He also places loyalty to his employer over everything and fails to see what he is up to. What remains of his day for Stevens is being in service to a new American employer.

The Fortnight in September

I reviewed this in a recent post, enjoying the lack of exciting plot events or twists and noting that the annual family holiday gave pleasure to the Stevens family because everything was so familiar and a repetition of previous years.

Set between the wars as the family go on holiday to Bognor, it becomes clear that it will be their last fortnight. Everything is changing, as it does.

A Month in the Country by JL Carr 

This short novel is much loved by book bloggers and reading groups. My own extended comments can be found here

Set in the 1920s, in the north of England, a young man comes to recover from his failed marriage and his wartime experiences. He works as a restorer of church murals and finds much to help him recover in the village: the mural, the vicar’s wife, his friends the archaeologist and the teenage nonconformist Kathy, the villagers and the countryside. It’s a very beautiful novel about acceptance of damage and variation among people.

The Year of Magical Thinking by Joan Didion

I am tempted to use the word forensic about Joan Dideron’s analysis of the year following the sudden death of her husband and the seriously illness of their daughter. 

This is my attempt to make sense of the period that followed, weeks and then months that cut loose any fixed idea I had ever had about death, about illness, about probability and luck, about good fortune and bad, about marriage and children and memory, about grief, about life itself. (7)

She writes compellingly with sparseness and great precision. She provides the voice of reason commenting on her ‘magical thinking’ and with a complete focus on herself, her husband and her daughter.

You can read my expanded thought on her account here

The Years by Virginia Woolf

As we near the end of this collection, we return to Virginia Woolf and her last published novel, The Years, which looks at the Pargiter family from 1880s to the 1930s in eleven episodes. This is the only novel of hers that I have not yet read. It gave her great pain in the writing, according to her diary. 

I wonder if anyone has ever suffered so much from a book as I have from The Years. Once out I will never look at it again. It’s like a long childbirth. Think of that summer, every morning a headache, and forcing myself into that room in my nightgown, and lying down after a page: and always with the certainty of failure. Now that certainty is mercifully removed to some extent. But now I feel I don’t care what anyone says so long as I am rid of it. [Tuesday 10th November 1936]

She began it in 1933 and only finished it three years later. It was well received when it published. I look forward to tackling it myself.

The Years by Annie Ernaux

This book is a kind of collective memoir, covering the years of Annie Ernaux’s life (1940 to 2006) up to the point it was published in France. It was very extraordinary to read it, quite unsettling really. But also one of the most original and interesting books I have read recently.

When I think of my life, I see my story since childhood until today, but I cannot separate it from the world in which I lived; my story is mixed with that of my generation and the events that happened to us. [Annie Ernaux: I was so ashamed for Catherine Deneuve … by Kim Willsher. 6.4.19 Guardian]

The main character of this collective memoir is time itself. She notes that ‘we vanish into the vast anonymity of a distant generation’. (20)

Translated from the French by Alison L Strayer

4 Comments

Filed under Books, Reading, Reviews, translation, Virginia Woolf

Mrs Dalloway in Bond Street by Virginia Woolf

The first line jolts the reader:

Mrs Dalloway said she would buy the gloves herself. (146)

Surely that should be flowers?

Mrs Dalloway said she would buy the flowers herself. (5)

The gloves are from Virginia Woolf’s short story Mrs Dalloway in Bond Street – my choice for this third contribution to #Woolfalong. The flowers are from the opening line of the novel Mrs Dalloway, published later.

Mrs Dalloway appears in Virginia Woolf’s fiction on several occasions. First in The Voyage Out, then in the short story, then in the novel and finally in several short stories written after Mrs Dalloway. I think we can conclude that Virginia Woolf found her useful to her writing.

252 VW SH Stories cover

Mrs Dalloway in Bond Street

Mrs Dalloway does indeed buy some gloves right at the end of this story, which is less than 8 pages long. The gloves are French, white, half an inch over the elbow with pearl buttons. As in the novel we follow Clarissa through the streets from her home in Westminster to the glove shop in Bond Street.

The story is an early experiment in stream of consciousness, a technique to convey the layers, textures, and loops of consciousness experienced by Clarissa. She leaves her house, meets an old friend, remembers the death of another, notices the other people in Bond Street and enters the glove shop. Virginia Woolf records the variety of thoughts in Clarissa’s head, memories, impressions, things she observes and muses upon, including the feeling of familiarity about the other customer in the glove shop.

