D.H. Lawrence's Short Stories Thread

[Dark Muse]

Though they may not look fiersome, I do not think the intent of the picture is to make it playful, I think it is suppose to be a hunting scene. The dogs/wolves I think are intended to be either wolves or they look like they might be staghounds which were bred to be hunting dogs.

[Janine]

Though they may not look fiersome, I do not think the intent of the picture is to make it playful, I think it is suppose to be a hunting scene. The dogs/wolves I think are intended to be either wolves or they look like they might be staghounds which were bred to be hunting dogs.

Hey DM, lighten-up. I was just teasing Virgil, when I said they looked playful. Who really knows what the painting means? We would have to ask the artist, I think.

[Quark]

Wow, I leave for a day and the conversation devolves into a quarrel over deer and wolves (or dogs?). I don't know about you guys sometimes. I'll have to go back over the posts, and see what got us talking about dogs (wolves?).

[Dark Muse]

LOL Virigil brought up the painting we discussed at the begining, and that started the conversation about wolves/dogs

[Janine]

hahahah I think maybe it is almost time to wrap this one up and proceed to a new story. Yes, when the discussion has disgenerated to 'dogs and wolves' we may have a problem. I think Virgil is still determined to discuss the last part so I am not sure why we went back to that painting again. You just never know what to expect in this unpredictable thread, do you?

[Dark Muse]

LOL no you don't

[Janine]

Keeps it exciting and everyone awake!

[Quark]

LOL Virigil brought up the painting we discussed at the begining, and that started the conversation about wolves/dogs

Oh, yeah, now I remember the painting. I think it does foreshadow the conflict that husband and wife are about to have. I didn't even notice it when I was reading. I thought his glancing at the painting was just supposed to indicate the distracted, somewhat anxious, state he's in at the beginning of the story. He's trying to read the paper but he keeps glancing up, and then he has to walk around the room. He seems a bit nervous. I imagined him looking at the painting as part of this, but when I look at the painting it's pretty clear that it's foreshadowing something specific.

Oh I found DM. Thanks. Interesting. I think the title reflects more in the story than the actual painting. I was imagining a stag being b*t*hed at by a doe.

Funny. How do you get that from "Stag at Bay?" I think the painting you're thinking of is called "Stag Trying to Watch a Football Game."

hahahah I think maybe it is almost time to wrap this one up and proceed to a new story. Yes, when the discussion has disgenerated to 'dogs and wolves' we may have a problem. I think Virgil is still determined to discuss the last part so I am not sure why we went back to that painting again. You just never know what to expect in this unpredictable thread, do you?

We still have two weeks of February left. Do you want to read another story or should we stop for a while? And, we haven't talked about the end of the story, yet, so I think we could still continue with this one if we wanted to.

[Janine]

Oh, yeah, now I remember the painting. I think it does foreshadow the conflict that husband and wife are about to have. I didn't even notice it when I was reading. I thought his glancing at the painting was just supposed to indicate the distracted, somewhat anxious, state he's in at the beginning of the story. He's trying to read the paper but he keeps glancing up, and then he has to walk around the room. He seems a bit nervous. I imagined him looking at the painting as part of this, but when I look at the painting it's pretty clear that it's foreshadowing something specific.

Yes, it seems to 'foreshadow' events to come and their altercation.

Funny. How do you get that from "Stag at Bay?" I think the painting you're thinking of is called "Stag Trying to Watch a Football Game."

We still have two weeks of February left. Do you want to read another story or should we stop for a while? And, we haven't talked about the end of the story, yet, so I think we could still continue with this one if we wanted to.

Gee we do, don't we? But they will go quickly, and soon there is my birthday party on Lit Net coming up.... are you all coming? I would say carry on with this story for the time being - hey, where is Virgil to post the next part? Hopefully, he will show up in the next few days. I am in no hurry, since I am somewhat active now in "Tale of Two Cities" discussion; also trying to listen to "The Name of the Rose" audiotapes; and don't forget - we are still preparing the Chekhov thread for revival. Hey, Quark, go read some Cheky short stories and see which ones you like....hopefully ones on my list.... In the meantime, and in my 'sparetime' (yeah right) , I will review some Lawrence tales and see what we might all find fascinating to talk about next month.

