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Rating: 
Summary: Anyone know a good support group?
Review: I'm not a casual reader. I have voraciously studied literature extensively during my life and I'm the only person I know that has read The Canterbury Tales for fun. I have been trying for a month now to read this little volume and I'm having a very difficult time maintaining interest. I wish I had read it during a college class to have the guidance of a professor enamored with Ms. Woolfe and the discussion of an interested class to give the novel perspective. I have enjoyed many of Ms. Woolfe's works long before the recent film notoriety, Orlando being a favorite, but I can't seem to immerse myself in the world of Jacob Flanders and have it make any sense at all.
Rating:
Summary: Anyone know a good support group?
Review: I'm not a casual reader. I have voraciously studied literature extensively during my life and I'm the only person I know that has read The Canterbury Tales for fun. I have been trying for a month now to read this little volume and I'm having a very difficult time maintaining interest. I wish I had read it during a college class to have the guidance of a professor enamored with Ms. Woolfe and the discussion of an interested class to give the novel perspective. I have enjoyed many of Ms. Woolfe's works long before the recent film notoriety, Orlando being a favorite, but I can't seem to immerse myself in the world of Jacob Flanders and have it make any sense at all.
Rating: 
Summary: a room of one's own
Review: Some say that as we grow up,
we become different people at different ages.
but I don¡¯t believe this.
I think we remain the same throughout,
merely passing in these years from one room to another,
but always in the same house.
If we unlock the rooms of the far past,
We can look in and see ourselves
Beginning to become you and me.
Do you know where you were born? Yes, most probably in a room. Do you remember where you were brought up? Uh-huh, in most cases, in a room. Do you have any idea where you are going to die? Of course, most people would wish to be in a room. Dust we are, to dust we shall return (Gen. 3.19). Once dusty us get the passport of landing on this planet, the majority of our fellow earth citizens march to our another biological inevitability under the shelter of different rooms, like the snails. Fortunately, most of us will not realize this human bondage; besides, we take it for granted that freedom is something tangible like the apples in a tree. We can get it as long as we try and retry. Unfortunately, some of us are sensible enough to feel the invisible bars, so they resort to literature and presume that they could be set free in another world. Most unfortunately, they merely step from one cage to another. I am not saying the authors are evil-intentioned. Far from it. They just unconsciously lead us to a special room of their own.
Here are two examples to give the readers a vague idea what these rooms are like. Entering Dicken¡¯s room, one would be at once fascinated by the kaleidoscopic scenes in it. The tiniest turn would present the readers with a fabulous show on our life stage. Here we see happy smiles, weeping faces, regretful looks and clenching fists. No matter how dark the room might be sometimes, we would always see four big letters on the walls---HOPE. Isn¡¯t that what we live on and live for?
Then, in a hopeful mood, we gracefully knock open Woolf¡¯ Jacob¡¯s Room. All of a sudden, we find ourselves in the strangest place we have ever stepped in. EMPTY. That is the impression we get at the first sight. Where is Woolf? She has disappeared from the door silently. When our eyes get used to the light in the room, we only figure out some dim stuff on the walls. ¡°Listless is the air in an empty room¡±(Woolf 37). Some people leave the room at once in a rage: ¡°What is it all about!¡± Some of them linger for a while. Finally they shout exultantly: ¡° I see, I see. There IS a portrait of a gentleman on the wall. Some women surround him. Wow! What a romantic painting!!¡± Satisfied, they go out. Only a few left at this moment. They have been standing there for a long time in the same pose as if they had been frozen. Their eyes are glued on the walls and their gaze conveys a shocked and frightened meaning. What do they see? A monster? An accident? Or a turbulence? No, but more than that. They see life---AS WHAT IT IS. Where is Woolf? She is silently smiling behind the door.
