Quark's post:
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The story isn't only about the distance between people. It's also about Mrs. Bates misguided attempts to control her family. As Mrs. Bates realizes that she hadn't been fair to her husband she says, "She had denied him what he was--she saw it now. She had refused him as himself. And this had been her life, and his life. She was grateful to death, which had restored the truth". The story is also about Mrs. Bates lamenting her controlling nature. Remember that Mr. Bates dies trapped and suffocating, and that the doctor says, "seems as if it were dont o' purpose". The details of the death are given very minutely. It appears like Lawrence was intimating something. Perhaps, Mr. Bates death is an allusion to Mrs. Bates treatment of him--her rejection and chastisement of him.
Quark,This might add to your thoughts on Mrs. Bates; more commentary by Michael Black:
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"A large bony vine clutched at the house, as if to claw down the tiled roof. Round the brick yard grew a few wintry primroses. Beyond, the long garden sloped down to a bush-covered brook course. There were some twiggy apple trees, winter-crack trees, chrysanthemums, like pink cloths hung on bushes."
The hardness and bitterness of Elizabeth Bates, the central woman of the tale, is well led up to by this initial description. The story concerns the domestic situation of the Bates family and the strained and awkward relationship of the man and wife, although the husband never comes before us until he is dead, killed in a mining accident. The situation is simple enough, and the mining accident a stereotype of a thousand similar stories of mining villages, but Lawrence invests the situation with a deep and moving significance. In the first part of the tale the tension and harshness of the household is well built up as the rest of the family wait for the husband to return from work, but it is assumed that he has once more gone straight from work to the public house; in the second part the tone changes, with the tension switching to a different key as the husband's continued absence becomes more ominous. Eventually he is brought home dead, and the fact of his death throws into another perspective the lives of the man's wife and mother. The tone is perfectly caught, for the miner's death is not sentimentalised over; rather, the wife, Elizabeth, is made aware of the transitoriness of life and her own past error in allowing the ordinariness and mundaneness of her lot to stifle her feelings and demean her character. Now he is dead she realises with tragic immediacy the fact that he was different from her and different from her conception of him:
"Life with its smoky burning gone from him, had left him apart, and utterly alien to her. And she knew what a stranger he was to her. In her womb was ice of fear, because of this separate stranger with whom she had been living as one flesh. Was this what it all meant-utter, intact separateness, obscured by heat of living? In dread she turned her face away .... For as she looked at the dead man, her mind, cold and detached, said clearly: 'Who am I? What have I been doing? I have been fighting a husband who did not exist. He existed all the time. What wrong have I done...
Quark's post:
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It's not just in death that the married couple are separated. As Mrs. Bates concludes, "they had met in the dark and had fought in the dark, not knowing whom they met nor whom they fought. And now she saw, and turned silent in seeing. For she had been wrong. She had said he was something he was not; she had felt familiar with him. Whereas he was apart all the while, living as she never lived, feeling as she never felt". Mrs. Bates believes they were separated during their lives. Notice she says they "had" met in the dark and he was apart "all the while". These words indicate that the distance between them was always there and that she hadn't been aware of it. Death isn't another state; it's only the means through which Mrs. Bates can finally understand her husband. When Mr. Bates is dead, she can no longer silence his will to be his own person--he becomes "inviolable". The fire and heat that Mrs. Bates desires is only an illusion. In her moment of clarity at the end she asks herself, "Was this what it all meant--utter, intact, seperateness, obscured by the hear of living?". That may be an overstatement, but I think we have to agree with her somewhat.
Quark,more commentary by Michael Black:
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The passage below is interesting, not only in that it shows Lawrence's own awareness of the fact of death, but also in its effect in the story as a whole. The 'ice of fear' in her 'womb' (a word so annoying to some readers of Lawrence, not always without cause) here is effectually used to cast the reader's mind back to a previous scene where the contrast of life and death, and the meanness of the woman in her 'death-in-life', is well shown when, as she reaches up to light the lamp, her daughter remarks at the chrysanthemums which she had earlier placed in her apron-band. The parallel between her wearing the flowers and her pregnancy is symbolic of life:
As she reached up, her figure displayed itself just rounding with maternity.
'Oh, mother- l' exclaimed the girl.
'What?' said the woman, suspended in the act of putting the lamp-glass over the flame. The copper reflector shone handsomely on her, as she stood with uplifted arm, turning to face her daughter.
'You've got a flower in your apron!' said the child, in a little rapture at this unusual event.
'Goodness me l' exclaimed the woman, relieved. 'One would have thought the house was afire.' she replaced the glass and waited a moment before turning up the wick. A pale shadow was seen floating vaguely on the floor.
'Let me smell!' said the child, still rapturously, coming forward and putting her face to her mother's waist.
'Go along, silly l' said the mother, turning up the lamp. The light revealed their suspense so that the woman found it almost unbearable. Annie was still bending at her waist. Irritably, the mother took the flowers out from her apron-band.
'Oh, mother-don't take them out!' Annie cried, catching her hand and trying to replace the sprig.
'Such nonsense!' said the mother, turning away.
The symbolism of the scene is wonderfully suggestive of the child's delight in life and the mother's dismissal of it, and it is remarkable that the symbolism Lawrence is employing here to parallel the flowers and the woman's pregnancy is typical of the symbolism of many English folk songs, such as 'The Seeds of Love'; Lawrence may well have been writing consciously or unconsciously in a folk-convention at this point. (It is not out of place to remind ourselves that Lawrence is one of the first writers in English of truly working-class origins.) However, Lawrence is not perfect in his handling of this scene, for although it is beautifully formed as it is quoted above, its effect is slightly spoilt by the way in which one aspect of its significance is hammered home in the next few lines, in which the woman's conscious antipathy to the flowers is shown:
'It was chrysanthemums when I married him, and chrysanthemums when you were born, and the first time they ever brought him home drunk, he'd got brown chrysanthemums in his button-hole.' p. 289
As I was reading the story earlier, I highlighted some parts of the text and this 'ice' word in the text caught my eye particularly and in conjunction with the unborn child. I thought Michael Black's commentary on it was interesting.