[Virgil]

Ok, ok, here's the last part:

But suddenly she lifted her head again swiftly, like a thing that tries to get free. She wanted to be free of it. It was not him so much, but it, something she had put on herself, that bound her so horribly. And having put the bond on herself, it was hardest to take it off. But now she hated everything and felt destructive. He stood with his back to the door, fixed, as if he would oppose her eternally, till she was extinguished. She looked at him. Her eyes were cold and hostile. His workman's hands spread on the panels of the door behind him.

"You know I used to live here?" she began, in a hard voice, as if wilfully to wound him. He braced himself against her, and nodded.

"Well, I was companion to Miss Birch of Torril Hall--she and the rector were friends, and Archie was the rector's son." There was a pause. He listened without knowing what was happening. He stared at his wife. She was squatted in her white dress on the bed, carefully folding and re-folding the hem of her skirt. Her voice was full of hostility.

"He was an officer--a sub-lieutenant--then he quarrelled with his colonel and came out of the army. At any rate"--she plucked at her skirt hem, her husband stood motionless, watching her movements which filled his veins with madness--"he was awfully fond of me, and I was of him--awfully."

"How old was he?" asked the husband.

"When--when I first knew him? Or when he went away?--"

"When you first knew him."

"When I first knew him, he was twenty-six--now--he's thirty-one-- nearly thirty-two--because I'm twenty-nine, and he is nearly three years older--"

She lifted her head and looked at the opposite wall.

"And what then?" said her husband.

She hardened herself, and said callously:

"We were as good as engaged for nearly a year, though nobody knew-- at least--they talked--but--it wasn't open. Then he went away--"

"He chucked you?" said the husband brutally, wanting to hurt her into contact with himself. Her heart rose wildly with rage. Then "Yes", she said, to anger him. He shifted from one foot to the other, giving a "Ph!" of rage. There was silence for a time.

"Then," she resumed, her pain giving a mocking note to her words, "he suddenly went out to fight in Africa, and almost the very day I first met you, I heard from Miss Birch he'd got sunstroke--and two months after, that he was dead--"

"That was before you took on with me?" said the husband.

There was no answer. Neither spoke for a time. He had not understood. His eyes were contracted uglily.

"So you've been looking at your old courting places!" he said. "That was what you wanted to go out by yourself for this morning."

Still she did not answer him anything. He went away from the door to the window. He stood with his hands behind him, his back to her. She looked at him. His hands seemed gross to her, the back of his head paltry.

At length, almost against his will, he turned round, asking:

"How long were you carrying on with him?"

"What do you mean?" she replied coldly.

"I mean how long were you carrying on with him?"

She lifted her head, averting her face from him. She refused to answer. Then she said:

"I don't know what you mean, by carrying on. I loved him from the first days I met him--two months after I went to stay with Miss Birch."

"And do you reckon he loved you?" he jeered.

"I know he did."

"How do you know, if he'd have no more to do with you?"

There was a long silence of hate and suffering.

"And how far did it go between you?" he asked at length, in a frightened, stiff voice.

"I hate your not-straightforward questions," she cried, beside herself with his baiting. "We loved each other, and we were lovers--we were. I don't care what you think: what have you got to do with it? We were lovers before ever I knew you--"

"Lovers--lovers," he said, white with fury. "You mean you had your fling with an army man, and then came to me to marry you when you'd done--"

She sat swallowing her bitterness. There was a long pause.

"Do you mean to say you used to go--the whole hogger?" he asked, still incredulous.

"Why, what else do you think I mean?" she cried brutally.

He shrank, and became white, impersonal. There was a long, paralysed silence. He seemed to have gone small.

"You never thought to tell me all this before I married you," he said, with bitter irony, at last.

"You never asked me," she replied.

"I never thought there was any need."

"Well, then, you should think."

He stood with expressionless, almost childlike set face, revolving many thoughts, whilst his heart was mad with anguish.

Suddenly she added:

"And I saw him today," she said. "He is not dead, he's mad."

Her husband looked at her, startled.

"Mad!' he said involuntarily.

"A lunatic," she said. It almost cost her her reason to utter the word. There was a pause.

