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That is ok, even your simplist comments are fine now and then. :lol:I didn't meant imply that were 'simple' ;)..haha....Quote:
Originally Posted by Quark
So, Quark, how was your holidays with family and friends. I hope you had a relaxing time off from work and school.
Good, the last thing I need is more work right now. I have a new class to teach semester, and I'm a little buried with preperations.Quote:
Originally Posted by Janine
Oh, warm and fuzzy as usual. What about you? Did all your decorating come off without a hitch?Quote:
Originally Posted by Janine
I can well understand that. Will we do another Chekhov a few months from now then? That would be fine with me. I need a rest right now in a dire way. BTW, did you get to listen to any of the CD's I send you? "In the Ravine" I thought was quite good but I can't really take that on this month.Quote:
Originally Posted by Quark
Glad to hear it. No, actually we did no decorating here. We had huge family crisis and we have problems to solve. It just was sort of a lost Christmas, but hey, there is always next year, right? We did go to my son's and saw the baby most of Christmas day. That part was uplifting. Dinner was nice, too.Quote:
Oh, warm and fuzzy as usual. What about you? Did all your decorating come off without a hitch?
Ready for the next section. Here it is.
I guess there are three points I'd like to make on this section.Quote:
When they were alone, Romero turned and looked at her curiously, in a way she could not understand, with such a hard glint in his eyes. And for the first time she wondered if she was rash.
"I hope you don't mind going alone with me," she said.
"If you want it," he replied.
They emerged at the foot of the great bare slope of rocky summit, where dead spruce trees stood sparse and bristling like bristles on a grey dead hog. Romero said the Mexicans, twenty years back, had fired the mountains, to drive out the whites. This grey concave slope of summit was corpse-like.
The trail was almost invisible. Romero watched for the trees which the Forest Service had blazed. And they climbed the stark corpse slope, among dead spruce, fallen and ash-grey, into the wind. The wind came rushing from the west, up the funnel of the canyon, from the desert. And there was the desert, like a vast mirage tilting slowly upwards towards the west, immense and pallid, away beyond the funnel of the canyon. The Princess could hardly look.
For an hour their horses rushed the slope, hastening with a great working of the haunches upwards, and halting to breathe, scrambling again, and rowing their way up length by length, on the livid, slanting wall. While the wind blew like some vast machine.
After an hour they were working their way on the incline, no longer forcing straight up. All was grey and dead around them; the horses picked their way over the silver-grey corpses of the spruce. But they were near the top, near the ridge.
Even the horses made a rush for the last bit. They had worked round to a scrap of spruce forest near the very top. They hurried in, out of the huge, monstrous, mechanical wind, that whistled inhumanly and was palely cold. So, stepping through the dark screen of trees, they emerged over the crest.
In front now was nothing but mountains, ponderous, massive, down-sitting mountains, in a huge and intricate knot, empty of life or soul. Under the bristling black feathers of spruce near-by lay patches of white snow. The lifeless valleys were concaves of rock and spruce, the rounded summits and the hog-backed summits of grey rock crowded one behind the other like some monstrous herd in arrest.
It frightened the Princess, it was so inhuman. She had not thought it could be so inhuman, so, as it were, anti-life. And yet now one of her desires was fulfilled. She had seen it, the massive, gruesome, repellent core of the Rockies. She saw it there beneath her eyes, in its gigantic, heavy gruesomeness.
And she wanted to go back. At this moment she wanted to turn back. She had looked down into the intestinal knot of these mountains. She was frightened. She wanted to go back.
But Romero was riding on, on the lee side of the spruce forest, above the concaves of the inner mountains. He turned round to her and pointed at the slope with a dark hand.
"Here a miner has been trying for gold," he said. It was a grey scratched-out heap near a hole--like a great badger hole. And it looked quite fresh.
"Quite lately?" said the Princess.
"No, long ago--twenty, thirty years." He had reined in his horse and was looking at the mountains. "Look!" he said. "There goes the Forest Service trail--along those ridges, on the top, way over there till it comes to Lucytown, where is the Goverment road. We go down there--no trail--see behind that mountain--you see the top, no trees, and some grass?"
His arm was lifted, his brown hand pointing, his dark eyes piercing into the distance, as he sat on his black horse twisting round to her. Strange and ominous, only the demon of himself, he seemed to her. She was dazed and a little sick, at that height, and she could not see any more. Only she saw an eagle turning in the air beyond, and the light from the west showed the pattern on him underneath.
"Shall I ever be able to go so far?" asked the Princess faintly, petulantly.
