To the Lighthouse

“They were so critical, her children. They talked such nonsense. She went from the dining room, holding James by the hand, since he would not go with the others. It seemed to her such nonsense—inventing differences, when people, heavens knows, were different enough without that.” 

Part 1, the longest section of the novel, offers the reader significant insight into Mrs. Ramsay’s experience as a mother of eight and wife to a philosopher of middling repute. For Mrs. Ramsay, the intellectual debates that occupy Mr. Ramsay are similar to the quarrels of her children. As a mother and wife, her role appears to be peacemaker, so the deliberate efforts of her family to cause interpersonal problems frustrate her. 

“It was as if the water had floated off and set sailing thoughts which had grown stagnant on dry land, and gave to their bodies even some sort of physical relief. First, the pulse of colour flooded the bay with blue, and the heart expanded with it and the body swam, only the next instant to be checked and chilled by the prickly blackness on the ruffled waves.” 

When Lily Briscoe and William Bankes heed their daily impulse to walk to the bay, it is a response to an undefined need within themselves. The novel does not explain the need, just that the need exists, and their physical and emotional sensations are impressionistic rather than descriptive, lending the walks an air of spiritual mystery. As Lily and Bankes stand on the edge of the sea, the colors and the movement of the water inspire a shift in their emotions; they smile at first, then feel a sense of sadness. At this moment in the novel, as in many others, the changeable sea represents the changeability of human emotions.

“She asked him what his father’s books were about. ‘Subject and object and the nature of reality,’ Andrew had said. And when she said Heavens, she had no notion what that meant. ‘Think of a kitchen table then,’ he told her, ‘when you’re not there.’” 

When Lily asks Andrew Ramsay about his father’s writing, he answers her with a deceptively simple explanation. Ramsay is a philosopher, and his masculine intellectual pursuits contrast with the feminine emotional concerns of Mrs. Ramsay, as she looks after her family and others in the community, and the creative concerns of Lily as she tries to paint. Andrew’s response to Lily appears unemotional, as if he accepts his father’s work without any confusion or self-inquiry; later, in Part 2, Andrew dies in World War I, having experienced a change in his own reality that means he is no longer “there.”  

“He had not genius; he laid no claim to that; but he had, or might have had, the power to repeat every letter of the alphabet from A to Z accurately in order. Meanwhile, he stuck at Q. On, then, on to R.” 

As a philosopher saddled with a large family, Mr. Ramsay’s potential for genius is limited, and these limitations frustrate him and incite him to rage. They also explain why young men like Charles Tansley often accompany the Ramsay family on their summer holidays to the Isle of Skye. Tansley and others before him are early in their scholarly studies, and Mr. Ramsay’s work inspires them. By keeping acolytes close, Mr. Ramsay is reassured in his position as a philosopher who enjoyed notoriety and success at one point in his life, before his family interfered with his progress. 

“But it had been seen; it had been taken from her. This man had shared with her something profoundly intimate. And, thanking Mr. Ramsay for it and Mrs. Ramsay for it and the hour and the place, crediting the world with a power which she had not suspected, that one could walk away down that long gallery not alone any more but arm in arm with somebody—” 

When Mr. Ramsay observes Lily’s painting as she makes artistic decisions, she feels first anxiety and then closeness to Mr. Ramsay. By observing Lily’s process rather than the finished work, Mr. Ramsay observes Lily at her most vulnerable. While this interaction might seem fleeting and meaningless to an outside observer, like many interactions in the novel it is rife with significance for the characters involved. Lily, who decided never to marry, feels an intimacy with a man that enables her to feel less alone in the world; this connection with Mr. Ramsay endures, and ten years later Lily’s feelings towards Mr. Ramsay are still deep. 

“How could any Lord have made this world? she asked. With her mind she had always seized the fact that there is no reason, order, justice: but suffering, death, the poor.” 

Much of Part 1 contains descriptions of Mrs. Ramsay’s preoccupations that characterize her as a deeply sympathetic woman who feels she must protect the vulnerable and ease the suffering of anyone in pain or discomfort. Her persistent thoughts about the poor and downtrodden in her community and her worry about her children do not carry over to her husband, however. When Mr. Ramsay is uncomfortable or troubled, she often feels impatience and annoyance towards him, believing he should be satisfied with his life as a father of eight and a respected intellectual amongst his fellow academics. The inconsistency of Mrs. Ramsay’s emotions reinforces a central theme of the novel concerning the impermanence of human emotions. 