"Did he know you?" asked the husband in a small voice.

"No," she said.

He stood and looked at her. At last he had learned the width of the breach between them. She still squatted on the bed. He could not go near her. It would be violation to each of them to be brought into contact with the other. The thing must work itself out. They were both shocked so much, they were impersonal, and no longer hated each other. After some minutes he left her and went out.

The very first word here is very important. After she internally acknowledges that she never loved him, Lawrence says, "But suddenly she lifted her head again swiftly, like a thing that tries to get free." For you writers out there, arguably the most powerful word that a writer has is the word, "but." I almost always use it to start a sentence with it, and therefore capitalized. I almost never use it as a conjunction. And neither did Lawrence here. It signals a shift, a translition. Having reached a point of powerful opposition to her husband, she softens. Here's the rest of what Lawrence says:

But suddenly she lifted her head again swiftly, like a thing that tries to get free. She wanted to be free of it. It was not him so much, but it, something she had put on herself, that bound her so horribly. And having put the bond on herself, it was hardest to take it off. But now she hated everything and felt destructive. He stood with his back to the door, fixed, as if he would oppose her eternally, till she was extinguished. She looked at him. Her eyes were cold and hostile. His workman's hands spread on the panels of the door behind him.

I think she realizes here that it's not the husband to blame, but the weight of reality, the weight of the circumstances. And then she goes on to tell him what happened.

"You know I used to live here?" she began, in a hard voice, as if wilfully to wound him. He braced himself against her, and nodded.

"Well, I was companion to Miss Birch of Torril Hall--she and the rector were friends, and Archie was the rector's son." There was a pause. He listened without knowing what was happening. He stared at his wife. She was squatted in her white dress on the bed, carefully folding and re-folding the hem of her skirt. Her voice was full of hostility.

Now here is a question. Why does she tell him? Is it to be honest? Bring it out in the open? Or to destroy him with the informaton? I'm somewhat torn here. I would think it would be to bring it out in the open, but Lawrence says she speaks with hostility and to "wilfully wound him." Perhaps Lawrence wants it to be both simultaneously, but I think if he does it doesn't quite come through.

And the husband, who has reached a saturation point in being badly treated, fights back to destroy her:
"

He chucked you?" said the husband brutally, wanting to hurt her into contact with himself. Her heart rose wildly with rage. Then "Yes", she said, to anger him. He shifted from one foot to the other, giving a "Ph!" of rage. There was silence for a time.

They are trying to destroy the other with points. And he probes to find out the extent of the relationship.

"How do you know, if he'd have no more to do with you?"

There was a long silence of hate and suffering.

"And how far did it go between you?" he asked at length, in a frightened, stiff voice.

"I hate your not-straightforward questions," she cried, beside herself with his baiting. "We loved each other, and we were lovers--we were. I don't care what you think: what have you got to do with it? We were lovers before ever I knew you--"

"Lovers--lovers," he said, white with fury. "You mean you had your fling with an army man, and then came to me to marry you when you'd done--"

She sat swallowing her bitterness. There was a long pause.

"Do you mean to say you used to go--the whole hogger?" he asked, still incredulous.

I assume "the whole hogger" means sexual intercourse. I know Janine hated him for using that word. But there is good justification for a brutal word. It's bringing the raw reality, in its most gritty realistic terms, into consciousness. It dispells all the dreamy illusions that the woman was under. I think that's the actual climax of the story. Notice how things change.

"Why, what else do you think I mean?" she cried brutally.

He shrank, and became white, impersonal. There was a long, paralysed silence. He seemed to have gone small.

"You never thought to tell me all this before I married you," he said, with bitter irony, at last.

"You never asked me," she replied.

"I never thought there was any need."

"Well, then, you should think."

He stood with expressionless, almost childlike set face, revolving many thoughts, whilst his heart was mad with anguish.

He shrinks and feels small. Why? I think he too realizes the reality. He too has been in an idealized fantasy, to think that his wife didn't exist before they met and have a life before him. Notice the exchange afterward:

"You never thought to tell me all this before I married you," he said, with bitter irony, at last.

"You never asked me," she replied.

"I never thought there was any need."

"Well, then, you should think."