"Oh yes! All easy now. No more hard places."
They worked along the ridge, up and down, keeping on the lee side, the inner side, in the dark shadow. It was cold. Then the trail laddered up again, and they emerged on a narrow ridge-track, with the mountain slipping away enormously on either side. The Princess was afraid. For one moment she looked out, and saw the desert, the desert ridges, more desert, more blue ridges, shining pale and very vast, far below, vastly palely tilting to the western horizon. It was ethereal and terrifying in its gleaming, pale, half-burnished immensity, tilted at the west. She could not bear it. To the left was the ponderous, involved mass of mountains all kneeling heavily.
She closed her eyes and let her consciousness evaporate away. The mare followed the trail. So on and on, in the wind again.
They turned their backs to the wind, facing inwards to the mountains. She thought they had left the trail; it was quite invisible.
"No," he said, lifting his hand and pointing. "Don't you see the blazed trees?"
And making an effort of consciousness, she was able to perceive on a pale-grey dead spruce stem the old marks where an axe had chipped a piece away. But with the height, the cold, the wind, her brain was numb.
They turned again and began to descend; he told her they had left the trail. The horses slithered in the loose stones, picking their way downward. It was afternoon, the sun stood obtrusive and gleaming in the lower heavens--about four o'clock. The horses went steadily, slowly, but obstinately onwards. The air was getting colder. They were in among the lumpish peaks and steep concave valleys. She was barely conscious at all of Romero.
He dismounted and came to help her from her saddle. She tottered, but would not betray her feebleness.
"We must slide down here," he said. "I can lead the horses."
They were on a ridge, and facing a steep bare slope of pallid, tawny mountain grass on which the western sun shone full. It was steep and concave. The Princess felt she might start slipping, and go down like a toboggan into the great hollow.
But she pulled herself together. Her eye blazed up again with excitement and determination. A wind rushed past her; she could hear the shriek of spruce trees far below. Bright spots came on her cheeks as her hair blew across. She looked a wild, fairy-like little thing.
"No," she said. "I will take my horse."
"Then mind she doesn't slip down on top of you," said Romero. And away he went, nimbly dropping down the pale, steep incline, making from rock to rock, down the grass, and following any little slanting groove. His horse hopped and slithered after him, and sometimes stopped dead, with forefeet pressed back, refusing to go farther. He, below his horse, looked up and pulled the reins gently, and encouraged the creature. Then the horse once more dropped his forefeet with a jerk, and the descent continued.
The Princess set off in blind, reckless pursuit, tottering and yet nimble. And Romero, looking constantly back to see how she was faring, saw her fluttering down like some queer little bird, her orange breeches twinkling like the legs of some duck, and her head, tied in the blue and buff kerchief, bound round and round like the head of some blue-topped bird. The sorrel mare rocked and slipped behind her. But down came the Princess in a reckless intensity, a tiny, vivid spot on the great hollow flank of the tawny mountain. So tiny! Tiny as a frail bird's egg. It made Romero's mind go blank with wonder.
But they had to get down, out of that cold and dragging wind. The spruce trees stood below, where a tiny stream emerged in stones. Away plunged Romero, zigzagging down. And away behind, up the slope, fluttered the tiny, bright-coloured Princess, holding the end of the long reins, and leading the lumbering, four-footed, sliding mare.
1. We see Romero say these words again:
:lol: I get a kick out of that. I would love to see this in a video version. Notice it's only the first time she finally feels the inpropriety of the situation. She was naive, and still is as we shall see.Quote:
When they were alone, Romero turned and looked at her curiously, in a way she could not understand, with such a hard glint in his eyes. And for the first time she wondered if she was rash.
"I hope you don't mind going alone with me," she said.
"If you want it," he replied.
2. The landscape suddenly is associated with death: "This grey concave slope of summit was corpse-like." and
This is very interesting because I think it associates with my point number three, which I'll make here.Quote:
The trail was almost invisible. Romero watched for the trees which the Forest Service had blazed. And they climbed the stark corpse slope, among dead spruce, fallen and ash-grey, into the wind. The wind came rushing from the west, up the funnel of the canyon, from the desert. And there was the desert, like a vast mirage tilting slowly upwards towards the west, immense and pallid, away beyond the funnel of the canyon. The Princess could hardly look.
