100 Best Novels: To the Lighthouse

Fleeting moments, overlapping circumstances, and dreams that will never be. Virginia Woolf's novel To the Lighthouse seamlessly invites its readers into a stream of consciousness that artfully exposes the inner worlds of the Ramsay household and makes you realize that your own experiences are just one set of many.

It's too easy to say that I enjoyed this book. I did, but that doesn't seem like enough. It moved me, and it drew me in in a way that I did not expect. After the confusion of James Joyce's narrative approach, I wasn't sure that another stream of consciousness novel would be the right choice for me, but somehow Virginia Woolf perfectly constructed a story of intertwining lives and shared their perspectives in a way that wasn't just accessible, but natural. 

This novel is about so many things. In one sense, it's about the quixotic nature of dreams and hopes and how many of the characters will never achieve what they most want. Even when a dream is realized, time has passed, and the way we perceive and interact with the world has changed. A childhood wish to go an an excursion to the lighthouse nearby is viewed with different eyes years later. Nothing is permanent and ever-enduring, not even our dreams. While there's something distinctly sad about that realization, I think Woolf also makes the point that it is inevitable and perhaps simply part of the essence of things. Maybe no one perspective in time is right. Maybe it's the plurality and plasticity of our views that gives objects, dreams, and hopes meaning. 

My favorite passage described the decay that falls upon the Ramsay house in between their summer together and their reunion ten years later. In that time, there are family tragedies and unexpected turns, and their summer home by the lighthouse is neglected. Woolf does a marvelous job describing how the house peels and sinks over time, paralleling the hurt and losses that the Ramsays experience in their lives. When the hired help begin the arduous task of repairing the house and making it presentable for the Ramsays' return, they hum and haw about how the house couldn't have been expected to stay the same. Though they fix it up nicely, it can't be the same as before. There is no going back.

Overall, this novel made me reflect on the plurality of experience and of how we must keep carrying ourselves forward. Like the laps of an ocean wave, we must keep moving, and we cannot recreate the past. Time washes pieces of our life away, and while there might be a yearning for what has been lost, we will drift along anyhow. We must keep moving. 

