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.