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(For those of you who know me, you may
be aware of my Virginia Woolf obsession and of 'Mrs Dalloway' being my
favourite novel. I actually wrote this post about a year ago, and the fact that
what I talk about here - about how this novel captures some of my soul - is
still relevant today, shows the potency of such an authentic work of art. I
truly love it. 'Mrs Dalloway' will always be my first love in literature).
*
When I first read Mrs
Dalloway, it gave me a continuous headache and a strong
desire to throw the damn thing out my window, in the hope of ridding myself of
such an unfathomable collection of the whispers of post-menopausal
women and pathetic old men. But it was not until the second (and third, fourth, fifth...) reading and
actual studying of it, when I became engrossed.
Then, having completely retreated
from my formerly contemptuous 'I-don't-give-a-shit-Virginia' attitude
of - in my newfound opinion, one of the greatest Modernist novels of all time
- Mrs Dalloway, I decided that not only for the
purpose of learning, but also for leisure it would be a good
idea to watch the cinematic version.
In short, it majorly changed my apprehension
of Peter Walsh. From my perception (something V Woolf, as I like to call her,
is rather good at blurring and exploring in her novels), he was a pathetic,
overly emotional wreck who spent his entire life chasing pretty
women, pristine with their 'lips cut with a knife'; or to put it
bluntly, an emotionally tarnished, perverse sugar daddy.
However, my eyes have been opened, as
the pathos evoked from when he says with an admirable attempt to withhold tears,
'For God's sake, Clarissa, I love you!' reduced me to a crumpled
heap soiled with the tears the fellow did not shed. I understand now. He really
loved her - and that man, Richard, stole half of his heart before him. I can
relate. He offers his soul to the one whom he cannot bear to live without and she
scatters it into the 'mist' with the wave of her hand. And for what reason?
'You want too much' - surely,
Clarissa, it is best to want the whole of a person rather than the just the
qualities you can view from a safe distance, those which you can shape through a
certain tweaking?
She broke his heart, and it took him
40 more years to realise just how much he loves her, whether he chooses
to believe that those feelings are eternal or not. On their reunion these 40
later, he admits that the scarring yet significant memory of Clarissa's
bitter rejection had 'spoilt his life'.
Arguably, I believe that as a
consequence, this fateful decision spoilt Clarissa's life too. They both lament
about how they think the other has wasted their potential by not achieving any
of the things that they were capable of, therefore, to me it is obvious that the
mistake lies in their failed conciliation of hearts; they should have
married! Not Clarissa and Richard. And, as a result, Clarissa loses track of
her true identity and Peter takes to creeping on attractive young women young
enough to be his daughters.
Oh how the Fates are cruel!
Furthermore, what
also captivated me was the chemistry and delicate romance between Clarissa
and Sally. In the novel, the scene is candied with youthful ardency at that
'exquisite' moment when Sally's lips softly join Clarissa's, igniting a
realisation that she undeniably was in love with her (though not fully
appreciating this sensation at the time). In the film, this tender air of
beauty and serenity manages to focus on the two girls, dancing,
somehow innocently, yet as if intoxicated off each other's gaiety.
During this moment, I felt caught up in the exuberance
and let out an elated sigh. There is was. 'The most exquisite moment' of
Clarissa Dalloway's whole life; and I felt it.
This scene, was not only touching,
but I think one of the reasons I flashed a shade of euphoric gold was because
it lead me to fantasise about my own 'exquisite' moment of love; the
cornerstone moment when my fragile heart will be -finally- requited.
Seeing something I so much wish to
experience in my own life through literature, cinema, music, even in someone
else's life, makes the past mistakes of risking a broken heart undeniably worth
it.
The outcome of loving someone could
indeed end disastrously, and, like Peter Walsh, you could spend the rest
of your days living in a world tainted by pernicious remorse
for that one person who denied you of everything: love (if there is such a
thing).
Nevertheless, there is always a
possibility of triumph: if they return your affections, like Sally and Clarissa,
surely the grievous risk is justified?
I would rather have my heart broken a
thousand times, existing with a slither of hope that an exquisite love
will journey my way, than have my passions acquiescently, obediently
ordered to the corner of my mind in self pity, the shadows of ethereal desire swimming
around my head.
Love is worth everything.
Copyright © JRFB 2013
