Not the best-known (or the best) of Woolf’s novels, it’s also debatable whether it’s a novel. Its cover page calls it a “biography,” which is strange, especially considering Flush is a cocker spaniel. It was Elizabeth Barrett Browning’s dog, one Woolf must have read about in her ongoing attempt, seemingly, to read everything written in English and available from the British Library.
This book took an afternoon to read, and it is clever as far as it goes (not that far). Woolf wrote it as a break after the extremely heady period after she completed The Waves. The narrative sounds a lot like the voice-over narration from the Babe movies. I think if I knew more about Browning or her poetry I’d have more to say about this, but I haven’t, and I don’t.
Hermione Lee’s The Novels of Virginia Woolf doesn’t even mention this book, so I’ll just let these few paragraphs stand for the deeper take on it I might someday create (but probably not.