What should they do? Run out of this room to another? No use. The next-door room is similar. Keep running? No way. This sort of room design is a fashion on this floor. A moment later, someone hear a terrible cry from the rooftop. Someone has chosen to meet his dusty ending earlier. Is ignorance really a bliss? Should we ignore what is real just because it is cruel and painful? Is that an escapist¡¯s motive? Not really. In one of Harry Potter¡¯s adventures---The Socerer¡¯s Stone, there is a magic tree. Once one falls in its tangled branches, no matter how hard he struggles, he will never be able to get out. The only way of getting rid of its hold is to---relax. If one relaxes his whole body as if nothing were around him, he will be set free at once. Those who did not go in Jacob¡¯s room do not need to regret for what they have lost, because they might regret more if they had. Those who went but saw nothing special are lucky, because they have spared themselves a later sting. As for those who did see what Woolf intended to show, frankly speaking, they have fallen into those messy branches then and there. To relax or not to relax? That is the question. Relaxation seems impossible and ridiculous at such a confusing, painful and struggling moment. How can we possible forget what we have seen and felt? However, the harder we fight with the branches, the faster we will sink. Therefore, better stop thinking further before being devoured. The human bondage is merely invisible. If we spare the trouble of reminding ourselves of its existence 365 times a year, we will be as happy as one could possible be. Down with those rooms! After all, there is only one room we wish to guard and cherish with our life---the chamber of our hearts.
Where is Woolf now? She has gone back to a room or her own, leaving us a room with a view.
Rating:
Summary: a room of one's own
Review: Some say that as we grow up,
we become different people at different ages.
but I don¡¯t believe this.
I think we remain the same throughout,
merely passing in these years from one room to another,
but always in the same house.
If we unlock the rooms of the far past,
We can look in and see ourselves
Beginning to become you and me.
Do you know where you were born? Yes, most probably in a room. Do you remember where you were brought up? Uh-huh, in most cases, in a room. Do you have any idea where you are going to die? Of course, most people would wish to be in a room. Dust we are, to dust we shall return (Gen. 3.19). Once dusty us get the passport of landing on this planet, the majority of our fellow earth citizens march to our another biological inevitability under the shelter of different rooms, like the snails. Fortunately, most of us will not realize this human bondage; besides, we take it for granted that freedom is something tangible like the apples in a tree. We can get it as long as we try and retry. Unfortunately, some of us are sensible enough to feel the invisible bars, so they resort to literature and presume that they could be set free in another world. Most unfortunately, they merely step from one cage to another. I am not saying the authors are evil-intentioned. Far from it. They just unconsciously lead us to a special room of their own.
Here are two examples to give the readers a vague idea what these rooms are like. Entering Dicken¡¯s room, one would be at once fascinated by the kaleidoscopic scenes in it. The tiniest turn would present the readers with a fabulous show on our life stage. Here we see happy smiles, weeping faces, regretful looks and clenching fists. No matter how dark the room might be sometimes, we would always see four big letters on the walls---HOPE. Isn¡¯t that what we live on and live for?
Then, in a hopeful mood, we gracefully knock open Woolf¡¯ Jacob¡¯s Room. All of a sudden, we find ourselves in the strangest place we have ever stepped in. EMPTY. That is the impression we get at the first sight. Where is Woolf? She has disappeared from the door silently. When our eyes get used to the light in the room, we only figure out some dim stuff on the walls. ¡°Listless is the air in an empty room¡±(Woolf 37). Some people leave the room at once in a rage: ¡°What is it all about!¡± Some of them linger for a while. Finally they shout exultantly: ¡° I see, I see. There IS a portrait of a gentleman on the wall. Some women surround him. Wow! What a romantic painting!!¡± Satisfied, they go out. Only a few left at this moment. They have been standing there for a long time in the same pose as if they had been frozen. Their eyes are glued on the walls and their gaze conveys a shocked and frightened meaning. What do they see? A monster? An accident? Or a turbulence? No, but more than that. They see life---AS WHAT IT IS. Where is Woolf? She is silently smiling behind the door.
