Spanning perhaps the most important fourty years of English history, Woolf's novel weaves together a fragmented view of life in England from 1880 to roughly 1920. Touching on some common themes from her more well known work, "The Years" focuses on humans attempting to recover part of the past, and build toward an always uncertain future. Woolf's stories of personal interaction in a world becoming increasingly modern still honesty today for a world that could still use more.

If an immortal were to ask me what is is like to be mortal, and live with a family and with time and with age, I would hand him this book, and feel confident that he would get a grasp of our experience. Mrs. Woolf has gathered the dimension of time in this novel through simple passages of conversation that left my heart sinking and rising. What an achievement!

I read this after reading Jacob's Room, Mrs. Dalloway, To the Lighthouse, Orlando, A Room of One's Own, and The Waves. It is as if in this novel she was trying to cut her style back, making it more concise, and moving away from experimentation, yet at the same time producing to most revoloionary novel of them all.

_The Years_ is the story of three generations of the Pargiter family. Stretching from 1880 to the 1920s, it follows the Pargiters through the tumultuous historical events and social changes of that era. Abel Pargiter is a retired civil servant; his daughter Eleanor is interested in social work; his son Edward becomes an academic; his grandson North is a veteran of the Great War. Their interactions and reflections comment upon their experiences in their always changing world.

In my opinion, _The Years_ ranks with as one of Woolf's greatest novels. It shows that Woolf was more than a feminist and more than a stylist--she was also a perceptive critic and observer of her society. She shows the plight of "the daughter of educated men" in a world that denies them education and careers; she shows the effect of the Great War on its survivors. And all the while, she writes her typical lyrical prose she writes about the passage of time: "Slowly wheeling, like the rays of a searchlight, the days, the weeks, the years passed one after another across the sky."

It is interesting to note that Woolf originally planned to write _The Years_ (with _Three Guineas) as a novel-essay called _The Pargiters_. The writing of this novel was extremely difficult, and it is much longer than most of her novels. In some ways it is much less experimental in form than _The Waves_, yet Woolf herself worried that the monologues of _The Waves_ left too much of the external world out--_The Years_ is, in part, an answer to that sentiment.

I recommend this book to anyone who enjoys reading Woolf or modern fiction. It probably isn't the best starter novel for Woolf (_Mrs Dalloway_ or _To the Lighthouse_ are better introductions to her style), but it's a beautiful piece of work. _Three Guineas_, Woolf's feminist pamphlet about "how to prevent war", is also worth reading after _The Years_. They complement each other very well, which is not surprising in light of their common origins.

"The Voyage Out" was Virginia Woolf's first novel. This work is much more even and mature than many writer's first books, however. True, "Voyage Out" is a much more typical novel of the time (it was published in 1915). Her later works would be much more experimental, and "Voyage Out" indicates some of this - the multiple viewpoints and emphasis placed on character's inner lives are both key aspects of this work. And Woolf's mastery of the English language; her ability to write of both the "big events" and the "everydays" of life in a new and exciting way that skirts the melodrama of some of the earlier Victorian novelists is in full flower. Michael Cunningham's introduction, while pretty basic as far as biography and literary criticism go, is a good introduction to Woolf that doesn't put too much of an emphasis on her life over the merits of her work, a tendency that is all too frequently indulged in. Most people nowadays have heard of Virginia Woolf, and may know that she was mad and committed suicide; most people are, however, not aware of the key place she plays in the development of the English novel, and of the power her works still have. Cunningham has some interesting things to say about the place her writing and particularly her fiction play in our view of literature. (Michael Cunningham's most recent novel, "The Hours", is a sort of improvisation which plays off of and comments on Woolf's novel "Mrs Dalloway"; "The Hours" also features Virginia as a character. One more interesting note about "The Voyage Out" is that it introduces us to Richard and Clarissa Dalloway who will go on, of course, to be key players in "Mrs Dalloway"). Just as Cunningham's essay is a good introduction to Woolf Scholarship and Biography, "The Voyage Out" is a good place to start. Not only is it the first of her works, but perhaps more immediately accessible than some of the later works. However, this accessibility is not at the expense of greatness - "The Voyage Out" is not a "lesser Woolf novel" by any means. On the contrary, it deserves to stand with "Mrs Dalloway", "To the Lighthouse" and "The Waves" as a key part of her work.

