In between these modest plot points, Clarissa Dalloway wanders around London, lies down for a rest, and takes note of Big Ben striking out the hours again and again.īut, wait, I am leaving out everything. In the midst of all this, she hears news of a stranger’s violent death. Later, guests pour into her house for the party. She remembers an alluring girl she once kissed. A man she almost married drops by for a visit. In a posh part of London, a middle-aged woman plans a party. The Great War is over, but the memory of its unprecedented destruction still hangs over England. The novel depicts a single day in June from the perspective of a number of characters. In fact, on the surface, it sounds suspiciously dull. Nothing you might read in a plot summary prepares you for the multitudes it contains. Dalloway” is a remarkably expansive and an irreducibly strange book. New Yorker writers reflect on the year’s highs and lows.
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