3. I think this is the most important part of the story, when they reach the top of that ridge:
I think she is looking into the heart of eternity, " a huge, intricate knot." A knot I think symbolizes infinity and the mystery of ununderstandable deism, a deism of nature and of whatever deity runs through it. And her reaction is...Quote:
In front now was nothing but mountains, ponderous, massive, down-sitting mountains, in a huge and intricate knot, empty of life or soul. Under the bristling black feathers of spruce near-by lay patches of white snow. The lifeless valleys were concaves of rock and spruce, the rounded summits and the hog-backed summits of grey rock crowded one behind the other like some monstrous herd in arrest.
Notice the several layers of life we have seen in this story so far. We have seen Dollie, a woman witha strong will, Romero, a man who does not seem to exert his will, we have seen their horses, whch are animals that bend their will to people's will, we have seen those yellow flowers that have no will other than to exist, and now we see infinte nature with a deism with no will, actually a vacuum of will. Dollie cannot understand this mystery. Actually even the horses cannot stand the mystery:Quote:
It frightened the Princess, it was so inhuman. She had not thought it could be so inhuman, so, as it were, anti-life. And yet now one of her desires was fulfilled. She had seen it, the massive, gruesome, repellent core of the Rockies. She saw it there beneath her eyes, in its gigantic, heavy gruesomeness.
And when she gets to the crest she repels from the mystery:Quote:
Even the horses made a rush for the last bit. They had worked round to a scrap of spruce forest near the very top. They hurried in, out of the huge, monstrous, mechanical wind, that whistled inhumanly and was palely cold. So, stepping through the dark screen of trees, they emerged over the crest.
She has been naive. All she wants to do is see nature, but when the spiritual myserty of it is in front of her, she panics and wants to run away from it. Notice how comfortable Romero is with it.Quote:
In front now was nothing but mountains, ponderous, massive, down-sitting mountains, in a huge and intricate knot, empty of life or soul. Under the bristling black feathers of spruce near-by lay patches of white snow. The lifeless valleys were concaves of rock and spruce, the rounded summits and the hog-backed summits of grey rock crowded one behind the other like some monstrous herd in arrest.
It frightened the Princess, it was so inhuman. She had not thought it could be so inhuman, so, as it were, anti-life. And yet now one of her desires was fulfilled. She had seen it, the massive, gruesome, repellent core of the Rockies. She saw it there beneath her eyes, in its gigantic, heavy gruesomeness.
And she wanted to go back. At this moment she wanted to turn back. She had looked down into the intestinal knot of these mountains. She was frightened. She wanted to go back.
"Not long ago--twenty, thirty years." What's 20 or 30 years when one is comfortable with eternity.Quote:
But Romero was riding on, on the lee side of the spruce forest, above the concaves of the inner mountains. He turned round to her and pointed at the slope with a dark hand.
"Here a miner has been trying for gold," he said. It was a grey scratched-out heap near a hole--like a great badger hole. And it looked quite fresh.
"Quite lately?" said the Princess.
"No, long ago--twenty, thirty years." He had reined in his horse and was looking at the mountains. "Look!" he said. "There goes the Forest Service trail--along those ridges, on the top, way over there till it comes to Lucytown, where is the Goverment road. We go down there--no trail--see behind that mountain--you see the top, no trees, and some grass?"
And finally she reaches the religious climax of the moment:
Notice the mountains are in a "kneeling" position, a religious image. And she loses consciousness, perhaps almost becoming like the flowers, a lack of will. But she cannot handle it and will experience it, a moment of transfiguration. And she almost has that transifguration:Quote:
They worked along the ridge, up and down, keeping on the lee side, the inner side, in the dark shadow. It was cold. Then the trail laddered up again, and they emerged on a narrow ridge-track, with the mountain slipping away enormously on either side. The Princess was afraid. For one moment she looked out, and saw the desert, the desert ridges, more desert, more blue ridges, shining pale and very vast, far below, vastly palely tilting to the western horizon. It was ethereal and terrifying in its gleaming, pale, half-burnished immensity, tilted at the west. She could not bear it. To the left was the ponderous, involved mass of mountains all kneeling heavily.
She closed her eyes and let her consciousness evaporate away. The mare followed the trail. So on and on, in the wind again.
They turned their backs to the wind, facing inwards to the mountains. She thought they had left the trail; it was quite invisible.
"No," he said, lifting his hand and pointing. "Don't you see the blazed trees?"
And making an effort of consciousness, she was able to perceive on a pale-grey dead spruce stem the old marks where an axe had chipped a piece away. But with the height, the cold, the wind, her brain was numb.
That is almost a transfiguration (spots across her face and the look of a wild fairy), but in the next section (that I haven't posted yet) she will pull back from it.Quote:
But she pulled herself together. Her eye blazed up again with excitement and determination. A wind rushed past her; she could hear the shriek of spruce trees far below. Bright spots came on her cheeks as her hair blew across. She looked a wild, fairy-like little thing.
