excellent - Rated 
This is beautifully written about the English way of life, its history, its class systems, about the nonsense we all talk about all the time. It writes about nature and spaces and places, at the end the reader feels part of the village and its all reflected back! Well worth reading.
The funny one - Rated 
Not known for her "gag-a-minute" style (and how the pale, tremblingly sensitive fanclub would hate it if she were...) "Between the Acts" is that rare thing: a Woolf novel that is a pleasure to read. No: I'm not trying to undermine her achievements elsewhere as a feminist, novelist or critic, but if you're looking for a novel that has weight and scope but doesn't KEEP making you aware of how pleased with itself it is, this is a winner.
A Parting Shot - Rated
Between The Acts was completed just weeks before Woolf's suicide, and it shows. The novel is dark and brooding - throughout there is a dark undercurrent that the villagers refuse to acknowledge - the upcoming war. While perhaps not reaching the same heights as The Waves or To The Lighthouse, it remains a breathtaking work. Out of all her novels that I have read, it is the one in which her radical ideas are set out most firmly. She deals with madness, homosexuality, the class system and of course (as always) the transience and futility of life. In particular, the last monologue of Miss La Trobe is pointed and cutting - a final message from Woolf to the world where she in essence cuts through the illusion and points out the dark, sick heart of "civilisation". Irreverant to the past, plunging headfirst into the future, it is certainly not just for Woolf fanatics. I would certainly rate it amongst her best.
Just another Stream of Consciousness - Rated
'Between the Acts' is Woolf's last book, said to be, in her own words, 'the most quintessential' of her works. Published posthumously, its characters show many of the classic traits in her previous novels. In many ways, Lucy can be likened to Mrs Ramsay from 'To the Lighthouse' and William Dodge has the untapped intellect and shy arrogance of Mr Tansley. Somehow we see a very different Woolf, one contemplating mortality and the gift of life with nature and the violence of war. Its characters show no signs of realisation of the war which is about to tear them apart and the pageant or play within the novel, rolls on under the guidance of the frustrated artist, Miss La Trobe.
A mysterious and introspective book, perhaps also a little depressing as the reader can, with hindsight, see how prophetic Woolf was being about herself.
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