The Meaning of It All

Content notes: death, suicide, psychosis, dissociation. 

Having finished Mrs. Dalloway, I am not sure what to feel first. 

The end of the book culminates in the party that Clarissa Dalloway has been preparing for all day for the entirety of the book. Many of the characters we visited earlier in the story come together —Peter Walsh, Sally Seton, and Sir William Bradshaw, to name a few. Their interactions further develop the individual characters and the meaning of the book as a whole. Additionally, the lively party given by Clarissa “The Perfect Hostess” Dalloway has some funny accuracy in that the writing leaves the reader just a bit overwhelmed and excited as if you really have just left a vibrant gathering. 

My favorite surprise of this last part of the book was the return of the wonderful Sally Seton, who we met earlier in the book as discussed in my first post, “Stream of Consciousness and Sapphics.” Sally and Clarissa split ways a while back after a quarrel over Sally’s teasing of Clarissa’s husband-to-be, Richard Dalloway. Their reunion is sweet but a bit anticlimactic. What Sally’s visit seems to primarily communicate is the overarching theme of the paradoxical passage of time: how things change yet stay the same. For one thing, Sally Seton is now Lady Rosseter, having married a Sir Rosseter, with whom she’s had five “enormous boys” (Woolf 171). As Clarissa instantly recognizes Sally’s voice, she turns as if in slow-motion to see Sally’s arrival; “after all these years! [Sally] loomed through a mist. For she hadn’t looked like that, Sally Seton, when Clarissa grasped the hot water can, to think of her under this roof, under this roof!” (Woolf 171). Clarissa is simultaneously transported back in time to their days summering at Bourton, “when Clarissa grasped the hot water can,” and overtaken by how things have changed, how different Sally looks. Clarissa observes, “the lustre had gone out of [Sally]. Yet it was extraordinary to see her again, older, happier, less lovely” (Woolf 171). Still, there are constants in life. Clarissa reminisces, “[Sally] always had the simplest egotism, the most open desire to be thought first always, and Clarissa loved her for still being like that... kindling all over with pleasure at the thought of the past” (Woolf 171-172). Sally represents such an integral part of Clarissa’s past that her return, different yet the same, adds to the Gothic theme of the book; time is always marching on and things are always changing and aging... but some things stay the same. 

I loved the picture painted of Peter Walsh and Sally Seton sitting together, catching up as if nothing had changed during their long time apart—two of Clarissa’s past lovers, still friends sat together at a party. Peter and Sally bring an impassioned hilarity to the story—everyone from Bourton remembers when Sally “ran down the passage to fetch her sponge bag, without a stitch of clothing on her” (Woolf 181)—heightened by the fact that they both still harbor love for Clarissa.

My least favorite visitor of the party was, of course, Sir William. The evil man with his malpracticing psychiatric theories has made a return to distribute his rancid vibes. Indeed, his arrival puts a damper on Clarissa’s mood and her appreciation of the party. She concedes that he looks “very distinguished,” but the “sight of him talking to Richard [curled] her up” (182). Clarissa continues, “He looked what he was, a great doctor. A man absolutely at the head of his profession... Yet—what she felt was, one wouldn’t like Sir William to see one unhappy” (182). Even Clarissa, who only knows Sir William through her husband’s role in politics, can sense that Sir William is innately at odds with his profession, with resulting disastrous consequences. 

Our Septimus Smith, who I discussed at length in previous posts, has passed away. In a horribly sad, but not entirely unexpected, turn of events, Septimus took his own life at the very end of the last section I read of the book. I’m not sure I was ready to process Septimus’ death then, but his passing’s important return at this section of the book has required me to think more deeply about his suicide. 

Septimus, preceding his admission to Sir William’s residential hospital, is on the mental/emotional upswing. After repeated psychotic and depressive episodes, Lucrezia (his wife) is pleased to see that, “for the first time [in] days [Septimus] was speaking as he used to do... How it rejoiced her that! Not for weeks had they laughed like this together, poking fun privately like married people” (Woolf 143). However, things are still touch and go. One minute, Septimus is “very happy,” feeling “the [warm] air [buffet his] cheek like the wing of a bird,” but the next he is convinced “they had lost him,” he “[starts] up in terror,” and is certain he will “be alone forever,” though Lucrezia has left the room for only a minute. 

