The Hours: A Novel (edition 2002)

Surprising to me - I really enjoyed this book. It didn't seem like the type of book that would interest me, but the character insights and development really hit home for me. The book alternates between three separate stories (that are connected in interesting ways) and while there is no great plot development, it is more of a character study of how we view ourselves and how we are almost like characters in a novel. A great deal has been written about this book and the use of Virginia Woolf and her stories, so I won't get into that. Needless to say, I am now very interested in reading Woolf and will look into her books in the near future. ( )

I read Mrs. Dalloway back in 2010 as my first exposure to Woolf's literary works, and dare I say that its sheer brilliance managed to overshadow any appreciation I may have had for In the Lighthouse, had that been my first Woolf read. It took a reading challenge for me to finally take down my copy of The Hours and give it a read. Did I have some trepidation that my love for Woolf's original story would make me unduly critical of Cunningham's story? You bet I did. Thankfully, I did not need to worry. If anything, The Hours has made me want to re-read Mrs. Dalloway and savor the original story all over again. Cunningham's connected stories were able to draw a strong level of connection and emotion from me. Is The Hours as good as Mrs. Dalloway? Not to this reader but I believe The Hours was meant to compliment, not compete, with Woolf's wonderful story, and compliment it does, in spades, even down to what one reviewer has noted as certain parts where "Cunningham follows Woolf's cadences too closely". Some readers may view that as a problem. I don't. If anything, Cunningham's efforts to imbue the stories with these direct ties to Mrs. Dalloway enrich the stories with extra meaning, as do some of the little jokes included that readers of the original will appreciate.

Overall, a wonderful cascading of three story-lines (and time periods) that makes for a sublimely delightful read. Not Mrs. Dalloway, but still a darn good read. ( )

2.5 stars. Neurotic, unsympathetic characters. A Woody Allen take on a Virginia Woolf book. Read Woolf instead. ( )

Io sono pazzamente innamorata dello stile di Michael Cunningham, che trovo elegante, delicato ed intimista. Amo il suo modo di usare le figure retoriche e gli aggettivi che usa, il suo modo di descrivere i personaggi "dall'interno", sicché ogni azione che compiono è sempre coerente con l'idea che abbiamo di loro. Purtroppo io dentro "Le ore" ci ho trovato solo questo e poco di più: un testo meravigliosamente scritto, un profluvio di parole accostate tra loro in maniera magistrale, e a tratti l'immedesimazione con i personaggi, riconoscendo in loro le stesse inquietudini, gli stessi pensieri amari e le stesse riflessioni sulla vita che a volte faccio anch'io. Non c'è azione, nel romanzo: sembra un album di fotografie, e per questo si pone appena fuori dalla mia comfort zone di lettura. Ho letto di meglio (ma anche di molto peggio). ( )

This Pulitzer Prize winning novel tells a "day in the life" story of 3 women at 3 different eras all interconnected by Virgina Woolf's Mrs. Dalloway. The first, is Virginia Woolf herself, as she struggles with mental illness and inspiration as she begins writing the book that will become Mrs. Dalloway. The second, is Mrs Brown, in 1949 Los Angeles, as she is reading the book and plans her husband's birthday party. The third is Clarrisa Vaughan (who's nickname is Mrs. Dalloway), as she plans the party for her friend and former lover; Richard, who is dying of AIDS.

I've never read Mrs. Dalloway, but that didn't take away from the poignancy of the book. Excellent writing, worthy of the award. The novel is constructed in a stream of conscience way, where Cunningham jumps back and forth between the 3 woman, linking them between the woman who wrote the book, the woman who is reading the book, and the woman who is living the book. Recommend.
She knew she was going to have trouble believing in herself, in the rooms of her house, and when she glanced over at this new book on her nightstand, stacked atop the one she finished last night, she reached for it automatically, as if reading were the singular and obvious first task of the day, the only viable way to negotiate the transit from sleep to obligation.
First come the headaches, which are not in any way ordinary pain. They infiltrate her. They inhabit rather than merely afflict her the way viruses inhabit their hosts. Strands of pain announce themselves, throw shivers of brightness into her eyes so insistently she must remind herself that others can't see them. Pain colonizes her, quickly replaces what was Virginia with more and more of itself, and its advance is so forceful, its jagged contours so distinct, that she can't help imagining it as an entity with a life of its own.

9/10

S: 1/2/17 - 1/11/18 (10 Days) ( )