I read this all last night but was too tired to answer it. I guess we pretty much agree on all that you wrote here but maybe you are a tiny bit more set on her naivity than I am. I do however, agree she got to a point when she realised she had made the wrong decision to go and wanted to turn back or regretted it or got scared. I don't think one would have to be totally naive to feel that way but she certainly was naive in that she still was virginal, so she did not have a realistic notion of what she was in for, nor could she handle it at all.
Quote:
Originally Posted by Virgil
:lol: You are starting to sound like me. It is a shame they didn't make this one into a production. It would have been real interesting I think.Quote:
1. We see Romero say these words again:
:lol: I get a kick out of that. I would love to see this in a video version. Notice it's only the first time she finally feels the inpropriety of the situation. She was naive, and still is as we shall see.
Anyway, I would agree with your assessment here.
Yes, I agree and I think this is truly powerful and beautiful writing on L's part. The description of the mountains is truly awesome. They do evoke this feeling of a corpse, cold death.Quote:
2. The landscape suddenly is associated with death: "This grey concave slope of summit was corpse-like." and
This is very interesting because I think it associates with my point number three, which I'll make here.
Yes, that is excellent and a good observation on your part. I like that part about a "huge, intricate knot"...what an intriguing visual symbol. So true knots do symbolize infinity and mystery. Don't they also suggest the union of a man and woman? The Princess rejects that idea - she does not desire the true union or the transfiguration it would bring to her life. I think this knot could be viewed in many perspectives here.Quote:
3. I think this is the most important part of the story, when they reach the top of that ridge:
I think she is looking into the heart of eternity, " a huge, intricate knot." A knot I think symbolizes infinity and the mystery of ununderstandable deism, a deism of nature and of whatever deity runs through it. And her reaction is...
Yes, 'will' is a big thing here and with subsequent works from this period for Lawrence. "Dollie cannot understand this mystery" - that is absolutely true - she can't comprehend it.Quote:
Notice the several layers of life we have seen in this story so far. We have seen Dollie, a woman witha strong will, Romero, a man who does not seem to exert his will, we have seen their horses, whch are animals that bend their will to people's will, we have seen those yellow flowers that have no will other than to exist, and now we see infinte nature with a deism with no will, actually a vacuum of will. Dollie cannot understand this mystery. Actually even the horses cannot stand the mystery:
Yes, they are quite opposites in demeanor and attitude here. 'Panic' is a good word. After that also I think she just shuts down any feeling she may have had towards Romero. He begins to show his will over her now. He is in his own turf; she can't touch him here - he is one with nature.Quote:
And when she gets to the crest she repels from the mystery:
She has been naive. All she wants to do is see nature, but when the spiritual myserty of it is in front of her, she panics and wants to run away from it. Notice how comfortable Romero is with it.
That is an interesting quote.Quote:
"Not long ago--twenty, thirty years." What's 20 or 30 years when one is comfortable with eternity.
Hadn't noticed that 'kneeling' but I may have and forgotten it. That is good. So you do think she has a 'moment of transfiguration' when she lacks 'will'?Quote:
And finally she reaches the religious climax of the moment:
Notice the mountains are in a "kneeling" position, a religious image. And she loses consciousness, perhaps almost becoming like the flowers, a lack of will. But she cannot handle it and will experience it, a moment of transfiguration. And she almost has that transifguration:
I agree. She retreats within herself; she pulls back from embracing it.Quote:
That is almost a transfiguration (spots across her face and the look of a wild fairy), but in the next section (that I haven't posted yet) she will pull back from it.
I do not know if I have much I can add to Virgil's comments. I was struck by how much bleaker the scene is starting to become now that she is going off alone to her fate with Romero. Compared to how it was before. It had started out as a rather pleasant trip winding through the canyon, but after the point of the accident of Miss Cummins, it is becoming much more ominous.
Haha, almost like in a horror story, when a family sets out on a trip together, and then their car breaks down, and everything goes bad from there.
But this passage really jumped out at me.
It seems to be the sum of The Princess' relations with Romero. The way she felt after the first time they were together, when she at first consented to it. How she was not moved by the experience, and it left her without desire to experience it again, she was unfulfilled by it.Quote:
It frightened the Princess, it was so inhuman. She had not thought it could be so inhuman, so, as it were, anti-life. And yet now one of her desires was fulfilled. She had seen it, the massive, gruesome, repellent core of the Rockies. She saw it there beneath her eyes, in its gigantic, heavy gruesomeness.
