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  • Essay / Audience Subjectivity by Mrs. Dalloway

    Instead of an action-packed or scandalous plot, Virginia Woolf's Mrs. Dalloway adopts a more subtle, psychological mode of trapping her reader, a mode of course intended to alienate from the strict Victorian and Edwardian novels that preceded it. This form of modernist storytelling, which pays much more attention to the inner workings of character than typical plot construction, takes into account the inherent subjectivity of the audience. To elaborate, Woolf, in her essay "Mr. Bennett and Mrs. Brown", argues against Arnold Bennett's belief, "that only if the characters are real can the novel have a chance of surviving", by asking its reader to ask “what is reality?” (Woolf, 749). According to her, there is not one true reality, but rather an infinity of realities defined by the subjective interpretations of the individual: “A character can be real to Mr. Bennett and completely unreal to me. For example, in this article he says that Dr. Watson in Sherlock Homes is real to him: To me, Dr. Watson is a bag full of straw, a mannequin, a figure of fun (749). This emphasis on subjectivity – and the resulting inattention to objective reality – undoubtedly comes to fruition in Mrs. Dalloway, in which Woolf assigns to each character their own psychological nuances and personal histories which necessarily affect and influence their own perceptions external things. stimuli, ultimately offering the reader no real reality and, in doing so, extolling the anti-realism that underpins the novel in question. Say no to plagiarism. Get a tailor-made essay on “Why Violent Video Games Should Not Be Banned”? Get an original essay To this end, Woolf punctuates Mrs. Dalloway with constant, abrupt shifts in narrative perspective in which passing moments are elongated for pages in which a seemingly inconsequential external stimulus triggers a thought or memory in a character which then triggers another thought and so on, until he has given his reader a thorough exposition of the mind of that character. Several years before publishing the novel, Woolf wrote in her diary: “Mrs. Dalloway became a book; and here I sketch a study on madness and suicide; the world seen side by side by the sane and the insane…” (Woolf, A Writer’s Diary). Given this binary, it would be easy to make Clarissa Dalloway the “sane” and Septimus Warren Smith the “insane”; and indeed, such a perception is easily supported by context: Clarissa is a member of London's high society who, although plagued by regrets, has led a relatively easy life, while Septimus is a veteran of the First World War suffering from shell shock and its accompanying hallucinations. and suicidal thoughts. As striking as it may be, this background contrast is in no way an invitation from Woolf to the reader to value one character over another; that is, she does not contrast the daily unrest of London's high society with the greater psychological and physical impacts of the First World War in an attempt to deride the former, but rather she s opposes it in a delicate effort to communicate equal rights. human experience. In fact, one could argue that Woolf positioned these two characters so far apart on the social spectrum to hyperbolically communicate the inconsistency of that very spectrum; indeed, madness, and ultimately death, do not discriminate on the basis of status. For Woolf, it doesn't matter whether the problems come from choosing flowers or attending parties, or from a shockshells; all that matters is that one is troubled, that one is human, and it is through this that the comparison of Clarissa to Septimus produces its most salient consequence. Early in the novel, the disparities between Clarissa and Septimus – between the sane and the insane, as it was – are exceptional, made particularly clear by their interactions with the outside world and their internal reflections on the nature of death . Indeed, Woolf introduces Clarissa to the reader as she makes the infamous declaration to "buy the flowers herself" (Woolf, 3), a decision that leads her out of her house and into the busy streets of London, to during which she seems outwardly placid and, by all accounts, normal: “'Hello to you, Clarissa! » said Hugh rather extravagantly, for they knew each other as children. “Where are you going?” “I love walking in London,” Ms Dalloway said. 'Really, it's better than walking in the countryside'” (5-6). Such an exchange, in which Clarissa demonstrates an ability to assimilate and, at least for a moment, to envelope her inner instability with cordiality, is a far cry from her later reflections: “She had a perpetual feeling, looking at the taxis. , to be outside, outside, far at sea and alone; she always felt that it was very, very dangerous to live even for a single day” (8). Here, the mention of Picadilly's "taxis" and omnibuses, which galvanized these thoughts a few sentences before, represents the public sphere in which Clarissa successfully exists, while her feelings of solitude represent the private sphere, in which her existence is limited . plagued by constant doubt and regret. Despite this ongoing battle between public and private, Clarissa absolutely possesses the ability to control her internal demons, suppressing them when society demands it of her, but, despite external regularity, these demons still reign within. On the other hand, Septimus does not have Clarissa's ability. mastering his external world and existing in it seamlessly, as each visual or auditory experience launches him further into the recesses of his illusory mind. Heeding the advice of her husband's psychiatrist, Dr. Holmes, that Septimus "is interested in things outside himself" and "notices real things" (21-25), Lucrezia attempts to focus her attention elsewhere - in this case, on Regent's body. Park - in order to distract him from inner darkness with outer beauty. For Septimus, however, the outward focus produces the opposite effect of the effect Dr. Holmes intended, constantly pushing him further and further inward until “he closes his eyes; he would no longer see” (22). As pleasant as the image of trees fluttering in the wind may be, Mrs. Dalloway knows of no objective reality like this and so presents them through Septimus' subjective perception, an overwhelming perception that causes him to close his eyes and thus to move away. from the outside world, ultimately leaving him even more vulnerable to the hallucinatory powers of his shocked mind. With this, Septimus demonstrates his greatest inability to exist outside of himself, as his madness poisons his perception and casts darkness over everything he sees. While the two characters differ greatly in their interactions with the world around them, Woolf further separates them through their contrasting views on the nature of death. As contextualized in the novel, death has never been more important in England, where the national death toll was enormous during World War I, and so it stands to reason that Woolf takes care of it here. For Clarissa, who does not have the direct and visceral experience of Septimus, death is a necessary reality