In her inimitable writing style, Woolf created a novel that beautifully captures the complicated interactions between our mental terrain and the external world always pressing on us. The story begins with Mrs. Dalloway planning for her party that evening, and deciding that she needs to buy the flowers herself. As she walks to the shop, her observations of her surroundings trigger memories and emotions, thoughts that jump from past to present to future in no chronological order, and images that are vague and associative or concrete and embodied stories. Woolf has such mastery in the way she captures a mind. The subconscious and the conscious twining together, the way our thoughts can hop from coherent and functional concentration to light reverie in seconds. How our mind can travel down a chain of thoughts, whilst we are almost unaware of the process, and arrive at a new topic that seems completely unrelated, but actually had a logical progression. I am not actually straying from a plot synopsis, because the majority of the book actually takes place within these interior dimensions. As Mrs. Dalloway prepares for her evening party, we frequently see her thoughts, rather than action or dialogue. Just as the mind nimbly sweeps from one idea to the next, so does the omniscient narrator skillfully move from perspective to perspective. While Clarissa is preparing her party, starting with the flowers and returning home to mend her dress for the night, her old lover Peter Walsh is just returning to England. One of his first stops is at Clarissa's house; he surprises her while she is in the middle of her sewing, and while she clutches her scissors, and he plays with his pocket knife, they have a friendly conversation that contains much more depth in the memories and undercurrents than in what is actually said. (I read a review that pointed out the importance of being armed in this book, having weapons, as this scene eloquently illustrates.) During this interlude, the narrative moves smoothly from Clarissa's mind to Peter's and back again, but eventually leaves when Peter does, and follows him as he walks from Clarissa's house to his hotel. Again, the reader enjoys a long sequence where the outside world is just a vehicle to evoke the more interesting inner thoughts and permutations. Actually, the correlation of physically walking through London and mentally wandering through memories is a trope in the story; we follow Clarissa, Peter, Septimus and Rezia - even Richard and Elizabeth Dalloway for short periods of time - and these journeys occupy the majority of the book. While the characters roam, the reader is invited to occupy their most private mental musings.A narrative with so little action, and so much introspection, may sound like a dull read, but it absolutely is not. I have never read an author who was able to portray in words, in a story, the inexplicable workings of our minds; no, our souls. Woolf's language is gorgeous; the imagery is powerful, moving, strong. She creates extended metaphors that make my writer's heart quiver with delighted admiration. Her grasp of beautiful language rivets the attention. Most writers need action to drive the story forward, but in this case, the fascination is focused inward, and is so compelling that only a minimal plot is needed to contain the characterization that takes place on a grand scale. We learn so much more about the people in this story than in novels of comparable length. They feel like real people, This is a complicated novel.