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100 Best Novels

1. "Ulysses," James Joyce

2. "The Great Gatsby," F. Scott Fitzgerald

3. "A Portrait of the Artist as a Young Man," James Joyce

4. "Lolita," Vladimir Nabokov

5. "Brave New World," Aldous Huxley

6. "The Sound and the Fury," William Faulkner

7. "Catch-22," Joseph Heller

8. "Darkness at Noon," Arthur Koestler

9. "Sons and Lovers," D. H. Lawrence

10. "The Grapes of Wrath," John Steinbeck

11. "Under the Volcano," Malcolm Lowry

12. "The Way of All Flesh," Samuel Butler

13. "1984," George Orwell

14. "I, Claudius," Robert Graves

15. "To the Lighthouse," Virginia Woolf

16. "An American Tragedy," Theodore Dreiser

17. "The Heart Is a Lonely Hunter," Carson McCullers

18. "Slaughterhouse Five," Kurt Vonnegut

19. "Invisible Man," Ralph Ellison

20. "Native Son," Richard Wright

21. "Henderson the Rain King," Saul Bellow

22. "Appointment in Samarra," John O' Hara

23. "U.S.A." (trilogy), John Dos Passos

24. "Winesburg, Ohio," Sherwood Anderson

25. "A Passage to India," E. M. Forster

26. "The Wings of the Dove," Henry James

27. "The Ambassadors," Henry James

28. "Tender Is the Night," F. Scott Fitzgerald

29. "The Studs Lonigan Trilogy," James T. Farrell

30. "The Good Soldier," Ford Madox Ford

31. "Animal Farm," George Orwell

32. "The Golden Bowl," Henry James

33. "Sister Carrie," Theodore Dreiser

34. "A Handful of Dust," Evelyn Waugh

35. "As I Lay Dying," William Faulkner

36. "All the King's Men," Robert Penn Warren

37. "The Bridge of San Luis Rey," Thornton Wilder

38. "Howards End," E. M. Forster

39. "Go Tell It on the Mountain," James Baldwin

40. "The Heart of the Matter," Graham Greene

41. "Lord of the Flies," William Golding

42. "Deliverance," James Dickey

43. "A Dance to the Music of Time" (series), Anthony Powell

44. "Point Counter Point," Aldous Huxley

45. "The Sun Also Rises," Ernest Hemingway

46. "The Secret Agent," Joseph Conrad

47. "Nostromo," Joseph Conrad

48. "The Rainbow," D. H. Lawrence

49. "Women in Love," D. H. Lawrence

50. "Tropic of Cancer," Henry Miller

51. "The Naked and the Dead," Norman Mailer

52. "Portnoy's Complaint," Philip Roth

53. "Pale Fire," Vladimir Nabokov

54. "Light in August," William Faulkner

55. "On the Road," Jack Kerouac

56. "The Maltese Falcon," Dashiell Hammett

57. "Parade's End," Ford Madox Ford

58. "The Age of Innocence," Edith Wharton

59. "Zuleika Dobson," Max Beerbohm

60. "The Moviegoer," Walker Percy

61. "Death Comes to the Archbishop," Willa Cather

62. "From Here to Eternity," James Jones

63. "The Wapshot Chronicles," John Cheever

64. "The Catcher in the Rye," J. D. Salinger

65. "A Clockwork Orange," Anthony Burgess

66. "Of Human Bondage," W. Somerset Maugham

67. "Heart of Darkness," Joseph Conrad

68. "Main Street," Sinclair Lewis

69. "The House of Mirth," Edith Wharton

70. "The Alexandria Quartet," Lawrence Durrell

71. "A High Wind in Jamaica," Richard Hughes

72. "A House for Ms. Biswas," V. S. Naipaul

73. "The Day of the Locust," Nathaniel West

74. "A Farewell to Arms," Ernest Hemingway

75. "Scoop," Evelyn Waugh

76. "The Prime of Miss Jean Brodie," Muriel Spark

77. "Finnegans Wake," James Joyce

78. "Kim," Rudyard Kipling

79. "A Room With a View," E. M. Forster

80. "Brideshead Revisited," Evelyn Waugh

81. "The Adventures of Augie March," Saul Bellow

82. "Angle of Repose," Wallace Stegner

83. "A Bend in the River," V. S. Naipaul

84. "The Death of the Heart," Elizabeth Bowen

85. "Lord Jim," Joseph Conrad

86. "Ragtime," E. L. Doctorow

87. "The Old Wives' Tale," Arnold Bennett

88. "The Call of the Wild," Jack London

89. "Loving," Henry Green

90. "Midnight's Children," Salman Rushdie

91. "Tobacco Road," Erskine Caldwell

92. "Ironweed," William Kennedy

93. "The Magus," John Fowles

94. "Wide Sargasso Sea," Jean Rhys

95. "Under the Net," Iris Murdoch

96. "Sophie's Choice," William Styron

97. "The Sheltering Sky," Paul Bowles

98. "The Postman Always Rings Twice," James M. Cain

99. "The Ginger Man," J. P. Donleavy

100. "The Magnificent Ambersons," Booth Tarkington

Peachy Keen

I have to admit that when a fellow DC blogger was sharing her peach-picking adventures on Twitter and Instagram, I swooned a little bit over the idea of fresh-picked fruit and all of the tasty treats you could make with them. Unfortunately, without a car or any plans to actually go pick some fruit myself, I decided that I could save the farm adventures for another day and satisfy myself with just baking a pie.

I've made pies before, but they've all been apple pies, and really it's been my mother who's done most of the work (though my job of cinnamon-sprinkler was undoubtedly very important). I wasn't entirely sure if I would be successful baking a peach pie, but hey, it was worth trying, right?

I basically followed this recipe, though I would add that I would probably use a bit more egg glaze than I did this time around, since I think it would make the pie crust a bit... crustier. And I would sprinkle sugar on top because I forgot about my plan to do that until after the pie was done baking. Oops! Regardless, though, it turned out really well. It even looked a bit pretty! Result: I can bake a pretty good peach pie.

Has anyone else tried their hand at pie-baking this summer? What else should I try out?

 

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Sunday Currently : 30

Happy Sunday! I woke up this morning feeling exuberant. There is something so wonderful about waking up to see sunshine pouring through the windows and feeling a cool breeze work its way through the room. That, coupled with the ridiculous dream I was having wherein I was sad that our littlest cat would never stand on an Olympic podium (what??!!), made me immediately laugh and smile. Oh, how I love mornings like that.

reading : Orange is the New Black. The hubs and I watched the first season on Netflix and listened to Piper Kerman's story on The Moth, so this was the natural next step. I am really liking it so far, and it's interesting to hear the stories of women who have been, and might still be, imprisoned. 

writing :  Not too much. I have posts scheduled for this week, though I should probably finish up a few more ideas for next week. I'm trying to wrap up a Barcelona recap post, but it's hard to sort through all of our photos! This may end up being a Barcelona series...

listening :  To the hubs make coffee and prepare eggs in the kitchen. I love that he cooks! I am a lucky lady. :)

thinking :  About plans for today. I want to spend it outside, and I might go watch the hubs play in a soccer game later this morning. I would also like to stop by the farmer's market and get some pudding...

smelling :  The perfect day outside. This feels like early fall, which is my favorite time of year. The cool breeze that isn't too cold, the chirping birds... this is all making me feel super happy this morning. 

wishing :   For nothing. This moment is perfect. 

hoping :    That we get a few more days like this in the coming weeks and that I am able to enjoy them. 

wearing :    Mesh shorts and a t-shirt-- what else? This is my Sunday morning go-to.

loving :   Peaceful moments like this one. Waking up in a really good mood enhances the good in everything that follows. 

wanting :   Some bacon (the fake kind since I don't eat meat), though sadly, I don't think we have any. Wouldn't that go perfectly with eggs and coffee?

needing :   To start getting ready for the day in a little bit so I can head out into the world and enjoy the beautiful weather. 

feeling :  Excited to decorate my new office! I started my clinical placement on Thursday, and while I'm a little nervous about my new role, I know that this site was the right choice for me, and I am so excited to be there and getting settled.    

clicking :   On the New York Times, as usual. I love the Education section and enjoyed these perspectives on college: recruiting low-income students, a student's first year at Harvard, and a student's first year at Yale. 