thataccompanies life: does it matter then, she asked herself as she walked towards Bond Street, does it matter that it must inevitably cease altogether; all this must continue without her; did she blame him; or was it not consoling to believe that death was definitively over? but that somehow, in the streets of London, with the ebb and flow of things, here, there, she survived... she was part, she was sure, of the trees of the house ; of the house there… (9) Here, Clarissa values ​​death not only because it is inevitable in the process of life, but also because it perpetuates the individual into a greater and limitless existence. Death then becomes an omnipresent and looming specter that connects all humans together, weaving in its wake an ever-growing and infinite network of human experiences that offers refuge for the living and the dead. However, it should be clarified that Clarissa's reflection here reflects nothing more than an acceptance of death and certainly not an embrace of it. As slight as this distinction may be, it is crucial, especially when placed in the context of Septimus' various declarations of suicide. If Clarissa's passive cooperation in death is understood as sanity, then Septimus's active participation must necessarily be understood as madness and, in turn, the two characters themselves are understood as critical poles, of which the simile provides insight into the greater human existence. For example, while Clarissa's view of death sees her as part of a larger whole, the shock caused by Septimus and the feelings of social detachment he instills in her make her perspective much more self-centered: Look at the invisible said to him, the voice which now communicated with that which was the greatest of humanity, Septimus, recently taken from life to death…. forever suffering, the scapegoat, the eternal sufferer, but he didn't want it... (25) While Clarissa sees her death as a way to unite with her world, Septimus sees his as a strangely sacrificial way to purify the society of the burden which is itself, that is to say its incapacity to assimilate or to feel. Furthermore, the narrator's description of him as an unwitting "scapegoat" expresses a disconnect between Septimus and the image of himself that he wishes to destroy; To clarify, his conscious, steady mind – the man Septimus – appears to have merged inseparably and accidentally with his societal projection – the soldier Septimus – a fusion that leaves him with no choice but to commit suicide. While Septimus' broader feelings of isolation have led him to perceive himself as an enemy of his race, his suicide becomes a ritualized and necessary sacrifice for the greater good of humanity. And indeed, Woolf presents Septimus's suicide as one without agency, having been influenced not from within, but from without. As Dr. Holmes's visits persist and his diagnoses remain the same – “there was nothing, whatever happened” (90) – Septimus's condition continues to deteriorate beyond bear. and he clings more and more to the conviction that he is an enemy of human nature, whom he identifies with Dr. Holmes as "the loathsome brute with the blood-red nostrils" (92). Now completely convinced of his desertion, Septimus hears the whole world shouting: "Kill yourself, kill yourself, for our sake", to which he asks: "But why would he kill himself for them?" (92). He thus concedes victory to human nature, which triumphed over its sacrificial victim: “He did not want to die. Life was good. The sun was burning. Only human beings – what did they want?…Holmes was at the door. “I’ll give it to you!” » he shouted and threw himself vigorously, violently at Mrs. Filmer's gate (149). As Dr. Holmes picks up Septimus to send him to a house in the country for further treatment, Septimus literally "abandons" his physical body, preserving himself through his fateful defenestration in a final declaration of autonomy that actualizes the Woolf's concern with the soul over the body (Woolf, 740). Both capitulation and victory, for he neither wants to be confined in a home nor to die, his suicide is here described as an unfortunate necessity of his situation, the only means by which he can maintain his power over his soul. The aforementioned character differences are, Woolf subtly punctuates them with similarities, which foreshadows the ultimate connection she will establish between them in the final scenes of the novel. These similarities, it should be noted, can be observed from the beginning of the novel, in which case they are largely superficial, limited to the two men's equally avian appearances and their fondness for Shakespeare (10-14). Soon after, however, the similarities are reflected in the characters, as each of them expresses their respective feelings of isolation and loneliness despite companionship. When he sees that Rezia's wedding ring has fallen, Septimus thinks: Their marriage was over, he thought with anguish, with relief. The rope was cut; he went up; he was free, as it was decreed that he, Septimus, the lord of men, should be free; alone…” (67). For Septimus, marriage represented the need to act normally, so with its perceived dissolution, he is freed from this oppressive burden, finally able to "hear the truth, learn the meaning..." (67), without s worry about Rezia. In a similar vein, Richard's general absence from Clarissa's marriage to him allows her the freedom of "independence" and "self-respect" (120) that she might not have enjoyed if she had married someone more involved, as Peter Walsh would have been (120). 10). Besides this, perhaps the most crucial similarity is that of sexual repression, for which both characters have a clear propensity. For Clarissa, repressed sexuality takes the form of nostalgia for a past lesbian relationship with Sally Seton, with whom she fell in love as a child. Before revealing the details of their relationship, Clarissa first admits that she cannot resist "sometimes giving in to the charm of a woman...", which makes her feel, "a tint like a blush that we were trying to hide." control and then, as it spread, one yielded to its expansion…which split its thin skin and gushed and poured with extraordinary relief over the fissures and wounds” (32). Here, the vaginal imagery is blatant, although never explicit, intended to express Clarissa's lesbian tendencies, which are soon after highlighted in Clarissa's description of her kiss with Sally as "the most exquisite moment of her entire life." life” (35). But, given social constraints, Clarissa could never have truly realized her feelings for Sally or vice versa, and she therefore remains a distant memory, a long-closed ghost of her youth. Although less obvious than the relationship between Clarissa and Sally. , Septimus may have had his own homosexual experiences during World War I with Evans, the officer and friend who now haunts his hallucinations. Through his impressive time in the trenches, Septimus "attracted the attention, even the affection of [Evans]", and together they formed a relationship akin to "two dogs playing on a fireplace rug" (86). . However, this was not the case and Evans died just before the Armistice, which began the real repression of.