“They disagreed always about this, but it did not matter. She liked him to believe in scholarships, and he liked her to be proud of Andrew whatever he did. Suddenly she remembered those little paths on the edge of the cliffs.” 

Mr. and Mrs. Ramsay regard their children’s welfare differently. In this passage, the Ramsays discuss their son Andrew’s prospects for an academic scholarship; though Mrs. Ramsay is anxious that Andrew will resent the experience of having his worth measured by academic success, she is simultaneously pleased at her husband’s respect for a reward for which she has less regard. Their disagreement and Mrs. Ramsay’s pleasure illustrate the divide between their society’s expectations of men and women: Mr. Ramsay, a male intellectual, desires his son to achieve academically while Mrs. Ramsay, a female mother and wife, desires the men in her life to feel strongly about such matters while she worries about their feelings.

“His understanding often astonished her. But did he notice the flowers? No. Did he notice the view? No. Did he even notice his own daughter’s beauty, or whether there was pudding on his plate or roast beef? He would sit at the table with them like a person in a dream. And his habit of talking aloud, or saying poetry aloud, was growing on him, she was afraid; for sometimes it was awkward—”

While Mrs. Ramsay acknowledges that Mr. Ramsay’s philosophical ruminations about the nature of reality are exceptional, she marvels at his inability to grasp the more prosaic realities that surround him on a daily basis. Moreover, she notices that as Mr. Ramsay ages, his eccentric habits are more visible. Mr. Ramsay’s displays are alarming to her for two reasons: first, they worry her as a sign of possible mental decline, and second, they draw strange looks from their guests and their children. It is unclear which situation worries Mrs. Ramsay more: the prospect of illness or the social awkwardness that results from Mr. Ramsay’s behavior.

“We can’t all be Titians and we can’t all be Darwins, he said; at the same time he doubted whether you could have your Darwin and your Titian if it weren’t for humble people like ourselves.” 

Bankes and Lily stand in the garden and talk about ambition, creativity and genius; nearby, the Ramsays watch their children playing catch. Lily confesses to Bankes that she feels dissatisfaction with herself when confronted by the talents of others. As Bankes dismisses her artistic discontent with the above response, Lily watches the Ramsays and falls into a brief philosophical reverie about the symbolic value of individuals. Lily’s ability to think philosophically about life demonstrates that women have just as much potential as men to have agile intellects, illuminating the theme of gender differences that runs throughout the novel.

“As they came out on the hill and saw the lights of the town beneath them, the lights coming out suddenly one by one seemed like things that were going to happen to him—his marriage, his children, his house; and again he thought, as they came out on the high road, which was shaded with high bushes, how they would retreat into solitude together, and walk on and on, he always leading her, and she pressing close to his side (as she did now).” 

After Minta loses her grandmother’s brooch, Paul determines that he will either find the brooch himself the following morning or replace it with a more beautiful brooch from a shop in Edinburgh. As he walks back to the Ramsays’ house with Minta, Nancy, and Andrew, he has a flash of his future as a husband. His belief that he will always lead Minta foreshadows his infidelity and the ruined state of their marriage, as revealed in Part 2. Paul’s assurance also reveals Woolf’s own beliefs about traditional marriages in which traditional gender roles guide the actions and attitudes of husband and wife.

“What a waste of time it all was to be sure! Yet, he thought, she is one of my oldest friends. I am by way of being devoted to her. Yet now, at this moment her presence meant absolutely nothing to him: her beauty meant nothing to him; her sitting with her little boy at the window—nothing, nothing.” 

As Bankes eats dinner with the rest of the party, he is impatient. Earlier in Part 1, Mrs. Ramsay feels satisfaction at being able to persuade Bankes to come to dinner; she is aware of his reluctance to engage socially, and she feels she has accomplished something because he agreed to come to dinner. When she speaks to Bankes’s about his predictable frustration at being bound to the table by propriety and good manners, he is unable to speak the truth about his discomfort. The burden of social niceties forces him to be gentlemanly towards Mrs. Ramsay, demonstrating that the Edwardian society in which they move restricts their expectations of behavior.

