How the years have changed things around——读[英] 弗吉尼亚·伍尔夫的《岁月》

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　　Virgina Woolf, James Joyce, E. M. Forster.. etc, I never consider these writers of that era creative novolists in any sense. Their works do not shock, nor do they appeal to the contemperary world as much as those that do. I find that us, the readers of this centry, have been filled with the most graphic of crimes, the smartest of designs, the most sophisicted of philosophical arguments, and the most cunningly of tricks, in the nyt best-selling category. We’re less intrigued by subtle things, especially in novels that’d take us weeks and even months to read. We just want the exposure, the plot twist, whatever that is entertains and situmlates. We want books to be topics at tea tables, not sources of human observations that’d impact us internally. However, the last is what this book belongs.

　　I was a bit intimidated at first, when I first start off reading the first chapters, by the amount of children that the Parigters had. I wasn’t sure if I would confuse them with each other. However as it goes the characters all developed such dimensional personanities, and because Woolf lay flat almsot every of their smallest thoughts in front of us, it was so easy to differeciation and sypathese with every one of them. Their image were all so vividly drawn in front of my eyes and they felt so dear to me, even the ones that behaved inappriately or were plaining dull. They all felt lovely.

　　Kitty was my fabourite. The big shy girl. It brought me to tears the chapter of which she went to the opera with edward and another lad. How she hide herself in the shadows of their suit and looked at Edward’s profile and thought it would never had done, between them, it would never had done. And how she thought of the brother if her childhood friend who were from a less priviledged household and was hammering the henhouse, how, that afternoon when she went to tea with them, she’d wanted him to kiss her. That was the sort of life she wanted, as she told North in the last chapter that she wanted to be a farmer, when at the time she was already her ladyship Lasswade(?). That’s the sort of person she was. But’s she’ll never become herself, and she couldn’t do a thing to change things around. Still, she found serenity and eternity of this constant influx of changing lives, in the fields of nothernthumberland, when she was a freshly-married younge duchess, witnessing woods of the north billowing to the wind.

　　And then Corsby. She was like the odd dog. Odd to be put to an end a long time ago, yet she insisted, poor old thing, to stay in this world that she no longer belongs.

　　(tbc)


字数：2124
作者：IzzieHe
原网址：https://book.douban.com/review/12844972/