Laura Brown spends much of her day baking a cake for her husband, Dan, and this cake symbolizes Laura’s conflicting feelings about the many burdens that society obligates women to take on as wives and mothers. Laura wakes up late on the morning of her husband’s birthday, partly because she was up late the previous night reading Virginia Woolf’s novel Mrs. Dalloway, but also because she generally finds household work exhausting. Although Laura fears and perhaps even resents all the responsibilities she has, she nevertheless wants to succeed at them. She and her son, Richie, make a cake together in what seems to be a moment of triumph, as Laura bonds with Richie and teaches him about baking. But Laura is ultimately unhappy with the finished cake, feeling it’s too sloppy, so she throws it out and starts a new one. Laura’s dissatisfaction with the cake represents her complicated relationship to her domestic responsibilities. Though on resents and feels somewhat stifled by them, she simultaneously wants to succeed at them and feels like a failure when her efforts don’t pay off.
Laura eventually makes a second cake that comes closer to her ideal. But the stress that the whole ordeal propels Laura to drop Richie off with a babysitter and rent hotel room for herself in order to have a couple hours of uninterrupted time to read Mrs. Dalloway by herself. Laura’s need for solitude shows the degree to which baking the cake—and the pressure of performing her duties as a wife and mother in general—exhausts Laura. Later that evening, Dan says that Laura has given him a perfect birthday, suggesting that Laura’s efforts—however fraught—have paid off. However, when he accidentally spits on her cake as he blows out the candles, it suggests that doesn’t understand or appreciate all the work she does for him. Cake, in this way, symbolizes how much of the work that women do as wives and mothers goes unseen and unappreciated.
Cake Quotes in The Hours
It seems suddenly easy to bake a cake, to raise a child. She loves her son purely, as mothers do—she does not resent him, does not wish to leave.
Laura releases Kitty. She steps back. She has gone too far, they’ve both gone too far, but it is Kitty who’s pulled away first. It is Kitty whose terrors have briefly propelled her, caused her to act strangely and desperately. Laura is the dark-eyed predator. Laura is the odd one, the foreigner, the one who can’t be trusted. Laura and Kitty agree, silently, that this is true.
Laura glances over at Richie. He is still holding the red truck. He is still watching.
“But there are still the hours, aren’t there? One and then another, and you get through that one and then, my god, there’s another. I’m so sick.”
The candles are lit. The song is sung. Dan, blowing the candles out, sprays a few tiny droplets of clear spittle onto the icing’s smooth surface. Laura applauds and, after a moment, Richie does, too.
“So,” Dan says after a while. “Are you coming to bed?”
“Yes,” she says.
From far away, she can hear a dog barking.
They settle into another silence, one that is neither intimate nor particularly uncomfortable. Here she is, then, Clarissa thinks; here is the woman from Richard’s poetry. Here is the lost mother, the thwarted suicide; here is the woman who walked away. It is both shocking and comforting that such a figure could, in fact, prove to be an ordinary-looking old woman seated on a sofa with her hands in her lap.