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3.4 AVERAGE
3.4 AVERAGE
adventurous
challenging
emotional
reflective
tense
slow-paced
Plot or Character Driven:
Character
Strong character development:
Complicated
Loveable characters:
No
Diverse cast of characters:
No
Flaws of characters a main focus:
Yes
I particularly liked Lawrence's prose - I had expected it to be more convoluted and difficult to read, especially for someone like me who is not a native speaker. It's actually pretty easy to read and understand, apart from the occasional bit in the Nottinghamshire dialect and some archaic terms, which are well explained in the notes of my edition.
Sometimes I felt like the action was going way slower that it should, but I never thought of any of the chapters as "boring".
Sometimes I felt like the action was going way slower that it should, but I never thought of any of the chapters as "boring".
I really like DH Lawrence, and this book, I can't really say was my favorite. At one point i almost put it down because the main character is SUCH a momm's boy I couldn't stand it. Paul is a very well developed character, even if his lovers aren't so much. Having been involved with people who are sometimes passionate, but other times self-absorbed and disengaged, it was nice to read about their side of things. Though, you almost feel sorry for Miriam - she should have realized he just wasn't that into her a long time ago. Heh. I love the terse style Lawrence writes in, it can be very expressive even though it's somewhat clipped. You can really feel the depression and moodiness of Paul, and the hopelessness in his mother's situation early on in the book.
Relatively simple language.
Very intimate and personal and dives into the minds of characters.
Main themes are about relationships: notably, between parents and children, and romantic relationships.
Other themes include: purity, sensual relationships, saviour/saved in relationship, favouritism from mother towards certain children, feelings of pride and helplessness as a mother, a feeling of staleness in life as a result from becoming poor, shyness and overcoming shyness when growing up, alternating love and hatred between married couple.
Very intimate and personal and dives into the minds of characters.
Main themes are about relationships: notably, between parents and children, and romantic relationships.
Other themes include: purity, sensual relationships, saviour/saved in relationship, favouritism from mother towards certain children, feelings of pride and helplessness as a mother, a feeling of staleness in life as a result from becoming poor, shyness and overcoming shyness when growing up, alternating love and hatred between married couple.
Very tender and touching portrayal of attachments and heartaches, comfort and loss, the development and struggles of a young man. A middle to ending section felt slow, but the raw and beautiful language makes up for it. It may be unrealistic to expect a happy ending in the traditional sense from this story, but after 600 pages of this I have to say I'm grateful for the tiny spark of light at the end.
On love:
"He lifted his head, and looked into her eyes. They were dark and shining and strange, life wild at the source staring into his life, stranger to him, yet meeting him; and he put his face down on her throat, afraid. What was she? A strong, strange, wild life, that breathed with his in the darkness through his hour. It was all so much bigger than themselves that he was hushed. They had met, and included in their meeting the thrust of the manifold grass stems, the cry of the peewit, the wheels of the stars."
"'Look how little she is!' he said to himself. 'She's lost like a grain of sand in the beach - just a concentrated speck blown along, a tiny white foam-bubble, almost nothing among the morning. Why does she absorb me?' [...] 'What is she, after all?' he said to himself. 'Here's the seacoast morning, big and permanent and beautiful; there is she, fretting, always unsatisfied, and temporary as a bubble of foam. What does she mean to me, after all? She represents something, like a bubble of foam represents the sea. But what is she? It's not she I care for.' [...] 'But she is magnificent, and even bigger than the morning and the sea. Is she--? Is she--'"
"'Don't ask me anything about the future,' he said miserably. 'I don't know anything. Be with me now, will you, no matter what it is?'"
On courage:
"She was aware of his dark-clothed, slender body, that seemed one stroke of life, sprawled in the chair close to her. But no; she dared not put her arms around it, take it up, and say, 'It is mine, this body. Leave it to me.' And she wanted to. It called to all her woman's instinct. But she crouched, and dared not. She was afraid he would not let her. She was afraid it was too much. It lay there, his body, abandoned. She knew she ought to take it up and claim it, and claim every right to it. But - could she do it?"