Rachel Vinrace, a young woman not quite acquainted with the ways of the world, accompanies her aunt and uncle (the Ambroses) to South America, where she eventually falls in love with a young aspiring writer. Swirling around this tale of doomed love are the many other characters who all influence each other and are themselves influenced. Most of the novel is about Rachel, but Helen Ambrose is equally central to the story, as a comparison to her niece and in her own internal voyage. Chronicling the inner lives of her characters, Woolf, in her first novel, explores the awakening of first love, the influences of men (and the culture they have control over) upon women, the confusions we as human beings have in our daily communications with others. Originally entitled "Melymbrosia", "The Voyage Out" went through many revisions as Woolf claimed language for her own uses and effectively began a new literature (for her time), where the internal life and the interconnectedness of humanity are the central themes.

For anyone who is familiar with the life of Virginia Woolf, this book will offer few surprises. What it does offer, however, is an continously interesting slant on the life of one of the most talented, yet troubled women of the Twentieth Century.

Through Leaska's comprehensive biography, we learn the intimate details of her family life. Especially interesting in the first few chapters is the meticulous dissection of Virginia's mother, who served as the perpetual victim forever pining for her first husband. She revelled in her feminity and equated this with servitude toward those who were suffering or in distress.

Woolf is indeed a fascinating subject of study and Leaska's biography definitely does her complicated persona justice.

If this is your first foray in the world of Virginia Woolf, it would be beneficial to read some of her works including "To the Lighthouse" and "A Room of One's Own" first as these are often quoted and will only serv! e to complement this rich biography.

This has to be the best biographical study of Virginia Woolf. It is in a new style of creative biography rather than the old forms of didactic dissertation that should be only part of Library indexing and not of biographical scholarship. Professor Leaska brings the reader into the life of this famous fiminist like no other previous attempt, including Mr. Bell and the family log. The parents, Leslie and Julia, become real and full of the complications of parenting with such a sensitive child as Virginia. Her sister Vanessa is now shown in a much fullerl characterization than anyone has tried before. Leaska has carefully and skillfully devided these individuals from the whole picture, and 'painted' each person in a many faceted, illuminated composition and finally brings them back together in a masterful mural of reality and experience. The setting of England and the continent play a particularly stimulating part in describing the physical conditions sourrounding Virginia throughout her life. There is 'climate' throughout this book. You have contact and feeling to Virginia and not just information. She was not allowed to go to college to learn the mechanisms for her passion of writing but wrote at home and learned her own way. "A Room of Ones Own" is one of the leading declarations for women and their individual rights. Leaska presents her defiance in full force. Vita Sackville-West was one of Virginia's best friends and part of the gathering of people around this charismatic leader and activist. Vita is another study by Leaska of creative independance and enormous vitality that joined, at times with Virginia, to revel in their delight in knowing each other. The chapters of their friendship are often moving and reaffirm the value of what true friendship means. The book is a masterpiece. The style is new and directed. The characters in this drama/tragedy you will never forget. Virginia now becomes a sensual being away from her writing and then leading into her books. The New York Times reviewer Michael Anderson should be ashamed for his homophobic attitudes and some kind of revenge against Leaska or possibly Virgina herself.