Now that she has reached the point of no-return so to speak, she no longer wants to continue. This is another reflection on her relations with Romero, after it was done, she wished it could be undone. She no longer wanted it, once she discovered just what it was.Quote:
And she wanted to go back. At this moment she wanted to turn back. She had looked down into the intestinal knot of these mountains. She was frightened. She wanted to go back
I loved this passage, and I think it does personify the Princess's actions to this point. Her going off with Romero, and her initial attraction or draw to him, had all been very reckless. She never really gave any forward thought to anything she did, but acted upon her initial whims and let them carry her.Quote:
The Princess set off in blind, reckless pursuit, tottering and yet nimble. And Romero, looking constantly back to see how she was faring, saw her fluttering down like some queer little bird, her orange breeches twinkling like the legs of some duck, and her head, tied in the blue and buff kerchief, bound round and round like the head of some blue-topped bird. The sorrel mare rocked and slipped behind her. But down came the Princess in a reckless intensity, a tiny, vivid spot on the great hollow flank of the tawny mountain. So tiny! Tiny as a frail bird's egg. It made Romero's mind go blank with wonder.
First time I read this story I felt exactly the same way when they got to these more bleak scenes; from then on things seemed darker and more cold, ominous. I agree with all the rest you wrote.Quote:
Originally Posted by Dark Muse
Yes, that is a good one, Dark Muse! Maybe Lawrence missed his calling and would have been good at horror, as well.Quote:
Haha, almost like in a horror story, when a family sets out on a trip together, and then their car breaks down, and everything goes bad from there.
I totally agree with you here. I wonder too if she was more than just desireless but really repulsed by both - the cold hard mountains and by the man's phallis; the whole act of sex itself.Quote:
But this passage really jumped out at me.
It seems to be the sum of The Princess' relations with Romero. The way she felt after the first time they were together, when she at first consented to it. How she was not moved by the experience, and it left her without desire to experience it again, she was unfulfilled by it.
Right. It seemed her pursuit mattered more to her than actually getting the experiences. She was quite determined and could not be diverted from her purpose to go.Quote:
Now that she has reached the point of no-return so to speak, she no longer wants to continue. This is another reflection on her relations with Romero, after it was done, she wished it could be undone. She no longer wanted it, once she discovered just what it was.
Definitely, 'reckless' and without real thought on the possible and probable consequences. Many people act this way, compulsively and so they don't realise the price they will pay in the end. For her, it was definitely a whim.Quote:
I loved this passage, and I think it does personify the Princess's actions to this point. Her going off with Romero, and her initial attraction or draw to him, had all been very reckless. She never really gave any forward thought to anything she did, but acted upon her initial whims and let them carry her.
I think the problem lies with Lawrence. I don't think Lawrence was clear within himself on this story. What I think happened was that he intuitively would have liked Dollie to be transfigured, but his linking her with Brett (the person the character is based on) made him ambivilent and so he mixed it up somewhat. Plus I don't think Lawrence ever truely figured out how to make a character fail in an attempt for transfiguration. His great works all have characters reach a transfiguration or at least an epiphany. These stories like this I think fall short of being great. One should compare this story with "The Woman Who Rode Away" and see how Lawrence handles that woman's journey of events.Quote:
Originally Posted by Janine
;) This story would make a great short film. It's so visual.Quote:
:lol: You are starting to sound like me. It is a shame they didn't make this one into a production. It would have been real interesting I think.
Anyway, I would agree with your assessment here.
The knot is a fabulous symbol. Too bad Lawrence doesn't use it elsewhere, at least that I'm aware of. If you ever find Lawrenceusing the knot symbol somewhere, please point it out to me, I would be very interested. It's so good I may have to steal it one day. ;)Quote:
Yes, that is excellent and a good observation on your part. I like that part about a "huge, intricate knot"...what an intriguing visual symbol. So true knots do symbolize infinity and mystery. Don't they also suggest the union of a man and woman? The Princess rejects that idea - she does not desire the true union or the transfiguration it would bring to her life. I think this knot could be viewed in many perspectives here.
This is where I think Lawrence fails. I don't think he wants her to have a transfiguration, but he needs to have her come close to one and retract. It's too fine a balance that i don't think Lawrence successfully caries off. just my opinion.Quote:
Hadn't noticed that 'kneeling' but I may have and forgotten it. That is good. So you do think she has a 'moment of transfiguration' when she lacks 'will'?