They have not been open from the beginning. And notice he now doesn't go beserk when she then tells him that she actually met him today. The worst has passed and now that they've finally been honest with each other they can move on.

He stood and looked at her. At last he had learned the width of the breach between them. She still squatted on the bed. He could not go near her. It would be violation to each of them to be brought into contact with the other. The thing must work itself out. They were both shocked so much, they were impersonal, and no longer hated each other. After some minutes he left her and went out.

"At last he had learned the width of the breech between them." "They were both shocked so much, they were impersonal, and no longer hated each other." They have passed through this catharitic experience, and so now they can start toward a real marriage.

Despite some poorly written spots, a brilliant conclusion. A fine story.

[Dark Muse]

Now that we got to the last of the story, there is an idea that had occured to me earlier but had not yet got to it, when we began to break the story up in sections.

As it has been discussed in detail before, there is an imporantce placed on plysical appereances within the story, as it is pointed out that both the husband and woman are attractive, and flattering words at the begining are used in description of them, but I had noticed at the end of this story this imagery shifts, and both the man and the woman become ugly.

Perhaps it is a reflection of how they come to see each other at this point. As the descritpions now used to talk about them, are rather unflattering.

His face was greyish pale, and set uglily

His eyes were contracted uglily

His hands seemed gross to her, the back of his head platry

And the thing I thought was interesting is that twice the woman is refered to as "squatting" as for me, this word does not bring very graceful or pretty imagery, but is awakard and unattractive, the word itself I think is kind of ugly.

She was squatted in her white dress on the bed

She still squatted on the bed

[Janine]

Ok, ok, here's the last part:

The very first word here is very important. After she internally acknowledges that she never loved him, Lawrence says, "But suddenly she lifted her head again swiftly, like a thing that tries to get free." For you writers out there, arguably the most powerful word that a writer has is the word, "but." I almost always use it to start a sentence with it, and therefore capitalized. I almost never use it as a conjunction. And neither did Lawrence here. It signals a shift, a translition. Having reached a point of powerful opposition to her husband, she softens. Here's the rest of what Lawrence says:

Virgil, I did not requote you: everyone can read that part from your post. I agree about the word "But" and I often start sentences with it also. Must be why we feel this connection with Lawrence, eh? Yes, within this single word he turns things around or towards another direction. It is interesting what power that 'but' can have.

I think she realizes here that it's not the husband to blame, but the weight of reality, the weight of the circumstances. And then she goes on to tell him what happened.

Definitely, I had said that before. I didn't see where any blame was put on anyone. She feels it is 'it' - the thing she put upon herself that she can't get loose or free of. This 'it' is keeping her marriage from working and developing, growing. The woman is quite aware the problem lies within herself. I think at this point she wants to reveal all to him. She wants to spill out all the things that have made up this yoke around her neck and clear the air. It is as though one brick came tumbling down from her past and now all the wall must come down as well. She willingly wants to confess her past to him. This part very much reminds me of the Joyce short story "The Dead" in that the woman confesses her past lover to her husband and in doing so he comes to the realisation that she never loved him as passionately as she had loved her, now estranged and deceased, lover.

Now here is a question. Why does she tell him? Is it to be honest? Bring it out in the open? Or to destroy him with the informaton? I'm somewhat torn here. I would think it would be to bring it out in the open, but Lawrence says she speaks with hostility and to "wilfully wound him." Perhaps Lawrence wants it to be both simultaneously, but I think if he does it doesn't quite come through.

I felt it was to be honest. But I don't think she did so consciously. I think it just comes spilling out at this point as I described above. I do not believe she is willfully wanting to wound him but this may be the result, however the more important aspect seems to be the coming clean with her story and clearing the air between the husband and wife for good.

And the husband, who has reached a saturation point in being badly treated, fights back to destroy her:

That would be realistic between couples, wouldn't it?

They are trying to destroy the other with points. And he probes to find out the extent of the relationship.

People do fight this way. They don't fight logically at times. Sometimes things are just blurted out and used as weapons, mental, emotional ammunition.

I assume "the whole hogger" means sexual intercourse. I know Janine hated him for using that word. But there is good justification for a brutal word. It's bringing the raw reality, in its most gritty realistic terms, into consciousness. It dispells all the dreamy illusions that the woman was under. I think that's the actual climax of the story. Notice how things change.

