Quote by Dark Muse (earlier)
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When I read this, it made it seem as if Hilda herself was like a flower when she entered the field. It made me think of a wilting flower.
DM, I like the way you put this. I think that Lawrence prominetnly identified people as flowers so this goes right along with his idea of a blossoming; in this case Hilda is wilting.
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Originally Posted by
Nossa
I'm behind as usual, but I'll try to catch up a bit :D
Nossa, glad to see you here again. I haven't been feeling well, so I fell a little behind, also. No problem really; we are moving along slowly with the text. I will try and post more today. So far I think we have had some great comments and discussion and we have all brought out good points about the story and the 'power struggles' here; these are often seen in Lawrence's work - more on that later.
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I have to say, I also didn't notice the fact that the baker was the father :blush: That's why my first reaction towards him was anger at how he treated Hilda and I think in a previous post I even called him an insensitive brute..lol. Now that things are clear I can understand his attitude better.
Did it ever occur to anyone that maybe he is feeling asahmed as well? It shows in how he treated Hilda and how he asked about Emma without even saying her name. Maybe he's not sad or frustrated (cuz Emma left), maybe he's just as ashamed.
So funny, that most of us did not realise he was the father. I hope we don't discover it was someone else, but I doubt it is. I do think in the beginning of the story, Lawrence wants us to merely wonder about him because only until later on nearer the end of the story does he blantantly reveal his role in the family's shame. I think by revealing it in the little song by the brother is more shocking or surprising to us, and brings the whole story together full-circle.
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That's actually what I meant. The two women affirm the male domination of that time, while in the Rowbotham household, the situation is a bit different. The father is a weak character, and his daughters are taking control (either Hilda as being the educated woman in the family, or Berta as being the one who's taking care of things at home).
Yes, that does set up a good contrast. Your last statement would be somewhat representative of Lawrence's own disfunctional household. His father drank and so eventually declined with the fact his wife was quite overbearing and dominent. The marriage began with his dominence buy then the man simply faded into the background much like this man is doing. Sad, isn't it? It is a whole reversal of the male/female dominence factor and this is why I said above a 'power struggle'.
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I personally think the torture was essentially out of her feeling of shame. I agree that she probably felt that everyone was watching her and judging her and her family cuz of what her sister did. I also agree that in such a society, a whole family feels the shame of the mistake of one person, as the rest of the community blames them for 'letting it happen'.
Definitely. I would agree with all of this. Even today people might feel some shame - depends on your family and how they would accept this. People still gossip too but back then the gossip would probably be more prominent and hurtful/damaging to those it is directed towards.
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I'll have to think more about the significance of the red moon and the repitition of the color white in the paragraph. But I did like how Lawrence described the countryside. How he contrasted the beauty and peacefullness of the outside world, to the trembling, shameful inside of Hilda.
I think this is common with Lawrence's writing style. His style does set up a kind of natual rhythm which flows nicely. He does connect the characters closely to the landscape around them and one feels his own closeness to nature and how he perceived each natural element and then saw it all as a whole....interconnected....
and Nossa, I like your last statement - that makes a lot of sense to me. He also shows briefly the industrial world infringing slowly on the natural world. The smoke of the collery may also be connected with the shame in someway in Lawrence's mind and that is why he is showing the white bag so prominently. Hilda herself is a contrast of elements - black and white. The smoke in also representative of the way in which the poor father has laboured in order to provide the fine house they all now live in. Now Hilda labours at her job and in poor health to hold the family together.
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I totally agree. This is more like the microcosm and macrocosm relationship, where Nature reflects the human feeling. Great point!
I do think both the red moon and the flamingo go along with the flush on Hilda face, it's as if nature itself is sympathying with Hilda's feeling and shame.
Yes, exactly! This is a good observation - the way you phrased it...."sympahizing with Hilda's feelings and shame" - interesting; I agree with that thought.
