My attention faltered many times with this one, but I pushed through. It isn't necessarily a bad thing, though. Ponderous, meandering novels (even brief ones like To the Lighthouse) often send me off into my own realm while my eyes or ears continue with the text. It's hard to read about Lily's internal struggle with problems of perception and how closely it resembles reality, struggle with meaning and value, without taking your own stab at the debate in your own context.

Once I got past caring about the frequent shifts in time and voice, I enjoyed flowing with Woolf, pondering the big questions.