To the Lighthouse, by Virginia Woolf: I really didn’t care if they made it to the lighthouse or not.

As the first section to The Sound and The Fury is, this book was a tough read. They’re both stream of conscious classics that have accomplished much (Note: Other writers were experimenting with this style of writing before they were), but, for a contemporary reader like myself, the freshness of that immediacy to thought is stripped of its power in an age where I can send my professor my essay with my phone. For me, as a writer, it’s extremely difficult to write in this way, but it’s a risk. Most of the times it’s poetry, with all of it’s abstraction and complications, to earn a few of its beauties. With that said, this book is far worse than The Sound and The Fury (the second part is worth the read just in itself; and those were complex ideas executed wonderfully) because it isn’t really about anything, I guess, in a circumstantial condition. It’s literary, so it is about internal conflict, and Our Characters-to-The World, but that gets lost to me with scant dialogue and lengthy prose about painting. By the end of the book I really didn’t care if they made it to the lighthouse or not…

Source: Goodreads. Eric Serrano.

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