Maggie Roessler's Reviews > To the Lighthouse

To the Lighthouse by Virginia Woolf
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Jan 09, 2009

it was amazing
bookshelves: f-poetry, f-novel, l-british, own, read-2007-08, read-2004-05

The first time I read this book was on a long bus ride through Sicily. My eyes went from page to window to page. The landscape was so beautiful and so foreign to my scheming flesh presence on that seat - foreign not as something Italian, but as something beautiful. My mind gaped dumb and poor and extremely alone.

But there are male thoughts, which we order into alphabets, or lodge into pear trees like scrubbed kitchen tables.

And there are common languages, which unite several people eating.

And there are female thoughts, which draw us away from those eating people and save us from them.

And these are our belongings, and through them we belong to others.

"...and pausing there she looked out to meet that stroke of the Lighthouse, the long steady stroke, the last of the three, which was her stroke, for watching them in this mood always at this hour one could not help attaching oneself to one thing especially of the things one saw; and this thing, the long steady stroke, was her stroke."
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