Actually I had never picked that up before until I posted this section. I didn't realize the corpse and dying around them, even though i must have read this story ten times. It's amazing what we pick up while going through a story tis way. :)Quote:
Originally Posted by Dark Muse
That's a fabulous analogy. You're right. One day Muse you have to read "The Woman Who Rode Away." Even more of a horror story. Almost something Poe could have written.Quote:
Haha, almost like in a horror story, when a family sets out on a trip together, and then their car breaks down, and everything goes bad from there.
Yes that is exactly right, and I think your word "unfulfilled" is the perfect word, the one I think Lawrence would have used.Quote:
It seems to be the sum of The Princess' relations with Romero. The way she felt after the first time they were together, when she at first consented to it. How she was not moved by the experience, and it left her without desire to experience it again, she was unfulfilled by it.
Lots of excellent passages. I liked that one too. :)Quote:
I loved this passage, and I think it does personify the Princess's actions to this point. Her going off with Romero, and her initial attraction or draw to him, had all been very reckless. She never really gave any forward thought to anything she did, but acted upon her initial whims and let them carry her.
I will have to see if that one is within one of the volumes of stories I haveQuote:
Originally Posted by Virgil
Yes, there were so many wonderful and vivid passages, full of some really intersting words and discriptions, and all so symbolic of Romero and the Princess. This was a very well crafted story.Quote:
Originally Posted by Virgil
I too did not pick up how much the physical enviroment reflected on the events within the story until reviewing it over.
See just my point, in taking it slowly and dissecting a story - one notices so much more. I am just a hopeless story dissector! :lol:
Will answer the rest tomorrow...too tired out now.
Yes, you're quite right Janine. I admit it now. :) It does take forever, but it's worth it.Quote:
Originally Posted by Janine
Finally agree....OK! :DQuote:
Originally Posted by Virgil
Looking over the previous posts, I don't think I have much to add. You guys have documented the psychodrama pretty well here. The princess is struggling to sate her curiosity while simultaneously keeping distance. Given how much Lawrence we've all read, I guess it goes without saying what L would think of this.
Oh, and Janine I did listen to the CDs. I can see why you were opting for "The Trousseau" earlier in the C thread. Brannagh does a great narration for that story.
Thanks, Quark, that is quite complimentary for all of us. We been disecting this one thoroughly. We also took more time to do so, which is good. It was a long story.Quote:
Originally Posted by Quark
Yes, I well know what Lawrence would think of Dolly, but then again, he was friends with the real woman the story was based on. I think although there existed tension between she and his wife Frieda, L still got on ok with her as a friend, in the end. That was an odd group out there in New Mexico.
Oh, glad you liked them and especially that one. I thought that was the very best. I could just imagine that house and approaching that yard. I liked his narration very well, too. I like all his narrations that I own. Only one I would complain about is the DVD of 'Midsummer Night's Dream'. but that is not his fault. The orchestra is louder than his recitations between. I have to keep adjusting the volumes. That was an engineering error, I am sure and people on Amazon, also complained about it. Maybe we can discuss 'The Trousseau' in the C thread; what do you think? I liked them all; I should relisten to them all again soon. I enjoy these audiofiles so much. I am sending the same set to Virgil tomorrow. He injoys audiobooks, too.Quote:
Oh, and Janine I did listen to the CDs. I can see why you were opting for "The Trousseau" earlier in the C thread. Brannagh does a great narration for that story.
I didn't know she was based on Frieda. Given the little I know about her, I suppose that makes sense.Quote:
Originally Posted by Janine
I don't think we're going to be discussing any stories in the C thread for a while. School will start again soon, and I probably won't be able to try another story until I hit my stride somewhere mid-semester.Quote:
Originally Posted by Janine
No, you read me wrong; Dolly is based on Dorothy Brett; go back a page or so and you can see a photo of her when she was young. She and L's wife, Freida, clashed bigtime.Quote:
Originally Posted by Quark
That's ok, Quark, whenever you are ready. Maybe I will post some Chekhov photos or something in there in the meantime just to keep the thread active. I also saw a video on Youtube with excerpts from 'Ivanov' (even though that is a play) and an interesting interview segment on the play in the West End, London. I can post that link. Remember I posted the poster; Branagh plays Ivanov?Quote:
I don't think we're going to be discussing any stories in the C thread for a while. School will start again soon, and I probably won't be able to try another story until I hit my stride somewhere mid-semester.