Into this fragile bubble Dr. Holmes bursts. Dr. Holmes does not have the same sharp cunningness that Sir William has but instead has a very blundering ignorance in his medical practices. In his psychosis, Septimus is convinced that Dr. Holmes’ “red nostrils [are] snuffing into every secret place” and has refused to see him since before their visit to Sir William (Woolf 149). However, Dr. Holmes insists on periodically intruding into Septimus and Lucrezia’s life. Lucrezia tries to keep Dr. Holmes out this time, telling him firmly, “No. I will not allow you to see my husband” (Woolf 149). Septimus hears their discussion out on the staircase and, anticipating Dr. Holmes’ arrival, quickly thinks through different ways to commit suicide before he has to see Dr. Holmes. He doesn’t want to kill himself and, in fact, regards the act of jumping out the window as “tiresome” and “melodramatic” (Woolf 149). He decides he will “wait till the very last moment” before Dr. Holmes comes in to see him because he “[does] not want to die. Life was good. The sun [sic] hot” (Woolf 149). Unfortunately, his fear of Dr. Holmes is too great. Of course, Dr. Holmes does not react to witnessing Septimus’ suicide with grief or sympathy but with the single exclamation, “The coward!” as Septimus lifts off from the balcony (Woolf 149). 

I feel that, when a therapist or psychiatrist has done all they can for a patient but still loses them to suicide, there should be no blame or necessary guilt involved. However, I feel that Dr. Holmes and Sir William failed Septimus in every way, both in life and, as Dr. Holmes’ response shows, in his passing. 

Clarissa learns of Septimus’ death at her party from Sir William and Lady Bradshaw. Clarissa has never met Septimus, never even finds out his name. However, when Lady Bradshaw reveals in a conspiratory manner that one of Sir William’s patients has just killed himself, Clarissa is devastated. She has a long-running trepidation towards death and thinks with fear, “Oh! ...in the middle of my party, here’s death” (Woolf 183). She steps away into an empty room and seems to go into a dissociative state as the “party’s splendor fell to the floor” (Woolf 184). She feels deeply and inexplicably connected to Septimus—she is indignant that the Bradshaws would bring up something like that so casually at her party and seems to physically feel, morbidly, how Septimus’ suicide must have felt. She feels responsible for, or burdened by, Septimus’ death, thinking “[somehow] it was her disaster—her disgrace. It was her punishment to see sink and disappear here a man, there a woman, in this profound darkness, and [Clarissa] forced to stand here in her evening dress” (Woolf 185). Clarissa somehow doesn’t feel worthy, she feels guilty as if she has done morally reprehensible things, thinking “she had schemed; she had pilfered” (Woolf 185). We can see that, though living life is invaluable to Clarissa, though she moves through every moment with grace and intention, not everything is as perfect as “the perfect hostess” appears to be. Thinking of Septimus, Clarissa reflects, “this life, to be lived to the end, to be walked with serenely; there was in the depths of her heart an awful fear” (Woolf 185). Aside from her fear of death, this “awful fear” remains unnamed, ambiguous, which likens it to the devastating and painful fear induced by anxiety or paranoia. As mentioned in my previous posts about Septimus, Clarissa and Septimus are two sides of the same coin—different yet the same. 

In the end, it’s all about the passage of time and the living of life. Clarissa’s constant reflections on the past and her appreciation for the little moments of life, contrasting with the severe brevity and fragility of life as demonstrated by Septimus, illustrate the paradox of living. Set in Woolf’s stream-of-consciousness-style writing which blurs time and space, this work asks more of a question than it makes a statement: what is the essence of life? Mrs. Dalloway asks, what makes life livable and how fragile is that which does make life livable? My answer to that question would probably align with what Clarissa and Septimus would say: warm sunlight, a bouquet of roses, a walk for errands. As for the fragility of these things, I would say it’s immeasurable. Life is fleeting, so it is vital to savor its moments. 

Works Cited

Woolf, Virginia. Mrs. Dalloway. Harcourt, 1925.