I suspect that I’m going to have to write more than one reflection on Virginia Woolf’s To the Lighthouse–this one now, and one after I’ve spent a little time digesting, rereading, and getting more context on it. It is a beautiful book, which I am not at all sure I understand.

To the Lighthouse is a book full of feelings–feelings are the focus of the book. The narrative voice glides from person to person letting us reside for a time in the mind of each character.

I was reminded, in reading this book, of the second act of Michael Frayn’s 1982 play, Noises Off. Noises Off is a play about producing a play. The gimmick of the play is that in the second act the audience actually sees a production of the play within the play (a play called Nothing On), but they see it from backstage. So while there is a whole plot going on in the background, what the audience sees is what is happening behind the plot, what usually goes unseen.

In reading To the Lighthouse I felt distinctly like I was seeing the story from backstage; I was seeing the parts of the production that we, as participants in life, do not usually see. Yes, there was a plot of some sort. Things were happening. But whatever was happening in the story took a backseat to exploring the inner life of characters; I saw the world of the book, at any given moment, only through the lens of how a character was reacting to it in their own mind.

It is hard for me to say that I completely understood the book. I don’t understand the purpose of the timeline it follows or of its structure. I don’t know why we are introduced to certain characters or what role they should play, ultimately, in the book’s meaning. I don’t know, indeed, ultimately what meaning I should take away from the book. I think I will need to do more thinking, reading, and discussing to get even a hint of an answer to this confusion.

But it is so beautifully and passionately written that it was easy to completely immerse myself in and often not easy to pull myself up for air. Even without understanding the depths of its meaning, I can easily appreciate this book as a book of feelings. There are feelings that are familiar to me and feelings that are unfamiliar–but all described with such passion and empathy that I couldn’t help but relate to all of the characters. This is a book that, if you let it, carves into your heart and makes room for deeper levels of compassion. I can’t help but feel that my soul is stronger, having read it.

(And, man, has this ever been a week that calls for a stronger soul.)