The three main women in The Hours are each in a marriage or long-term partnership that compromises their ability to be fully and freely themselves. Virginia feels trapped by her husband, Leonard, and his commanding attitude. She wishes she could leave behind the quiet suburb of Richmond to return to the excitement of London. Decades later, Laura identifies with Virginia’s novel Mrs. Dalloway because she is trapped in her own marriage with Dan, which seems ideal on the surface—but which leaves her with no time to herself. Finally, Clarissa struggles with the fear that her stable, long-lasting partnership with Sally has turned her into a boring housewife and prevented her from being in a relationship with Richard, whose own life as a writer seems much more glamorous. In each timeline, the protagonist longs for freedom from responsibility but can’t escape her daily routine, which often requires her to take on more responsibility than the other person in the relationship.
The novel suggests that the conventions of heterosexual marriage can create and perpetuate gender inequality, with Virginia and Laura each seemingly devoting more time and effort to their family and domestic chores than their male partners, but even Clarissa struggles to communicate with her partner, Sally. Meanwhile, the novel shows how the institution of marriage enforces heterosexual gender roles, forcing people to repress potential homosexual feelings. Virginia’s longing for a relationship with a woman comes out when she kisses her own sister Vanessa, and this leads to repressed female desire becoming a key part of Mrs. Dalloway, a character in the book she is currently writing. Meanwhile, Laura begins to desire her neighbor Kitty but can’t act on her attraction because of her marriage to Dan and her need to care for Richie. Finally, while Clarissa has the most relationship freedom, at one point attempting a three-way relationship with Richard and Louis, she finds that arrangement unsatisfying. She instead seeks out a more dependable, monogamous relationship with Sally, causing people like Richard and the queer theorist Mary Krull to look down on Clarissa for replicating the conventions of a heterosexual marriage—and all the problems of gender inequality and repressed desires that come with them. The Hours thus portrays how any committed relationship, not just heterosexual marriage, can restrict a person’s personal freedom and self-expression, leading to repressed desires and to feelings of resentment and unfulfillment.
Marriage, Relationships, and Personal Fulfillment ThemeTracker
Marriage, Relationships, and Personal Fulfillment Quotes in The Hours
She hurries from the house, wearing a coat too heavy for the weather. It is 1941. Another war has begun. She has left a note for Leonard, and another for Vanessa.
She inhales deeply. It is so beautiful; it is so much more than…well, than almost anything, really. In another world, she might have spent her whole life reading. But this is the new world, the rescued world—there’s not much room for idleness. So much has been risked and lost; so many have died.
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.
She will give Clarissa Dalloway great skill with servants, a manner that is intricately kind and commanding. Her servants will love her. They will do more than she asks.
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.
The truth is that he does not love Hunter and Hunter does not love him. They are having an affair; only an affair. He fails to think of him for hours at a time. Hunter has other boyfriends, a whole future planned, and when he’s moved on, Louis has to admit, privately, that he won’t much miss Hunter’s shrill laugh, his chipped front tooth, his petulant silences.
There is so little love in the world.
Leaving the desk, she can hardly believe she’s done it. She has gotten the key, passed through the portals.
Nelly turns away and, although it is not at all their custom, Virginia leans forward and kisses Vanessa on the mouth. It is an innocent kiss, innocent enough, but just now, in this kitchen, behind Nelly’s back, it feels like the most delicious and forbidden of pleasures. Vanessa returns the kiss.
Fool, Mary thinks, though she struggles to remain charitable or, at least, serene. No, screw charity. Anything’s better than queers of the old school, dressed to pass, bourgeois to the bone, living like husband and wife. Better to be a frank and open asshole, better to be John fucking Wayne, than a well-dressed dyke with a respectable job.
Fraud, Clarissa thinks. You’ve fooled my daughter, but you don’t fool me. I know a conquistador when I see one. I know all about making a splash. It isn’t hard. If you shout loud enough, for long enough, a crowd will gather to see what all the noise is about. It’s the nature of crowds. They don’t stay long, unless you give them reason. You’re just as bad as most men, just that aggressive, just that self-aggrandizing, and your hour will come and go.
She is better, she is safer, if she rests in Richmond; if she does not speak too much, write too much, feel too much; if she does not travel impetuously to London and walk through its streets; and yet she is dying this way, she is gently dying on a bed of roses.
Sally hands the flowers to her and for a moment they are both simply and entirely happy. They are present, right now, and they have managed, somehow, over the course of eighteen years, to continue loving each other. It is enough. At this moment, it is enough.
He will watch her forever. He will always know when something is wrong. He will always know precisely when and how much she has failed.
Richard smiles. He shakes his head. He says, “I don’t think two people could have been happier than we’ve been.”
He inches forward, slides gently off the sill, and falls.
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.
Yes, Clarissa will have loved a woman. Clarissa will have kissed a woman, only once. Clarissa will be bereaved, deeply lonely, but she will not die. She will be too much in love with life, with London.
“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.
And here she is, herself, Clarissa, not Mrs. Dalloway anymore; there is no one now to call her that. Here she is with another hour before her.
“Come in, Mrs. Brown,” she says. “Everything’s ready.”