Mrs. Dalloway by Virginia Woolf
I was eleven when the film adaptation of Michael Cunningham’s The Hours came out in 2002. Somehow, I ended up watching it—I vaguely remember air travel being involved. Y’all know how bad my memory is. My main impression of Mrs. Dalloway came from that film, to the point that I stupidly thought it was set a little later than it is and, most alarmingly, that Mrs. Dalloway commits suicide at the end. (She does not.) Casting around for some non-speculative fiction to maintain variety in my reading diet, I found a copy at my local library and brought it home.
Lavinia by Ursula K. Le Guin
Lavinia is a recommendation I picked up two years ago, on my graduation trip to Ireland and England with my parents. I had just started writing down books I wanted to read and book blogging a little, so I often found myself wandering Waterstone’s…eses… and drooling over UK editions of books, particularly Stephen King’s works and, of course, The Lord of the Rings. And that’s where I found Lavinia, with a little notecard from an employee extolling its virtues. I loved Ursula K. Le Guin’s The Left Hand of Darkness (I wish there was an audiobook of it; at least, an audiobook available on CD) in high school, so I wrote it down. And I only now got around to it. Ah, the joys of a reading list pushing five hundred.