I went in with zero expectations apart from taking the time to try something new. I'm glad I did and it wasn't like reading something that was offensive to my eyes or sensibilities - I was just so bored the whole time. I don't even dislike classics on a baseline but holy.
It wasn't all bad. There were even parts that I enjoyed on paper- Orlando's relationship with literature and poetry, the concept of a house with 365 rooms and 52 staircases for some reason really scratches a part of my brain in a pleasant way, I can really appreciate the breadth and scale that this book likely had at the time, I admittedly laughed hard at the idea of letting a dude into your house and when he leaves he immediately writes a roasting parody of your life This devastates you so much that you opt for 'well screw everyone I'm going to only hang out with my dogs'. Even the general summary premise of a man transforming into a woman, living for 300 years and dealing with the societal implications that come with that within England between the 16th-20th century is pretty fascinating.
The problem is that the parts of this book that I liked are trapped within this weirdly self-indulgent, drab and vacuous narrative that rambles on in such a way that I start to feel my eyes cross. I legitimately do not care about Orlando, my description of dandy refuses to take the L and tells everyone about it stands whether man or woman. I'm so very sure that this entire book is just one long rambling description. I'm trapped by this weird feeling of 'what does this all mean' vs. 'is there even any deeper meaning to really look at here'. Am I the only one that feels like that? Does the symbology mean anything? Is the greater subtext of all this just 'sociatal gender norms are wack'?
I guess the upside is that even if this is my first Virginia Woolf book, I'm not tarred against trying some of her other work but this is absolutely not a great first impression . There are good moments about writing, about poets, about the nature and limitations of biography that kind of poke fun at her father, who was a biographer I believe. But I felt like Orlando had no real character arc or growth. He and then she kind of just floated between times and things and didn't have much strength of character. I also felt like the ending dragged quite a bit, as though Woolf was trying to wrap up the book but got bogged down in it. Anyway, interesting read, some things I enjoyed and some I really didn't care for. The best way I can describe this book is that it's just a straight line - I wasn't expecting mindblowing plot-twists or anything of that nature but I also was not expecting the vibes of someone telling me a story about writing a poem in a monotone.
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