On loneliness:
"He shook hands and left her at the door of her cousin's house. When he turned away he felt the last hold for him had gone. The town, as he sat upon the car, stretched away over the bay of railway, a level fume of lights. Beyond the town the country, little smouldering spots for more towns - the sea - the night - on and on! And he had no place in it! Whatever spot he stood on, there he stood alone. From his breast, from his mouth, sprang the endless space, and it was there behind him, everywhere. The people hurrying along the streets offered no obstruction to the void in which he found himself."
On pain:
"Paul went through the country, through the woods, over the snow. He saw the marks of rabbits and birds in the white snow. He wandered miles and miles. A smoky red sunset came on slowly, painfully, lingering. He thought she would die that day. There was a donkey that came up to him over the snow by the wood's edge, and put its head against him, and walked with him alongside. He put his arms around the donkey's neck, and stroked his cheeks against his ears."
On death:
"She lay like a girl asleep and dreaming of her love. The mouth was a little open as if wondering from the suffering, but her face was young, her brow clear and white as if life had never touched it. He looked again at the eyebrows, at the small, winsome nose a bit on one side. She was young again. Only the hair as it arched so beautifully form her temples was mixed with silver, and the two simple plaits that lay on her shoulders were filigree of silver and brown. She would wake up. She would lift her eyelids. She was with him still. He bent and kissed her passionately. But there was coldness against his mouth. He bit his lips with horror. Looking at her, he felt he could never, never let her go. No! He stroked the hair from her temples. That, too, was cold. He saw the mouth so dumb and wondering at the hurt. Then he crouched on the floor, whispering to her: 'Mother, mother!'"
On love:
"He lifted his head, and looked into her eyes. They were dark and shining and strange, life wild at the source staring into his life, stranger to him, yet meeting him; and he put his face down on her throat, afraid. What was she? A strong, strange, wild life, that breathed with his in the darkness through his hour. It was all so much bigger than themselves that he was hushed. They had met, and included in their meeting the thrust of the manifold grass stems, the cry of the peewit, the wheels of the stars."
"'Look how little she is!' he said to himself. 'She's lost like a grain of sand in the beach - just a concentrated speck blown along, a tiny white foam-bubble, almost nothing among the morning. Why does she absorb me?' [...] 'What is she, after all?' he said to himself. 'Here's the seacoast morning, big and permanent and beautiful; there is she, fretting, always unsatisfied, and temporary as a bubble of foam. What does she mean to me, after all? She represents something, like a bubble of foam represents the sea. But what is she? It's not she I care for.' [...] 'But she is magnificent, and even bigger than the morning and the sea. Is she--? Is she--'"
"'Don't ask me anything about the future,' he said miserably. 'I don't know anything. Be with me now, will you, no matter what it is?'"
On courage:
"She was aware of his dark-clothed, slender body, that seemed one stroke of life, sprawled in the chair close to her. But no; she dared not put her arms around it, take it up, and say, 'It is mine, this body. Leave it to me.' And she wanted to. It called to all her woman's instinct. But she crouched, and dared not. She was afraid he would not let her. She was afraid it was too much. It lay there, his body, abandoned. She knew she ought to take it up and claim it, and claim every right to it. But - could she do it?"
On loneliness:
"He shook hands and left her at the door of her cousin's house. When he turned away he felt the last hold for him had gone. The town, as he sat upon the car, stretched away over the bay of railway, a level fume of lights. Beyond the town the country, little smouldering spots for more towns - the sea - the night - on and on! And he had no place in it! Whatever spot he stood on, there he stood alone. From his breast, from his mouth, sprang the endless space, and it was there behind him, everywhere. The people hurrying along the streets offered no obstruction to the void in which he found himself."
On pain:
"Paul went through the country, through the woods, over the snow. He saw the marks of rabbits and birds in the white snow. He wandered miles and miles. A smoky red sunset came on slowly, painfully, lingering. He thought she would die that day. There was a donkey that came up to him over the snow by the wood's edge, and put its head against him, and walked with him alongside. He put his arms around the donkey's neck, and stroked his cheeks against his ears."