Linking up with Lauren for the Sunday Currently 

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Last week on The Quixotic Chica:
Sunday Currently / Growth / Six / Vendetta

Vendetta

The other night the hubs and I went out to dinner with a friend at a new restaurant over on H Street called Vendetta. There were a few reasons why we wanted to check it out, but the two big ones were (1) there is prosecco on tap, and (2) there are two bocce ball courts. Intrigued? You should be.

The restaurant has a mod vibe to it, with mid-century Italian posters framed neatly on the exposed brick walls and two Vespas hanging above the upstairs bar. It manages not to be kitschy with its decor, and it instead feels like a cool place to hang out. We sat at a table in the window and had open-air access to the sidewalk, which was perfect on a breezy summer evening.

Vendetta was fairly quiet on that Tuesday night, though it started to pick up a little bit as the night went on. They recently changed chefs, and while I can't comment on what the food was like with the previous guy, we were told that the new chef is much better. 

We started off with delicious bread to dip in olive oil and slather in red pepper butter. YUM. Too often with restaurants, this part of the meal is forgettable, but I appreciated that Vendetta didn't neglect it. It was our introduction to their food, and it made me excited to try out more. While our fried zucchini was good, it was the bread and oil that had me oohing and aahing.

However, I have to admit that I wasn't wowed by my gnocchi dish. I am very particular about my gnocchi, and while this pasta was tasty, and the vegetables were crisp and delicious, I wasn't a huge fan of the texture that comes from pan-frying gnocchi. I prefer it to be soft and melty, which this definitely wasn't. I'll chalk it up to different gnocchi interpretations. Not bad, but not what I wanted. No hard feelings, though.

The chocolate mousse, though.... wow. I could have eaten a bucket of this. It was sweet, soft, chocolatey happiness in a mug. So good. So so so so good. SO GOOD. I want to savor it all over again just thinking about it. Ahhh. 

I would let Vendetta settle into their new chef and identity, but overall I think it fits well into the H Street vibe and can do well in this neighborhood. They just started offering a Sunday night dinner special, have good happy hour deals, and even do half-price bottles of wine on Mondays. It's great! Some of the main dishes need a bit more of a wow factor, but I believe they can get there. At the very least, it is a great spot to sip some prosecco, share some chocolate mousse, and declare your superiority on the bocce ball court.

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Six

Oh, to be a child again. When Betsy announced that she and her sponsors would be hosting a link-up based around the question of how we would spend our day if we were six years old again, my imagination started to run wild. Would I be a six year-old with the knowledge and experience of my twenty-seven years? Would I be transported back in time? My thoughts started to tumble over one another, and I quickly realized that this question was more complex than I first realized.

But that doesn't seem right, does it? Being six isn't about over-thinking questions, and it's certainly not about planning multiple scenarios to a benign situation. That tendency is one I've cultivated through adulthood, and it doesn't fit into my imaginary escape to childhood.

No, being six is all about running around outdoors through the dandelions, trying not to step on bees. It's about tromping through the garden, marveling at how the vegetables grow above my head. It's about crawling up into the hammock and being a little afraid of rocking too hard and flipping over onto the ground. It's about stumbling over a rock and getting dirt on my knees, then laughing and getting back up to run over to the swingset.

Being six is all about hugging my stuffed animals as tight as possible before lining them up on my bed to teach them a lesson from school. It's about skipping through the house and talking to myself without self-consciousness, completely wrapped up in my imaginary world of play. It's about trying to dress up the cat in baby clothes and put him in the wicker doll carriage in my bedroom. It's about sitting underneath the piano, singing songs, and being tucked away from the grown-ups. 

Being six is about being my mom's shadow, never more than a footstep away. It's about gazing up at my dad as he plays the guitar and squealing for him to sing some more. It's about bouncing into my sister's room when her friends are over and smiling up at them expectantly as they play with my unruly hair. It's about curling into my grandmother's lap and being swung around by my uncles at weekend BBQs. It's about being so excited to jump from the tree stump in front of my grandfather's house.

Being six is about being six. It's about living in the present moment, taking a break to disappear into daydream worlds, and then coming back to eat chicken nuggets. It's about hearing grown-ups talk about being adults and telling my mom that I don't want to ever go to college, that I want to live at home forever. It's about coloring, dancing, wondering, napping, loving, laughing, and being. It's about being six forever and letting the days melt into each other until they all become one wavy line of being six. I will be six today and the day after and the day before, and so on. I will be six forever and always and never and maybe. Seven is so very far away.

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