Yes, it is a pretty funny phrase, isn't it? I guess old-fashioned. I do think it means that and so he is being really blunt with her in an earthy way - referring to hog. I still get a little ruffled at his manor of asking. It is like a very good trigger word to set her off again or to wound her. You are right, however, that no matter how 'brutal' the words are they do act as the catalyst to bring out this 'raw reality' and the truth into their consciousness. I agree this defining moment is definitely the climax to the story. There is a definite shift right after this confrontation.

He shrinks and feels small. Why? I think he too realizes the reality. He too has been in an idealized fantasy, to think that his wife didn't exist before they met and have a life before him. Notice the exchange afterward:

True - they both were living this fantasy which was idealized and hide many truths of the past. Good point - he saw her as though she did not exist before he meet her and married her.

They have not been open from the beginning. And notice he now doesn't go beserk when she then tells him that she actually met him today. The worst has passed and now that they've finally been honest with each other they can move on.

I agree with all of this. I said a while back that they could finally be honest at this moment and therefore hopefully would be able to move on and make a go at their marriage.

"At last he had learned the width of the breech between them." "They were both shocked so much, they were impersonal, and no longer hated each other." They have passed through this catharitic experience, and so now they can start toward a real marriage.

I really particularly like the phrase "At last he had learned the width of the breech between them". To me it is better to know of the truth than to sense something is there and one can't get through to what it is that is keeping them appart. As it also states "and no longer hated each other". I think that phrase is key. Exactly - the have passed through a catharitic experience - you have the right words for what happened. I did not know how to word that and did not feel it was transfiguration at this point. Do you agree?

Despite some poorly written spots, a brilliant conclusion. A fine story.

Maybe so, but this is an early work. I do think this story is a fine one and better than we first thought it be - the more we discussed, the more complex the story revealed itself to be to us. That is marvelous! The conclusion is brilliant; yes. I loved the story, but then I love them all.

[Virgil]

Now that we got to the last of the story, there is an idea that had occured to me earlier but had not yet got to it, when we began to break the story up in sections.

As it has been discussed in detail before, there is an imporantce placed on plysical appereances within the story, as it is pointed out that both the husband and woman are attractive, and flattering words at the begining are used in description of them, but I had noticed at the end of this story this imagery shifts, and both the man and the woman become ugly.

Perhaps it is a reflection of how they come to see each other at this point. As the descritpions now used to talk about them, are rather unflattering.

And the thing I thought was interesting is that twice the woman is refered to as "squatting" as for me, this word does not bring very graceful or pretty imagery, but is awakard and unattractive, the word itself I think is kind of ugly.

Great observation DM. When I refered to places poorly wrtten, "ugily" is one of them. "Ugily" as an adverb is ugly. And I winced also at squatted. I couldn't quite picture that. Why would anyone squat on a bed? Ultimatly I pictured it as she pulling and holding her knees up to herself. But really that's not squatting. I don't know what to make of it. And yes they do turn ugly towards the end.

Definitely, I had said that before. I didn't see where any blame was put on anyone. She feels it is 'it' - the thing she put upon herself that she can't get loose or free of. This 'it' is keeping her marriage from working and developing, growing. The woman is quite aware the problem lies within herself. I think at this point she wants to reveal all to him. She wants to spill out all the things that have made up this yoke around her neck and clear the air. It is as though one brick came tumbling down from her past and now all the wall must come down as well. She willingly wants to confess her past to him.

Janine, she's still a b*t*h.

[Dark Muse]

Yes I had a hard time trying to picture just how she would squat upon the bed as it did seem a rather awkard pose for one to take.

[Janine]

Great observation DM. When I refered to places poorly wrtten, "ugily" is one of them. "Ugily" as an adverb is ugly. And I winced also at squatted. I couldn't quite picture that. Why would anyone squat on a bed? Ultimatly I pictured it as she pulling and holding her knees up to herself. But really that's not squatting. I don't know what to make of it. And yes they do turn ugly towards the end.


Janine, she's still a b*t*h.

Haha - gee, thanks for taking the time to address the rest of my post.