It occured to me

Reading Mrs. Dalloway on a long car trip over Christmas break, it occurred to me that, even though Virginia Woolf never wrote poetry (as far as I know) she still managed to have the spirit of the poet in everything she did. The single day of this lyrical novel stands locked in my mind as I read another novel in a day, Ulysses by James Joyce. I know that Virginia Woolf read Ulysses, as it was under consideration for publication by the Hogarth Press, and that she detested the novel, and yet I can see the two novels running together, running into one another like two streams joining in a river.