I'll re-read this part again. There's more to it than what was said, that's for sure.[/QUOTE]
I agree; it is always that way with Lawrence's work; this is why these stories now fascinate me so. Lawrence has a lot of subtext going on - one must read between the lines to see more significance and the individual words and phrases and images are vital to the story; often they reappear later in the same story, which is interesting.
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Originally Posted by
Quark
Yeah, I agree. The baker is more interested in getting rid of Hilda than confronting or arguing with her. That makes it seem more like shame than anything else. He can't even look at Hilda when he's talking to her. Lawrence says that he speaks his words more toward the inanimate objects around him than toward the person he's speaking to. His averted gaze and his short, eliptical expressions make it seem like he's more embarrassed than anything else. Good point, Nossa.
I like what you wrote about the baker here; I agee and what you say is very observant, Quark. Perhaps he is more ashamed than anyone.
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What do you make of the conclusion, though? There the two daughters cringe under the power of the father's voice. Why does Lawrence give him this power?
Not sure yet, maybe wait until we get to it. I think that often Lawrence does this flip-flopping back and forth with male/female dominence. Haven't we seem it before in other stories? Even the last one we did 'Old Adam'...remember how that ended, with the wife being more subserviant to the men
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I'd like to get into that, too, but I don't know as if we've gotten to it yet. I may have moved us too far ahead when I brought it up.
Maybe wait till we get to that part.
I just came in here and edited. It does not seem that we discussed this paragraph which I earlier posted.
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Across the field, and she was at home. It was a new, substantial cottage, built with unstinted hand, such a house as an old miner could build himself out of his savings. In the rather small kitchen a woman of dark, saturnine complexion sat nursing a baby in a long white gown; a young woman of heavy, brutal cast stood at the table, cutting bread and butter. She had a downcast, humble mien that sat unnaturally on her, and was strangely irritating. She did not look round when her sister entered. Hilda put down the bag of cakes and left the room, not having spoken to Emma, nor to the baby, not to Mrs Carlin, who had come in to help for the afternoon.
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Here is the next part of the text:
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Almost immediately the father entered from the yard with a dustpan full of coals. He was a large man, but he was going to pieces. As he passed through, he gripped the door with his free hand to steady himself, but turning, he lurched and swayed. He began putting the coals on the fire, piece by piece. One lump fell from his hand and smashed on the white hearth. Emma Rowbotham looked round, and began in a rough, loud voice of anger: "Look at you!" Then she consciously moderated her tones. "I'll sweep it up in a minute--don't you bother; you'll only be going head first into the fire."
Her father bent down nevertheless to clear up the mess he had made, saying, articulating his words loosely and slavering in his speech:
"The lousy bit of a thing, it slipped between my fingers like a fish."
As he spoke he went tilting towards the fire. The dark-browed woman cried out: he put his hand on the hot stove to save himself: Emma swung round and dragged him off.
"Didn't I tell you!" she cried roughly. "Now, have you burnt yourself?"
She held tight hold of the big man, and pushed him into his chair.
"What's the matter?" cried a sharp voice from the other room. The speaker appeared, a hard well-favoured woman of twenty-eight. "Emma, don't speak like that to father." Then, in a tone not so cold, but just as sharp: "Now, father, what have you been doing?"
Emma withdrew to her table sullenly.
"It's nöwt," said the old man, vainly protesting. "It's nöwt, at a'. Get on wi' what you're doin'."
"I'm afraid 'e's burnt 'is 'and," said the black-browed woman, speaking of him with a kind of hard pity, as if he were a cumbersome child. Bertha took the old man's hand and looked at it, making a quick tut-tutting noise of impatience.
"Emma, get that zinc ointment--and some white rag," she commanded sharply. The younger sister put down her loaf with the knife in it, and went.
To a sensitive observer, this obedience was more intolerable than the most hateful discord. The dark woman bent over the baby and made silent, gentle movements of motherliness to it. The little one smiled and moved on her lap. It continued to move and twist.
I don't know quite why but I found this line rather curious:
"To a sensitive observer, this obedience was more intolerable than the most hateful discord."
Any thoughts on that line, anyone?