There was a violent explosion in the street outside. The shop-woman cowered behind the counters. But Clarissa, sitting very upright, smiled at the other lady. ‘Miss Anstruther!’ she exclaimed. (153)

And so the story ends.

The appearances of Mrs Dalloway

We first met Clarissa on the ship sailing to South America in The Voyage Out. She and her husband join the Euphrosyne in the stormy passage from Lisbon to the African coast. Clarissa is portrayed as slight, rather empty-headed but also generous and gracious, a striker of attitudes.

‘It’s so like Whistler!’ she exclaimed, with a wave towards the shore, as she shook Rachel by the hand … (36)

After her departure Mrs Dalloway is described by a more modern woman:

‘She was quite nice, but a thimble-pated creature.’ Helen continued. ‘I’ve never heard such nonsense! Chitter-chatter-chitter-chatter – fish and the Greek alphabet! – never listened to a word any one said – chock-full of idiotic theories about the way to bring up children. ‘(79)

I love the ‘thimble-pated creature’.

In the short story she is more fleshed out, has more of an interior life, and indeed her inner life is the point of the story.

She mounted the little hill lightly. The air stirred with energy. Messages were passing from the Fleet to the Admiralty. Piccadilly and Arlington Street and the Mall seemed to chafe the very air in the Park and lift its leaves hotly, brilliantly, upon waves of that divine vitality which Clarissa loved. To ride; to dance; she had adored all that. Or going [for] long walks in the country, talking about books, what to do with one’s life, for young people were amazingly priggish – Oh the things one had said! But one had conviction. Middle age is the devil. People like Jack will never know that, she thought; for he never once thought of death, never, they said, knowing he was dying. And now can never mourn – how did it go? – a head grown grey . . . From the contagion of the world’s slow stain . . . have drunk their cup a round or two before. . . . From the contagion of the world’s slow stain! She held herself upright. (148)

She has moved from thinking about the Admiralty, to the park, her youthful self, and the death of her friend Jack to quoting Shelley’s poem Adonais. (Also quoted by her in The Voyage Out, where she exclaims ‘I feel there’s almost everything one wants in “Adonais”.’ (40)) The short story touches upon genealogy, the social changes brought by the war, the possibility of generosity to the shop woman, class, in short many of the themes of Mrs Dalloway.

Septimus is absent, a damaged victim of the war who brings a sense of tragedy and inhumanity to Mrs Dalloway. It is a lesser, more sketchy idea that Mrs Dalloway expresses as she buys her gloves:

Thousands of young men had died that things might go on. (153)

The story grew, as Virginia Woolf noted in her diary. ‘Mrs Dalloway has branched into a book; and I adumbrate here a study of insanity and suicide,’ (October 1922, 52).

188 Mrs D cover

Through writing Mrs Dalloway Virginia Woolf developed what she called her ‘tunnelling process, by which I tell the past by instalments, as I have need of it.’ Not surprisingly Mrs Dalloway was turning out to be a richer character than her earlier appearances in The Voyage Out or Bond Street.

The doubtful point is, I think, the character of Mrs Dalloway. It may be too stiff, too glittering, too tinsely. But then I can bring innumerable other characters to her support. (October 1923. 61)

And as she worked on the novel she reflected on her writing processes, what she was achieving. After returning from Charleston one evening in August 1924 she recorded:

I don’t often trouble now to describe cornfields and groups of harvesting women in loose blues and reds, and little staring yellow frocked girls. …All my nerves stood upright, flushed, electrified (what’s the word?) with the sheer beauty – beauty surrounding and superabounding. So that one almost resents it, not being capable of catching it all and holding it all at the moment. One’s progress through life is made immensely interesting by trying to grasp all these developments as one passes. I feel as if I were putting out my fingers tentatively on (here is Leonard, …) (August 1924. 65)

In my view Mrs Dalloway in Bond Street is an early exercise in grasping all of that and in Mrs Dalloway she demonstrates her confident use of it.

Clarissa has walk-on parts in some of the stories written after the novel. In her diaries Virginia Woolf noted that Mrs D ‘ushers in a host of others, I begin to perceive’ (August 1922, 48). Clarissa’s party was a device for Virginia Woolf to explore the responses of a number of people in social situations. She wrote these while she was mulling over To The Lighthouse. Readers of that novel will be familiar with the extended evening meal in the first section of the book. By the time she wrote To The Lighthouse she could write of the inner world of several characters in the Ramsay household.

