Every year I pick up “Mrs. Dalloway” by Virginia Woolf, and every year I put it back down after about 10 pages. It’s become predictably hilarious.

“Mrs. Dalloway” is one of those classic books that the literati assumes we’ll not only love, but will change our lives. So by not loving it, nor reading it, we feel inferior, the butt of a joke, like we just don’t have the mental fitness to keep up with real readers out there.

Today’s story is more uplifting, I think — because I’ve finally peered into the vexing, brilliant world of Virginia Woolf, and discovered the kind of book that is not only singular in its form, content and style, but almost exists outside the realm of what I thought books were capable of.

Big words, I know. And of course my description of this book will be a savage injustice, a beautifully hopeless endeavor — like hacking at a redwood tree with a pocket knife. But let try me.

I’m referring to “The Waves” by, yes, Virginia Woolf, which was published in 1931. In the simplest possible terms, here’s how I understand what’s going on:

The book is divided up into four sections, each containing brief intros. These intros are written in italics and describe, in four segments: the sun rising, the sun lifting higher in the sky, the sun descending, the sun setting. But, it’s important to mention that Woolf is describing the movement of the sun as witnessed from the ocean shore, such that we’re also getting a description of the ocean itself, the light on the water, the ripples and, yes, the waves.

Okay. Now, there are six characters, three boys and three girls. As children, they spend every summer together on the same seaside estate in England. In other words, they are all good friends, and remained intertwined for the rest of their lives.

The book begins, after Woolf’s first intro, with all six of them, as children, sitting near the ocean, and describing the morning together. Immediately, we see how Wolfe tells the story. Instead of using an omniscient, third-person narrative to observe the characters’ lives, she tells the story through their own eyes — as in through six first-person narratives.

But wait. Doesn’t this kind of writing happen all the time? You know, where each character tells their own story? Yes. It does.

However, Woolf does it much differently. Nearly every paragraph has a different narrator. This is done through dialogue, although it’s not necessarily spoken dialogue (which I realize sounds strange). Rather, it’s just the streaming thoughts of characters, or the internal dialogues.

Think about it this way: Imagine if you and five friends were watching the sun rise over the ocean. Then, imagine if you could actually jump into each of their heads for a moment to see what they were thinking.

This is basically what Woolf does for the entire book: She’s jumping in and out of six heads, one after the other, paragraph after paragraph. As such, the book is not like seeing the world through one set of eyes, but through six.

These six characters remain interlocked throughout the entire book. Even though they all eventually split up, go to different schools, and grow up, the symmetry doesn’t cease. Woolf continues to swim through their heads, one after another.

I realize that this sounds a bit discombobulating, right? I mean, how could you possibly keep up with six individual stories all mashed together?

But here’s the thing: Woolf is not interested in the six individual stories. She’s interested in their collective stories — in what they mean together, in what they’re saying about the different stages of growing older. The characters speak not specifically, but reflectively. They are trying to make sense of their lives in very broad terms.

Which brings us back to the four sections. They end up symbolizing the passing of time: the rising sun is birth, the setting sun is death. So we’re essentially following these characters through the entirety of their lives.

I know this is all a bit much. But this book is a bit much — in the best possible way. All I can say is do yourself a favor and read it. Just get a taste of it. Then, perhaps you’ll begin to see how the metaphor of “The Waves” washes through the entire novel — the sea of voices, thoughts, people, breaking all toward the final point. It’s spectacular.