Ah, I see now.Quote:
Originally Posted by Janine
Yeah, some multimedia in that thread would be good. I'm always trying to introduce photos, paintings, and whatnot to break things up a bit.Quote:
Originally Posted by Janine
You guys must be ready for the next section. I'll post tonight. :)
Good, then you saw the photos....Quote:
Originally Posted by Quark
Great, Quark, then I will come up with somethings this month and next, just to keep the thread active. I love pictures to inhance the site, too. That adds interest. You always do a good job posting them. Maybe you can add some from now and then, in your slow periods, between teaching and schooling.Quote:
Yeah, some multimedia in that thread would be good. I'm always trying to introduce photos, paintings, and whatnot to break things up a bit.
Yes, Virgil, I think we are ready for the next section,... whenever is fine...
posted twice by accident...oops...don't mind me...
Hey...Virgil, did you forget about the story again? I was hoping we could get to the next section soon.
:blush: :blush: Yeah I did. Ok hold on. In a few hours.
You sure have been forgetful this month....:rolleyes:Quote:
Originally Posted by Virgil
Ok, the senile one is finally going to post the next section. :D
First, there seems to be a lot of alternating light and shadow in this section. Not sure if there is any significance to it.Quote:
At last they were down. Romero sat in the sun, below the wind, beside some squaw-berry bushes. The Princess came near, the colour flaming in her cheeks, her eyes dark blue, much darker than the kerchief on her head, and glowing unnaturally.
"We make it," said Romero.
"Yes," said the Princess, dropping the reins and subsiding on to the grass, unable to speak, unable to think.
But, thank heaven, they were out of the wind and in the sun.
In a few minutes her consciousness and her control began to come back. She drank a little water. Romero was attending to the saddles. Then they set off again, leading the horses still a little farther down the tiny stream-bed. Then they could mount.
They rode down a bank and into a valley grove dense with aspens. Winding through the thin, crowding, pale-smooth stems, the sun shone flickering beyond them, and the disc-like aspen leaves, waving queer mechanical signals, seemed to be splashing the gold light before her eyes. She rode on in a splashing dazzle of gold.
Then they entered shadow and the dark, resinous spruce trees. The fierce boughs always wanted to sweep her off her horse. She had to twist and squirm past.
But there was a semblance of an old trail. And all at once they emerged in the sun on the edge of the spruce grove, and there was a little cabin, and the bottom of a small, naked valley with grey rock and heaps of stones, and a round pool of intense green water, dark green. The sun was just about to leave it.
Indeed, as she stood, the shadow came over the cabin and over herself; they were in the lower gloom, a twilight. Above, the heights still blazed.
It was a little hole of a cabin, near the spruce trees, with an earthen floor and an unhinged door. There was a wooden bed-bunk, three old sawn-off log-lengths to sit on as stools, and a sort of fireplace; no room for anything else. The little hole would hardly contain two people. The roof had gone--but Romero had laid on thick spruce boughs.
The strange squalor of the primitive forest pervaded the place, the squalor of animals and their droppings, the squalor of the wild. The Princess knew the peculiar repulsiveness of it. She was tired and faint.
Romero hastily got a handful of twigs, set a little fire going in the stove grate, and went out to attend to the horses. The Princess vaguely, mechanically, put sticks on the fire, in a sort of stupor, watching the blaze, stupefied and fascinated. She could not make much fire--it would set the whole cabin alight. And smoke oozed out of the dilapidated mud-and-stone chimney.
When Romero came in with the saddle-pouches and saddles, hanging the saddles on the wall, there sat the little Princess on her stump of wood in front of the dilapidated fire-grate, warming her tiny hands at the blaze, while her oranges breeches glowed almost like another fire. She was in a sort of stupor.
"You have some whisky now, or some tea? Or wait for some soup?" he asked.
She rose and looked at him with bright, dazed eyes, half comprehending; the colour glowing hectic in her cheeks.
"Some tea," she said, "with a little whisky in it. Where's the kettle?"
"Wait," he said. "I'll bring the things."
She took her cloak from the back of her saddle, and followed him into the open. It was a deep cup of shadow. But above the sky was still shining, and the heights of the mountains were blazing with aspen like fire blazing.
Their horses were cropping the grass among the stones. Romero clambered up a heap of grey stones and began lifting away logs and rocks, till he had opened the mouth of one of the miner's little old workings. This was his cache. He brought out bundles of blankets, pans for cooking, a little petrol camp-stove, an axe, the regular camp outfit. He seemed so quick and energetic and full of force. This quick force dismayed the Princess a little.
She took a saucepan and went down the stones to the water. It was very still and mysterious, and of a deep green colour, yet pure, transparent as glass. How cold the place was! How mysterious and fearful.