In The New Dress, I especially like the awkwardness experienced by Mabel Waring. Already lacking confidence and with a husband who has no interest in her, her social isolation is explored in the context of the wrong dress at Clarissa’s party. And I notice the disdain with which Mr Serle treats Miss Anning when they are introduced in Together and Apart. The interaction between the two is painfully observed.

So much to gain from reading these stories, especially in tracking the development of Virginia Woolf’s writing.

Virginia Woolf c 1912 by Vanessa Bell

Virginia Woolf c 1912 by Vanessa Bell

More Mrs Dalloway

The character was also drawn on by Michael Cunningham in The Hours, which was a title Virginia Woolf once had for Mrs Dalloway.

There are still the flowers to buy. Clarissa feigns exasperation (though she loves doing errands like this), leaves Sally cleaning the bathroom, and runs out, promising to be back in half an hour.

It is New York City. It is the end of the twentieth century. (9)

252 The Hours cover

So, New York, twenty years ago, not the effects of the Great War on London, but of HIV/Aids on the US.

Clarissa works so well for writers. Perhaps you have written a Mrs Dalloway story? Perhaps you will now?

Texts used

A Haunted House, the complete shorter fiction by Virginia Woolf. Introduction by Helen Simpson, Edited by Susan Dick. Published by Vintage in 2003. 314pp

The Voyage Out by Virginia Woolf, first published in 1915. Penguin Modern Classic.

Mrs Dalloway by Virginia Woolf, first published in 1925. Penguin Modern Classic.

The Hours by Michael Cunningham published in 1998. Paperback edition by 4th Estate. 226pp

Related posts

Previous posts for #Woolfalong hosted by Heavenali on her blog.

To the Lighthouse by Virginia Woolf

The Voyage Out by Virginia Woolf

I have also written Mrs Dalloway is ageing

To receive email notifications of future posts please subscribe by entering your email address in the box.

6 Comments

Filed under Books, Reading, Reviews, Virginia Woolf, Writing

NOW A MAJOR MOTION PICTURE!

Not need to shout. It’s only a movie. Reading the book, I am sure, was a better experience. It’s no recommendation to me that a novel has been adapted for the cinema. Movies generally speaking are likely to be less subtle and complex than the original text, because the contents have to be compressed into a continuous presentation of two hours or less. A novel can be experienced in a more selective, repetitive, episodic way, according to the whims of the reader. My experience of movies is of disappointment for the most part, and frustration with adaptations on nearly ever occasion. Here’s why I avoid them.

They are different things

104 filmTo start with, movies and books are different things. I have to ask: why make a film when you have a perfectly good book? Money, of course – none to be made from books without a film option. Annie Dillard suggests that movies have an irresistible attraction.

Films and television stimulate the body’s senses too, in big ways. A nine-foot handsome face, and its three-foot-wide smile, are irresistible. Look at the long legs on that man, as high as a wall, and coming straight toward you. The music builds. The moving, lighted screen fills your brain. You do not like filmed car chases? See if you can turn away, Try not to watch. Even knowing you are manipulated, you are still as helpless as the make butterfly drawn to painted cardboard.

This is the movies. That is their ground. The printed word cannot compete with the movies on their ground, and should not. You can describe beautiful faces, car chases, or valleys full of Indians on horseback until you run out of words, and you will not approach the movies’ spectacle. (The Writing Life p18)

Films and novels share storytelling, but they tell stories in very different ways, as Annie Dillard suggests. Hitchcock spoke about the adaptations of stories for film, referring to the ‘suitability of the language of cinema for the written word’. But it hasn’t stopped some writers writing with an eye on the more lucrative cinema audience. Annie Dillard is sharply critical and suggests that such an approach harms the writing:

Novels written with film contracts in mind have a faint but unmistakable, and ruinous, odor. I cannot name what, in the text, alerts the reader to suspect the writer of mixed motives. I cannot specify which sentences, in several books, have caused me to read on with increasing dismay, and finally close the book because I smelled a rat. Such books seem uneasy being books; they seem eager to fling off their disguises and jump onto screens. (The Writing Life p18-9)

Storylines are mangled

104 ticketThey may share storytelling but adaptations are often simplifications, with storylines adjusted or changed to appeal to movie audiences. Stanley Kubrick famously offended Anthony Burgess with his adaptation of A Clockwork Orange, which prevented general release in the UK for many years. Richard Matheson’s novel I am Legend has been adapted four times but never to his satisfaction.