I guess I came to this book through the back door -- first I read Michael Cunningham's pulitzer prize winning book The Hours (based on Mrs. Dalloway) which I LOVED, and then I decided to read the original. First off, I must say that Cunningham impressed me even more when I fully understood the references and parallels that he uses. As for Mrs. Dalloway, it is the language itself that dazzles. The plot is nothing to speak of -- it's similar to a Jane Austen book when lots of interesting and not-so-interesting people interact in their mundane lives. It's what Woolf does with the subtle interactions and her stream of conscious writing that makes this book so good. Having read maybe 6 of Woolf's works, my favorite is still To the Lighthouse. Maybe that's because Mrs. Ramsey is so much more human -- Mrs. Dalloway is always described as distant and cold. This book is a love story of sorts about how Clarissa turns down the true love of her life and instead marries a wealthy politician. Like Ulysses, the narrative jumps around the minds of various characters in their journey from morning in London when Clarissa goes to buy flours to the evening of her party. It is a bit difficult, but the language itself makes it worth the effort.

Any young aspiring writer should compare Woolf's early work, such as Night and Day to something like Mrs. Dalloway. The transformation in narrative strength is incredible. I think Woolf found her voice when she gave up on traditional technique and focused on vivid imagery, poetic language, and really getting into the souuls of her characters.

Her views on love in this boook are heartbreaking. Love serves as mere convenience, romance is just an illusion. 9 times out of 10 people choose safety. Pretty cynical viewpoint, but she lived during the days of a crumbling Empire and wrote about it beautifully. She really achieved her greatest literary power later on in life.

Also, this book studies insanity and the doctors who are impotent to help. I'm sure woolf would have the same view in today's heavily medicated society.

This book is not for the faint of heart. She does not hide characters emotions, but tends to dwelon their weaknesses. The final party scene is brilliant. If you like this book, read To The Lighthouse, which is equally brilliant.

MRS. DALLOWAY isn't a very easy book to read, but it's ultimately well worth the time and effort you'll spend wading through its almost primordial verbiage.

Virginia Woolf was attempting something that hadn't really been done before when she wrote this vastly internal day-in-the-life study of a sickly, changeable woman whose preeminent skills are throwing parties and being 'Mrs. Dalloway.' Woolf wasn't overly fond of how James Joyce had executed his day-in-the-life tour de force, ULYSSES, so she decided to write her own, carving out in MRS. DALLOWAY a new paradigm for writing about the inner workings of mind and heart. For the most part, Woolf succeeds admirably in her journey through this literary terra nova.

MRS. DALLOWAY can be confounding and at times overtiring (it'll definitely make you want to read something "light" next) but it does cause you to have a genuine and unique human experience, which is really the reason we bother reading in the first place.

And if this one leaves you hungry for more, make sure to read Michael Cunningham's beautifully written but considerably-easier-to-read sequel/remake, THE HOURS (after spending some well earned-time poolside with your favorite summer page-turner).

Her argument goes: "Intellectual freedom depends upon material things." The intellectual freedom of writing books, good books, depends on a person's ability to acquire income and to have their own space, undisturbed and unashamed. Virginia Woolf suggests that she is an amateur in this matter, and, due to her lack of formal education, finds it difficult to properly research the topic. However, she proves herself competent in making a coherent argument that is convincing, though her conclusions are no longer very surprising. It is difficult to argue against her, to say that women, who have had substantially lower incomes than men and have faced many stigmas and prejudices are not disadvantaged in producing works of literature or art or in making intellectual contributions.

As I said, her argument is no longer new. Most people probably do not have to read this book in order to agree with her main thesis. But she does make a few interesting points about the role of women in literature and what the effects of increased freedom for women might be. For the method of the argument alone this book has value: "...one cannot hope to tell the truth. One can only show how one came to hold whatever opinion one does hold." She does not ask you to agree, but only to understand why she thinks what she does.

In 1928, Virginia Woolf was asked to speak on the topic of "women and fiction". The result, based upon two papers she delivered to literary societies at Newnham and Girton in October of that year, was "A Room of One's Own", an extended essay on women as both writers of fiction and as characters in fiction. And, while Woolf suggests that, "when a subject is highly controversial-and any question about sex is that-one cannot hope to tell the truth," her essay is, in fact, an extraordinarily even-handed, thoughtful and perceptive reflection on the topic.

