I can live no longer by thinking.

As my 52nd book from the list, Mrs. Dalloway winds down, I can't help feeling like I'm Mel Gibson's character from "What Women Want."  Since there isn't much of a plot in the book, nor is there much dialogue, the book is made up almost entirely of a few different characters' inner thoughts.  I believe some call it a 'stream of consciousness,' or in the case of this book, 'several different streams of consciousness mashed into one book.'

I think of the movie and how the protagonist at first thinks he might have some kind of gift, the ability to hear what women are thinking.  But he soon realizes that he's hearing everything they think, be it counting calories from breakfast, or in the case of a french poodle, 'I have to poop.'  Soon, the ability to hear these thoughts is more of a cure than a blessing.

That's sore of how I feel about reading this book; it's more of a curse than a blessing.  At first, there is some interesting insight into what each character is thinking, but eventually, I tire so much of their thoughts, and the fact than nothing is really happening.

Although, I am enjoying it more than Virginia Woolf's other entry on the list, To the Lighthouse, a book where even less happens.