I don’t know why Hollywood is fascinated by my book when they never care to film it as I write it. (See Joe Dunthorne’s article in Guardian in 2013.)

Film requires less imagination

NOW A MAJOR MOTION PICTURE belittles the original. Here’s the cover of a copy of Sense and Sensibility that I own. The cover promotes the book through the film with its starry cast of great British actors.104 Now a major

104 S&S

Movies don’t let you work very hard with your imagination. Richard Ayoade (director, actor and comedian) says that movie watchers and readers experience their media differently. He suggests that in reading you can identify closely with the protagonist, but in film the separation is increased by ‘a physical otherness’, especially when the lead actor is a star, known to be famous, wealthy, good looking, etc. (See Joe Dunthorne’s article again).

Films also have big landscapes, gorgeous scenery and fabulous clothes – suffused with a kodakifying glow. The movie Sense and Sensibility, presented as a bit of a rom com, takes place in continuous English summer sunlight. And in the opening sequence of the 2005 adaptation of Pride and Prejudice starring Keira Knightley, even the farm animals behaved picaresquely. And just in case you miss their emotional drive movies have music. Novels have words, plot and character development, descriptions, dialogue, no music.

Film adaptations can stunt the imagination, fossilise the experience of the book. A strongly expressed view in our reading group is that it’s best to avoid the film until you have read the book. We were discussing Julie & Julia by Julie Powell. But even reading the book first doesn’t avoid that. Jonathan Coe suggests that ‘adaptations of pre-20th-century novels on celluloid usually end up as mummification rather than reinvention’. Exceptions are Tony Richardson’s Tom Jones and John Schlesinger’s Far From the Madding Crowd although they are really sixties romps in period costume. (See his article Made for Each Other in the Guardian Review. And shouldn’t that be Henry Fielding and Thomas Hardy?)

Films obstruct reading

It can be argued that films promote reading and add to the enjoyment of, say, JK Rowling and the Harry Potter series (involving classic British actors, of course.) But there is an argument that films stop people reading the original because the film adaptation is seen as a the same or an adequate substitute. Some people appear to get confused about reading and viewing. Have you had a conversation like this?

Me: Have you read We Need to talk about Kevin?

Them: No, but I’ve seen the film.

Which can only mean that the story is everything, and the medium is not significant. That all the work that Lionel Shriver put into it, all the craft, the skill, the detail, the nuances and complexity of being the mother of an unlikeable child. I’ve even heard someone say, ‘I’ve never read Jane Eyre, but I saw the tv series. That’s the one where she’s going to marry the rich guy, isn’t it?’ Oh yes. That’s Jane Eyre.

What I didn’t want to see

There are films I would rather not have seen, they spoiled the experience of reading the book: three examples The Borrowers, whose updating to the twenty-first century removed most of the whimsy and make-do-and-mend ingenuity that was the charm of the books. Catch-22 whose chaotic plot, overblown characters, expose of the craziness of war could not be represented by the realism of film. Mrs Palfrey at the Claremont, which updates Elizabeth Taylor’s difficult novel and gives ageing a charming or eccentric face. Read the novel to get a quite different understanding of what Elizabeth Taylor was showing about age.

Any good film adaptations?

The Hours from Michael Cunningham’s novel which is in part derived from Virginia Woolf’s Mrs Dalloway. (Although I am having doubts about it having just read Hermione Lee’s essay Virginia Woolf’s Nose.)

Shipping News adapted from E Annie Proulx’s novel, and in which the New Foundland scenery and her story is hauntingly brought to the screen.

And for Jonathan Coe one of the best adaptations is Housekeeping:

Bill Forsyth’s film version, made in 1987 is an unswervingly faithful adaptation, preserving the narrative shape, the tone, the desolate backwoods atmosphere, even finding visual correlatives for Robinson’s scriptural, luminous prose. And yet it has been almost completely forgotten. It’s never been available on DVD, and none of the Robinson fans I’ve spoken to recently, either in Britain or America, seems to be aware of it.

104 Housekeeping mineThe film, apparently, is unmarketable. So that’s one film I wont be seeing then. And I will be very happy with the novel.

 

Can you recommend any worthwhile adaptations of film to screen? Do you have anything to add about films and novels?

Subscribe by entering your email address in the box at the top of the column on the right and you will receive email notifications of future blogposts.

12 Comments

Filed under Books, Virginia Woolf