Woolf's writing is usually exactly what I desire, yet this, a departure from her usual style post 'the waves' left me rather bitter. 
I enjoyed deeply the study into some of the characters, though I found some much more interesting than others, and the picture woven of the lives of the Partigiers was good. 
Yet I found this book lacking some of the fire that can be felt within other Woolf novels. Though an exposure of victorianism and its values, it feels painfully middle class and narrow in its scope, choosing to spend it's time on the moderately well off spinster Eleanor, when I would have much rather studied the life of the servant Crosby. 
Much of the discourse seems difficult to relate to or empathise with, in particular the anti-semitism that plagues the novel makes it difficult to enjoy. This was written in the 1930s and the cultural context of antisemitism in that time is impossible to ignore. 
No matter how lovely the writing the overall effect of the book was one that made me disgusted hollow and bitter.