“How much they missed, after all, these very clever men! How dried up they did become, to be sure.” 

At the dinner party, Mrs. Ramsay ensures everyone is served while she ruminates on the role of men in her life. Paul, who is attractive, sits next her, and she realizes that she likes most the men who lack serious intellect, whom she calls “boobies.” The clever men, like her husband, are too distracted by their thoughts to appreciate the world around them, and they become dull and boring as a result. Mrs. Ramsay’s appreciation of Paul’s manners and facial features appears superficial, but in actuality, it represents her impatience with Mr. Ramsay, whom she often wishes would be happier with his lot in life. 

“You will be as happy as she is one of these days. You will be much happier, she added, because you are my daughter, she meant; her own daughter must be happier than other people’s daughters.” 

In this passage, Mrs. Ramsay thinks about her beautiful daughter Prue and her wishes for Prue’s happiness. Mrs. Ramsay’s sense of maternal possessiveness is wholesome in this sense, as she compares Prue to Minta Doyle, who is radiant in her recent engagement to Paul Rayley. In Part 2, this notion of happiness in love is extended and resolved for the reader: Prue’s marriage is briefly mentioned, as well as her death due to a complication from childbirth. Ironically, after her death, mourners commented that “nobody deserved happiness more” (180), echoing Mrs. Ramsay’s deepest desire for her daughter and adding pathos to the novel. 

“[Mr. Ramsay stumbling along a passage stretched his arms out one dark morning, but, Mrs. Ramsay having died rather suddenly the night before, he stretched his arms out. They remained empty.]”

The brackets that frame this passage appear at several points in Part 2 to announce the deaths of Mrs. Ramsay, Prue, and Andrew. The significance of the events is juxtaposed against the brevity with which they are presented; this choice by the author emphasizes the quickness with which life can change at any given moment. The passage also creates a visual image of Mr. Ramsay’s need for comfort. 

“Loveliness and stillness clasped hands in the bedroom, and among the shrouded jugs and sheeted chairs even the prying of the wind, and the soft nose of the clammy sea airs, rubbing, snuffling, iterating, and reiterating their questions—‘Will you fade? Will you perish?’—” 

In this passage, the image of lovers in the bedroom holding hands is juxtaposed against the death imagery of shrouds in the aftermath of Mrs. Ramsay’s death. Even the rooms of the house appear to grieve, while the wind and the sea air insist that others consider their own mortality. The use of nature imagery in this passage and the personification of the wind and air emphasize the immortality of nature in contrast to the mortality of humans. Nature can ask penetrating questions about existence because it will never fade nor perish, while humans with their temporal lives will eventually die.

“Moreover, softened and acquiescent, the spring with her bees humming and gnats dancing threw her cloak about her, veiled her eyes, averted her head, and among passing shadows and flights of small rain seemed to have taken upon her a knowledge of the sorrows of mankind.”

In between the bracketed announcements of Prue’s marriage and her death, spring is personified as a woman. Spring displays a kind of feminine knowledge and depth, but the information she offers is dark and mournful. She has an awareness of human sorrow that taints the rebirth and the life that she symbolically represents; although spring is a powerful literary symbol of renewal, she cannot guarantee that new life can endure forever.

“There was the silent apparition of an ashen-coloured ship for instance, come, gone; there was a purplish stain upon the bland surface of the sea as if something had boiled and bled, invisibly, beneath.”

This passage contains figurative language that emphasizes the violence of Andrew’s death. Immediately after the bracketed sentences in Part 2 that announce that Andrew was killed at war, the imagery of a dark ship in blood-stained waters appears. The ashy color of the ship echoes the brief description of the exploding shell that killed Andrew and “twenty or thirty” (181) other young soldiers. The comparison of the sea to boiling water that contains a bleeding creature suggests that nature is complicit in Andrew’s death. The striking imagery of bloodied seawater heightens the reader’s appreciation of Andrew’s suffering at war even before his death; before water boils, it must heat up, just as Andrew and his soldiers must have felt pain and fear before the shell exploded and killed them all.  