On death:
"She lay like a girl asleep and dreaming of her love. The mouth was a little open as if wondering from the suffering, but her face was young, her brow clear and white as if life had never touched it. He looked again at the eyebrows, at the small, winsome nose a bit on one side. She was young again. Only the hair as it arched so beautifully form her temples was mixed with silver, and the two simple plaits that lay on her shoulders were filigree of silver and brown. She would wake up. She would lift her eyelids. She was with him still. He bent and kissed her passionately. But there was coldness against his mouth. He bit his lips with horror. Looking at her, he felt he could never, never let her go. No! He stroked the hair from her temples. That, too, was cold. He saw the mouth so dumb and wondering at the hurt. Then he crouched on the floor, whispering to her: 'Mother, mother!'"
No es mi tipo de lectura. De las cuatro obras que se nos mandó para la asignatura, ha sido la que menos he disfrutado leyendo y la que más me ha costado ponerme a leer.
P.D. leer los diálogos de Morel ha sido el mayor reto de descifrado de mi vida.
P.D. leer los diálogos de Morel ha sido el mayor reto de descifrado de mi vida.
What works for me in this book is Lawrence's take on human relationships. Through the book Lawrence's dwells into the intricacies of human relationships and he shows the kind of relationships people have and how these relationships can make or break us. In this book, Lawrence goes into the basic emotional and intellectual basis of a relationship; whether it is with family, friend, lover or the nature (Lawrence's favourite in most works.) A good read, it makes you evaluate your own relationships and makes you wonder as to why exactly you choose the people you want to be with. Paul's relationship with his mother and their mutual dependence forms the main plot of the story and the plot narrates how this vital and crucial relationship acts as a benchmark for his other relationships. As any classic, it is very descriptive and Lawrence can go on for pages and pages about the setting sun or the blooming of a flower and he does so but he makes it seem magical and wonderful.
http://nwhyte.livejournal.com/1828546.html
It was not many pages into this book before I realised it was the basis of a Monty Python sketch, and after that I began to have problems taking it seriously. Yes, it's intensely and often beautifully written; but I kept feeling that Paul Morel, the viewpoint character who represents Lawrence himself, just needed a good slap. His relationship with his mother is too close to be healthy; he has two girlfriends and treats them both badly; and he ends up facing a lonely future (though of course it's still rather early days as he is only in his mid-20s). I didn't like Morel, and I didn't much like any of the other characters (I had most sympathy for Miriam, the younger girlfriend, who dumps Morel by going away to college and a teaching career.) I guess that analysing why I didn't like the book's take on depression, poverty and relationships has made me think a little more about these things myself, but it was not an enjoyable read.
It was not many pages into this book before I realised it was the basis of a Monty Python sketch, and after that I began to have problems taking it seriously. Yes, it's intensely and often beautifully written; but I kept feeling that Paul Morel, the viewpoint character who represents Lawrence himself, just needed a good slap. His relationship with his mother is too close to be healthy; he has two girlfriends and treats them both badly; and he ends up facing a lonely future (though of course it's still rather early days as he is only in his mid-20s). I didn't like Morel, and I didn't much like any of the other characters (I had most sympathy for Miriam, the younger girlfriend, who dumps Morel by going away to college and a teaching career.) I guess that analysing why I didn't like the book's take on depression, poverty and relationships has made me think a little more about these things myself, but it was not an enjoyable read.
Embarrassingly, I started and stopped this book for two years. I just finally finished. I quite honestly don't know how I feel about it. Paul, or any character really, wasn't very sympathetic. Maybe Clara was. I'll need to sit with this awhile. Certainly existential. What is life for? Can we really connect with others or are we always alone? Or is Paul just a schmuck? Hm...
dark
reflective
sad
slow-paced
Plot or Character Driven:
Character
Strong character development:
No
Loveable characters:
No
Diverse cast of characters:
No
Flaws of characters a main focus:
Yes