Woolf begins with a simple and enigmatic opinion: "A woman must have money and a room of her own if she is to write fiction; and that, as you will see, leaves the great problem of the true nature of woman and the true nature of fiction unresolved." From this spare beginning, Woolf deftly explores the difference between how women had been portrayed in fiction, and how they actually lived in the world, during the preceding centuries. "A very queer, composite being emerges. Imaginatively, she is of the highest importance; practically she is completely insignificant. She pervades poetry from cover to cover; she is all but absent from history. She dominates the lives of kings and conquerors in fiction; in fact she was a slave of any boy whose parents forced a ring upon her finger."

The source of dissonance between how women were portrayed in fiction, and how they actually lived, was the fact that most fiction prior to the nineteenth century was written by men. As Woolf astutely points out, "[i]t was strange to think that all the great women of fiction were, until Jane Austen's day, not only seen by the other sex, but seen only in relation to the other sex." Woolf's observation is no feminist polemic; it is, rather, an incisive comment on how fiction was impoverished when it was written only by men.

Even when fiction was written by women, it was powerfully influenced by patriarchal notions of virtue and the proper role of women. Thus, Woolf suggests there could be no female Shakespeare in sixteenth century England because no women would be tolerated who lived in the real world like the Bard. "No girl could have walked to London and stood at a stage door and forced her way into the presence of actor-managers without doing herself violence and suffering an anguish which may have been irrational-for chastity may be a fetish invented by societies for unknown reasons-but were none the less inevitable." Indeed, this "relic of the sense of chastity" dictated that more daring female authors-George Eliot, George Sand, Currer Bell-maintain anonymity as late as the nineteenth century.

When female writers did find a "room of their own," they were still limited by social and cultural imperatives. Thus, the first of the great women novelists-Jane Austen, the Brontes, George Eliot-wrote largely from the drawing room, not from the experiences of the larger world-the very conditions of their writing life being as cramped as the their restricted lives. As Woolf notes, in commenting on Charlotte Bronte, "[s]he knew, no one better, how enormously her genius would have profited if it had not spent itself in solitary visions over distant fields; if experience and intercourse and travel had been granted her. But they were not granted, they were withheld."

Ultimately, Woolf suggests that the "true" nature of women will only be approached in fiction when women are sufficiently independent-not only in a financial sense, but in the sense of being freed from societal and cultural restraints-to explore the quotidian, the everyday lives of people in the world. This is the aspect of the fictional world that, in Woolf's view, was absent from the male-dominated novel prior to the nineteenth century.

Woolf further suggests that the "true" nature of fiction is expressed only through those writers who can transcend their narrow sexual roles-become "man-womanly" or "woman-manly"-so as to convey the fullness of the real world. As Woolf notes, "Coleridge perhaps meant this when he said that a great mind is androgynous. It is when this fusion takes place that the mind is fully fertilised and uses all of its faculties." Based on this criterion, Woolf promulgates her own canon of English male writers, a canon which includes Shakespeare, Keats, Sterne, Cowper, Lamb, Coleridge, and Proust (who "was perhaps wholly androgynous, if not perhaps a little too much of a woman").

"A Room of One's Own" is, in sum, a fascinating, thoughtful and perceptive essay on women and fiction written by one of the Twentieth century's most formidable writers and thinkers, a woman who truly succeeded in creating a room of her own in the canon of modern English literature.

In "A Room of One's Own," Virginia Woolf says that in order for a woman to write fiction, she must have money and a room of her own; I believe that to be, or to understand, an intellectual woman in this century, one must read this book. Unlike a sad number of feminist writers, Woolf does not make the mistake of tearing down the accomplishments of men in order to make room for those of women. Indeed, she speaks eloquently against just that danger throughout "A Room of One's Own," which is partly what allows it to stand not only as a feminist classic, but also as a classic piece of both literature and literary criticism. It is not often that an essay reaches creative heights great enough to establish itself equally as a work of art and an intellectual effort, but Woolf has done it here. She does not waste her words or her energy on destructive, angry prattling. She writes with a depth of humanity that challenges us to be better writers, better thinkers, and better people.