What should they do? Run out of this room to another? No use. The next-door room is similar. Keep running? No way. This sort of room design is a fashion on this floor. A moment later, someone hear a terrible cry from the rooftop. Someone has chosen to meet his dusty ending earlier. Is ignorance really a bliss? Should we ignore what is real just because it is cruel and painful? Is that an escapist¡¯s motive? Not really. In one of Harry Potter¡¯s adventures---The Socerer¡¯s Stone, there is a magic tree. Once one falls in its tangled branches, no matter how hard he struggles, he will never be able to get out. The only way of getting rid of its hold is to---relax. If one relaxes his whole body as if nothing were around him, he will be set free at once. Those who did not go in Jacob¡¯s room do not need to regret for what they have lost, because they might regret more if they had. Those who went but saw nothing special are lucky, because they have spared themselves a later sting. As for those who did see what Woolf intended to show, frankly speaking, they have fallen into those messy branches then and there. To relax or not to relax? That is the question. Relaxation seems impossible and ridiculous at such a confusing, painful and struggling moment. How can we possible forget what we have seen and felt? However, the harder we fight with the branches, the faster we will sink. Therefore, better stop thinking further before being devoured. The human bondage is merely invisible. If we spare the trouble of reminding ourselves of its existence 365 times a year, we will be as happy as one could possible be. Down with those rooms! After all, there is only one room we wish to guard and cherish with our life---the chamber of our hearts.
Where is Woolf now? She has gone back to a room or her own, leaving us a room with a view.
Rating:
Summary: Simply Beautiful
Review: This IS literature at its best. There is nothing I can say that hasn't already been said rather eloquently by the first review of this book, 'Stitched Seams of Color, Subjectless, and Brilliant,' January 17, 1998 Reviewer: A reader from Deerfield, Massachusetts, so go read that one. The other reviews were too superficial; futile exercises in trying to describe a plot that is not there. Woolf is remarkable. This novel is a reflection of Woolf.
Rating:
Summary: Well Worth It
Review: This is the first Virginia Woolf book I've read and I can see why she is ranked as a great writer. Her writing is very dense and the prose reads like poetry. She writes Jacob's Room in the stream of consciousness style, like Portrait of the Artist as a Young Man by James Joyce. The stream tends to meander all over the lot, so just go with the flow. The reader hears snippets of conversation and characters come and go. We learn about Jacob Flanders, but in little bits, here and there, the way you learn about people in real life. The reader never knows what's going on inside Jacob's head. You observe Jacob the way you would in real life: from the outside. Size him up for yourself. The novel is set around World War I and Jacob Flanders (FLANDERS, as in Flanders' Field--World War I's killing field) is one of that Lost Generation. The novel is dark, questioning the futility of life, but the language is beautiful and the emotion is stabbingly true. Definitely read it, but have something more chipper around to read afterward, lest you brood too much.
Rating:
Summary: 9
Review: This was the first book by Virginia Woolf I read, and it remains my favorite. The language vacillates between normal prose and near-poetry; the narrator remains fairly distant throughout, offering the reader a great deal of insight without much emotional baggage. It is not, however, something you should read on the bus or on a plane; this book requires time, effort, and a certain calmness of mind before you can begin to understand and appreciate it.
Rating:
Summary: Life in impressions
Review: Woolf's experimental novel is the life of Jacob Flanders as told through the impressions he has on other people. By using this style, she explores the notions of existence, permanence, and the effects of civilization on sensitive individuals. One can easily see the influence this experiment had on her later works, chiefly "Mrs Dalloway" and "To the Lighthouse". I find Woolf's works captivating, and this book no less so. Like an impressionist painting, the story is left for the reader to piece together to envision the larger, full-scale impact for her-/himself.
Rating: 
Summary: Woolf's first experimental novel
Review: _Jacob's Room_ marks Virginia Woolf first truly experimental novel. It follows the elusive figure of Jacob Flanders, from his boyhood to college and finally off to the Great War. It is a novel where plot and typical "defining" events are irrelevant. This is not a story about who dies, who lives, who loves, or who hates. This is a novel about interiority, about the effect Jacob has on those he meets. It is interesting to note that the character of Jacob Flanders was (in part) based upon Virginia Woolf's own brother, Thoby Stephen, who died quite young. While it is dangerous to overread the connection between Jacob and Thoby, it's highly probably that part of the novel's elegaic tone comes from it. Woolf's prose is typically lyrical, and she depends heavily upon interior monologue and stream-of-consciousness writing. It's not an easy novel to read, especially Woolf novices, but I think fans of modern fiction will find the experience worthwhile. Better introductions to Woolf's works are _Mrs. Dalloway_ and _To the Lighthouse_.
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