A review by francesca_stout
Orlando by Virginia Woolf

2.0

I've never been so disappointed by a book in all my forty eight years. I saw the film in my early twenties, and was so spellbound that I vowed to get around to reading the book and having a fat ginger cat called Orlando one day. Well, I finally read it, and I haven't the words to tell you how irritating, self indulgent and ridiculous it is. I could deal with the concept of Orlando living over 400 years and changing gender, but when others did likewise, a baby seemingly appears and disappears, and a writer violates her own rules and descends into pointless waffling, I'm out. It took me two months to read this slim volume; that's how much I didn't look forward to finishing it. I'm not inclined to read any of Woolf's other work.