Finally finished it and as always my love for Virginia Woolf's nearly perfect prose (motivated by something other than merely for the sake of perfection) is even more deeply entrenched.
I feel that to ever really understand Mrs. Dalloway one would have to understand why the moment Clarissa becomes Mrs Dalloway is simultaneously completely in keeping with her character but also marks the rest of her life with a lingering inauthenticity. The perils of being unable to resolve this contradiction in their own lives scars other characters' lives so severely that rather than seeming cowardly, Clarissa's 'duplicity' seems to be the only partial solution to a cruel riddle posed by life to a certain sort of person growing up in early 20th Century England. I'm not sure we've found better ways of fully resolving this problem to date.