VIRGINIA WOOLF by Nigel Nicolson departs from the template used by the Penguin Lives series so far as I've read down the list. It cannot claim that its subject exists in obscurity behind clouds of legend or of lack of existing documentation. Woolf was a public person in her life time, she left not only a respectable body of work but an extensive collection of letters, essays and journals. She has been the subject of substantial, well received biographies and is also featured prominently in profiles of Bloomsbury, the Hogarth Press and biographies of her contemporaries. This volume is also distinguished from others in the Penguin Lives Series in that it was written by the son of Woolf's female lover, Vita Sackville-West; in other words, someone close to the inner circle. Woolf belongs to the visitable past. The book remains, however, a fine member of the Series because of its skill in purveying the whole through a spritely revisiting of the significant passages in Woolf's life. Nicholson writes with warmth and holds forth his opinions in controversial areas, but he is impressively objective given his relationship with his subject and those closest to her. Nicolson manages to capture all the ambiguities of the woman, makes them comprehensible, honest and, sparingly, poignant.

In this "Penguin Life" Nigel Nicolson provides a balanced, affectionate and eloquent introduction to the life of Virginia Woolf. Nicolson provides us with the major events, the major players, the family background, and Bloomsbury. He also introduces the reader to some of the controversies (e.g., the extent and effect of her sexual abuse by her half-brothers.) The picture that emerges is one of a brilliant and complex woman -- difficult, loving, deeply insightful, wrong-headed, sympathetic, prickly, loyal, jealous, witty, snobbish, and liberal.

Nicholson is an editor of Woolf's letters and the son of Vita Sackville-West, with whom Virginia Woolf had an affair. Nicolson's having known and liked Virginia Woolf adds a personal touch without compromising objectivity.

While most of Virginia Woolf's biographers (with the possible exception of her nephew Quentin Bell) bond with their subject through her vivid diaries and fiction, Nicolson (Portrait of a Marriage), the son of Woolf's lover Vita Sackville-West, draws on family archives and first-hand experience for his brisk, dutiful biography. For the young Nicolson, Woolf first appeared as a lively and amusing visitor. Not yet famous, to Nicolson she was like "a favourite aunt who brightened our simple lives with unexpected questions." Visiting Vita's stately home, Woolf might ask the young Nigel, "What's it like to be a child?" by way of research for To the Lighthouse, or she might make up histories for unidentified ancestral portraits as background for Orlando, her love-letter fantasy to Vita. Such personal glimpses enliven Nicolson's respectful position between various, often hotly contended views of Woolf as writer, feminist and Bloomsburian. Despite his insider's knowledge, which is nonetheless welcome, Nicolson manages to offer an objective perspective on Woolf's parents and siblings and on her childhood and youth. He is, however, less sensational than was Quentin Bell on her mental illness and the notorious early episodes when one of her half brothers examined her genitalia and the other forced his affections on her. Nicolson filters Woolf's writing career through VitaÄand her opinions: she delighted in Orlando and was exasperated with the hyperbolic polemics of Three Guineas, the 1938 pacificist tract that was her penultimate work before her suicide. The world is no doubt weary of Woolf biographies, but this tidy and homely little introduction will sell to readers who may have been too intimidated by Woolf's modernist reputation to broach her life and work before.

Virginia Woolf is an author of myriad voices. The letters in Congenial Spirits are selections from Woolf's letters that provide insight to what Woolf thought and felt as she wrote. If you think that you know Woolf from blurbs in anthologies or from her novels, I recommend that you spend some time with her letters and her diaries. You will discover that Woolf is much more complex than the simplistic "stream of consciosness" moniker often applied to her.