“It might well be, said Mrs. McNab, wantoning on with her memories; they had friends in eastern countries; gentlemen staying there; ladies in evening dress; she had seen them once through the dining room door all sitting at dinner. Twenty she dared say in all their jewellery, and she asked to stay to help wash up, might be till after midnight.”

As Mrs. McNab and Mrs. Bast clean the house on the Isle of Skye in preparation for visitors, they gossip about times past and wonder aloud about various items in the house. Mrs. Bast asks about the origins of the boar’s skull in the room where the Ramsay children slept; their fear in Part 1 implies that the boar’s skull reminds them of death. In this passage, however, the two elderly women discuss the skull and its origins in ordinary terms, and then they quickly change the subject. Their abrupt treatment of the skull takes away its power to inspire fear and reminds the reader that the guests coming to the house have already known death, having lost Mrs. Ramsay, Prue, and Andrew in recent years. 

“And he shook his head at her, and strode on (‘Alone’ she heard him say, ‘Perished’ she heard him say) and like everything else this strange morning the words became symbols, wrote themselves all over the grey-green walls.” 

As Lily sits by herself at the breakfast table, she feels the morning is unusually strange. The oddness of the morning heightens when Lily hears Mr. Ramsay muttering to himself. His words echo her own thoughts about the deaths of Mrs. Ramsay, Prue, and Andrew. Neither character expresses any emotion about the aloneness of death; rather, they simply acknowledge it. Lily goes as far as to regard Mr. Ramsay’s words as mere symbols that appear on the walls of the house, and her ability to have this experience both frightens and excites her, demonstrating that humans can experience two seemingly incompatible emotions at the same time. 

“And it struck her, this was tragedy—not palls, dust, and the shroud; but children coerced, the spirits subdued.” 

As Lily watches James and Cam, who are now 16 and 17 years old, she realizes that Mr. Ramsay’s oppressive personality impacted them negatively. Lily’s sympathy for the children and their subdued spirits contrasts with her lack of emotion when considering the deaths of Mrs. Ramsay, Prue and Andrew; she feels that death is not a tragic event and that tragedy occurs when the vitality of the young and the living is somehow compromised.

“They had reached, she felt, a sunny island where peace dwelt, sanity reigned and the sun for ever shone, the blessed island of good boots.”

As Lily tries to paint, Mr. Ramsay seeks her out before walking to the beach with James and Cam to begin their boat journey to the lighthouse. She senses that he wants sympathy from her, but she refuses to give him what he wants; instead, she makes an offhand remark complimenting him on his beautiful boots and expects him to fly into a rage at her tactlessness. His reaction is one of unmitigated pleasure, and Lily finds that they are suddenly as calm, peaceful, and happy as any two people in a conversation could be. The unexpectedness of this encounter demonstrates one of the central themes of the book; human emotions are impermanent and often unpredictable. 

Always (it was in her nature, or in her sex, she did not know which) before she exchanged the fluidity of life for the concentration of painting she had a few moments of nakedness when she seemed like an unborn soul, a soul reft of the body, hesitating on some windy pinnacle and exposed without protection to all the blasts of doubt.” 

Lily’s creativity may be uniquely feminine, but she is unsure. Her uncertainty about the source of her creativity makes her vulnerable, but she perceives her vulnerability, as represented by her sense of “nakedness,” as something powerful. Though her feelings as she prepares to paint are paradoxical, therein lies her creativity; as “an unborn soul,” Lily has a fresh and new perspective on the world that allows her paint what she sees without self-doubt.

“It was some such feeling of completeness perhaps which, ten years ago, standing almost where she stood now, had made her say she must be in love with the place. Love had a thousand shapes.” 

Lily releases her resentment towards Mr. Ramsay in Part 3, just as she let go of her dislike of him in Part 1, recognizing that he is as complex a human being as anyone else. The emotional resolution she experiences upon realizing the complexity of being human gives her an overwhelming sense of peace. She confuses her sense of peace with an attachment to the house on the Isle of Skye before acknowledging that the emotion of love is perhaps the most complex human experience of all.