Mrs Dalloway by Virginia Woolf – classic fiction that I admirable but didn’t enjoy

Mrs Dalloway is unconventional fiction with stream-of-consciousness style and important themes and layers, but for me. It was classic fiction that I admirable but didn’t enjoy.

Synopsis

Clarissa Dalloway, elegant and vivacious, is preparing for a party and remembering those she once loved. In another part of London, Septimus Warren Smith is shell-shock and on the brink of madness. Smith’s day interweaves with that of Clarissa and her friends, their lives converge as the party reaches its glittering climax.

Past, present and future are brought together one momentous June day in 1923.

Review

Mrs Dalloway is unconventional fiction that drops the reader straight into the life of Clarissa Dalloway, an upper-class woman in her fifties preparing for a party in post–World War I London. From morning until night, the novel follows not only Clarissa’s thoughts but also the thoughts of a wide range of characters she crosses paths with. All of this unfolds over the course of a single day, moving chronologically and without chapter breaks.

Mrs Dalloway is written entirely in a stream-of-consciousness style, offering access to the innermost thoughts of its characters. Through this technique, Woolf explores post-war British society, imperial ideology, class divisions, unresolved emotional conflicts, the psychological impact of war, the medical profession’s failure to understand trauma, and the looming presence of mortality. It is a slim book, but it carries a heavy thematic load.

Despite its short length, Mrs Dalloway took me the longest to finish. The writing style is dense and often confusing. The perspective switches happen rapidly, and long internal monologues are woven together with poetic descriptions of London that frequently felt abstract and disorienting. I had to pause multiple times to look up references or read character analyses just to understand what was happening. By the end, I realised that I did not like most of the characters, with one major exception.

I initially sympathised with Clarissa. A woman looking back on her life, her choices, and her relationships is always an interesting starting point. Her reflections on Peter Walsh, her marriage to Richard Dalloway, and her intense emotional and physical closeness with Sally Seton made her feel layered and human. That closeness, she felt with Sally, was something she never truly experienced with either Peter or Richard, which added complexity to her character.

However, the more I read, the more her flaws became apparent. While I respected her decision to marry Richard for stability and personal freedom, I could not ignore how unfair she often seemed to Peter, especially during his return. Peter is far from perfect, but Clarissa’s behaviour toward him felt emotionally careless. I also disliked how distant she was from her daughter Elizabeth, followed by her resentment over Elizabeth’s closeness with Miss Kilman. Her fixation on her party felt shallow at times, particularly when contrasted with the suffering around her.

One moment that genuinely bothered me was Clarissa referring to Indians as vulgar. I understand the historical context, her jealousy, and the entrenched colonial mindset of the time, but it was still jarring and unpleasant to read. Historical accuracy does not make it any less insulting.

I genuinely enjoyed the bond between Sally and Peter. They understood Clarissa in a way no one else did, and their observations about other characters often aligned. At times, I wondered why they never married each other, and then immediately understood why they would never work. Their similarities would have driven them apart.

Peter is emotional, impulsive, and driven by passion. His constantly shifting love interests and his inability to let go of Clarissa validate her belief that marrying him would have been a mistake. Still, Peter is painfully honest about who he is, and that honesty makes him easier to tolerate.

Sally, on the other hand, seems to have matured. Her transformation surprised everyone. She married a wealthy man and had five children. We do not get much access to her internal thoughts, but she appears content and grounded, which contrasts sharply with the rest of the cast.

Richard Dalloway feels exactly as Peter describes him. He is steady, respectable, and well-suited to Clarissa. It is clear why she married him. Yet he is emotionally distant, a trait that becomes especially apparent near the end when he cannot bring himself to say that he loves her. Instead, he offers flowers. Clarissa understands the gesture, but it made me question why she finds this emotional restraint satisfying. His distant relationship with Elizabeth mirrors Clarissa’s, and it was interesting that Peter noticed it.

Elizabeth’s attachment to Miss Kilman was difficult for me to understand. Elizabeth knows Kilman dislikes her mother and harbours resentment toward the upper class. She can also see how Kilman subtly tries to turn her against her own world. Yet Elizabeth stays close to her. The only explanation that made sense to me is that Elizabeth is trying to carve out an identity separate from her mother. Kilman offers that separation, even if it comes with manipulation. Elizabeth also feels young and not yet equipped to fully understand people or society.

Whitbread felt like a decorative symbol of his social position. He embodies British upper-class masculinity and propriety. While he is superficial, the intense dislike other characters feel toward him seemed excessive. Richard shares many of the same traits, and the key difference appears to be that Richard does not interfere in Clarissa’s personal life.

Septimus Warren Smith was the only character I truly loved. My heart broke for him. Once intelligent and ambitious, his life is destroyed by war and the trauma of losing his friend. No one around him understands his shell shock or hallucinations. Learning that PTSD was formally recognised only in 1980 made his story even more devastating. Soldiers from World War I, World War II, and beyond suffered without proper understanding or treatment, and Septimus represents all of them.

I did not always like how his wife behaved, but I also recognise that she was trapped in an impossible situation. Her determination to stay with Septimus and her resistance to Holmes show genuine love. Holmes and Bradshaw, however, were infuriating. Their arrogance and lack of empathy directly contribute to Septimus’s death, making them the true villains of the novel.

By the end, while I did not fully connect with every character or understand every choice Woolf made, I strongly agreed with Sally’s line, “What does the brain matter compared with the heart.” It felt like the most honest and emotionally grounded moment in a novel filled with fractured thoughts and emotional restraint.

Overall, Mrs Dalloway felt more admirable than enjoyable for me. I appreciated its themes and found Septimus deeply moving, but the fragmented style and emotional distance kept me from fully connecting. It is a book I respect, not one I loved.

Book Links

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Have you read Mrs Dalloway or any books by the same author?
Do you enjoy stream-of-consciousness novels, or do you prefer stories with a clear and structured narrative?

Just in case you missed,,,

• Mrs Dalloway by Virginia Woolf – classic fiction that I admirable but didn’t enjoy
• January 2026 Wrap Up: Books, Life Updates, and Travel Plans
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