Woolf's first novel "Melymbrosia" was completed in 1912, but wasn't published until 1915 under the title "The Voyage Out". Louise DeSalvo has pieced together this first manuscript to offer the public a glimpse into the early creative mind of Woolf. Following the same basic plot as "The Voyage Out" (a young woman's journey to sexual and emotional awakening), "Melymbrosia" is much more frank in its portrayal of politics and sexuality (including homosexuality). Another difference is the raw and unpolished feel that this early draft contains. DeSalvo chose to retain some of Woolf's errors in this version, and while this doesn't necessarily detract from the story, it does make the reader wonder about their inclusion. "Melymbrosia" is a fascinating and powerful look into Virginia Woolf's early writing and life that conveys the passions she felt for all aspects of life, which she felt she needed to mute to some degrees in order to gain acceptance.

To The Lighthouse was an ambitious, brave experiment in literature, a bold venture into stream-of-consciousness techniques and profound themes relating to the fundamental differences between the sexes. It deserves to be recognized as an important contribution to 20th century fiction. Alas, that does not mean that it deserves to be read. It was far too tedious, and relied to a great extent on style and literary technique to drive it forward. And while I rarely go searching for "an easy read," nor do I seek out plot-driven novels, this book was simply too far towards the opposite extremes to be enjoyable.

The most highly regarded of Virginia Woolf's many books, To The Lighthouse focuses on the Ramseys, a British family in the 1910s and their interactions with family friends at their vacation home in Scotland. I wish I could say more about the plot, but frankly, not much happens. Oh, sorry, they keep talking about sailing out to the Lighthouse (and eventually they do, even). But this book is not about plot. It is about the emotional and philosophical ruminations of Woolf's characters, none of whom is particularly sympathetic or engrossing. Woolf juxtaposes the rational, abrasive Mr. Ramsay with the pleasant, introspective Mrs. Ramsay in an attempt to make profound statements about the differences between men and women. Woven into this central issue are the themes of love and art. Perhaps this book was revolutionary when it was first written, but can it appropriately be considered timeless? Given its limited appeal to even the most avid, intelligent readers of today, I think the answer is 'no.'

Virginia Woolf wrote this book in 1927. It must have been courageous for her do so at the time as it's all stream of consciousness and she lets the reader get a glimpse inside her thought processes. The very slight plot focuses on a vacationing British family and their guests and there's a constant interior monologue about every little thing.

The first part, entitled "The Window" is by far the largest section of the book and the reader has to plow though a complex web of the author's thoughts as she focuses on one detail after another using all her senses. True, she's a gifted writer and deeply explores the relationships between men and women, focusing mainly on Mrs. Ramsay, the matriarch of the family. It's as if everything is in the background and the only thing in the foreground is what she has in her head.

The second part, entitled "Time Passes" is perhaps the strongest part of the book. It focuses on an empty house and its details of decay over a ten year period. It is masterfully done.

The third part, entitled "The Lighthouse" is about the remaining members of the family, who come back to the house in order to take a trip to the lighthouse which has been postponed for ten years. It's all very symbolic and the reader is left to draw his or her own conclusions about the meaning of it all.

This is the only Virginia Woolf book I've ever read and although I can appreciate the skill of the author, I'm not interested in reading any more of her works and can recommend this book only for fans of hers as well as those with a curiosity about her writing.

Art of such consequence as this makes demands on its audience, but the return is colossal. This is an extraordinary book. It is at least as much poem as tale, as much music as prose. It will certainly change your idea about limitations of expression. For readers who require signposts of plot to trigger their perception of information, and who don't find it easy to appreciate the subtle flavours of words, be warned: you will need to depend very heavily on your inner ear, to allow some of the more exquisite sensations of language to wash in of their own accord. (Other reviewers have hinted here at the role of reading skills in our understanding.) It is possible though, by such openess, to develop a reliable method of perceiving and pulling ideas which is not at all the way we are so used to guzzling and then spitting them out, in our late 20th century consumerist addiction to news media sensation. A good book makes you want to write and speak, to learn how language can serve you. Woolf gently turns the relationship between events in time and the play of human feeling on its head in the search for universal truth. I read it the first go in two or three bites because it's flavours are so rich and I did not want to miss anything by failing to savour them properly. I'll always revisit it to learn and feel more and to be enriched further. This is not an Oprah book.