She crouched in her dark cloak by the water, rinsing the saucepan, feeling the cold heavy above her, the shadow like a vast weight upon her, bowing her down. The sun was leaving the mountain-tops, departing, leaving her under profound shadow. Soon it would crush her down completely.
Sparks? Or eyes looking at her across the water? She gazed, hypnotised. And with her sharp eyes she made out in the dusk the pale form of a bob-cat crouching by the water's edge, pale as the stones among which it crouched, opposite. And it was watching her with cold, electric eyes of strange intentness, a sort of cold, icy wonder and fearlessness. She saw its museau pushed forward, its tufted ears pricking intensely up. It was watching her with cold, animal curiosity, something demonish and conscienceless.
She made a swift movement, spilling her water. And in a flash the creature was gone, leaping like a cat that is escaping; but strange and soft in its motion, with its little bob-tail. Rather fascinating. Yet that cold, intent, demonish watching! She shivered with cold and fear. She knew well enough the dread and repulsiveness of the wild.
Romero carried in the bundles of bedding and the camp outfit. The windowless cabin was already dark inside. He lit a lantern, and then went out again with the axe. She heard him chopping wood as she fed sticks to the fire under her water. When he came in with an armful of oak-scrub faggots, she had just thrown the tea into the water.
Just a couple of interesting points in this section. One, the cabin is not much of a cabin. Apparently it has a hole in the roof, so this is practically primitive. I think that's Lawrence's point, to bring these two to a primitive essential.
Another point is highlighted with this:
Agan this shows how naive she was. What did she think the primitive forest was going to be like? And if she wanted to go and see wild animals, did she not think they would have droppings. :lol:Quote:
The strange squalor of the primitive forest pervaded the place, the squalor of animals and their droppings, the squalor of the wild. The Princess knew the peculiar repulsiveness of it. She was tired and faint.
Next, the Princess seems to be completely disoriented. She is "tired and faint" and seems to be in a "stupor" and crouching " in her dark cloak by the water, rinsing the saucepan, feeling the cold heavy above her, the shadow like a vast weight upon her, bowing her down." She is in a environment that is beyond her will to control and she cannot cope.
Finally she sees that wild animal that she came to search out:
And once she sees it, what happens? She recoils. That last sentence actualy disturbs me: "She knew well enough the dread and repulsiveness of the wild." It kind of undermines the whole reason she pushed to go into the wild. How can "she know well enough"? She didn't seem to at the beginning of the story. There are a few details like that which make me wonder if Lawrence was really concentrating on this story. Still, on balance a good story, just not a great story for me.Quote:
Sparks? Or eyes looking at her across the water? She gazed, hypnotised. And with her sharp eyes she made out in the dusk the pale form of a bob-cat crouching by the water's edge, pale as the stones among which it crouched, opposite. And it was watching her with cold, electric eyes of strange intentness, a sort of cold, icy wonder and fearlessness. She saw its museau pushed forward, its tufted ears pricking intensely up. It was watching her with cold, animal curiosity, something demonish and conscienceless.
She made a swift movement, spilling her water. And in a flash the creature was gone, leaping like a cat that is escaping; but strange and soft in its motion, with its little bob-tail. Rather fascinating. Yet that cold, intent, demonish watching! She shivered with cold and fear. She knew well enough the dread and repulsiveness of the wild.
Well hello Mr. Senility, glad you finally got around to posting something... the thread was fading into the sunset again...
humm...I don't agree with you, I think Lawrence knew exactly what he was writing here. He revised his texts enough to know; and by now he was quite an experienced author of stories. I think that her dread and repulsiveness is clearly known to her, before she ventures into the wilderness; she knew it in Italy with the earthy cab drivers. She knew this repulsion then, this disgust. How different then is the raw power of the bob-cat? I think they relate - the men she encountered and shunned in the past and felt she was above and the raw sexuality and wildness of nature and the cat.Quote:
And once she sees it, what happens? She recoils. That last sentence actualy disturbs me: "She knew well enough the dread and repulsiveness of the wild." It kind of undermines the whole reason she pushed to go into the wild. How can "she know well enough"? She didn't seem to at the beginning of the story. There are a few details like that which make me wonder if Lawrence was really concentrating on this story. Still, on balance a good story, just not a great story for me.
Here again I think this - sometimes something that repulses us can still draw us in and capture our attention. I think back to the bull-fight in "The Plumed Serpent"; although shocking and totally revolting, repulsive; people are drawn to it like fleas. They can't escape this drawing power to see it, even when, at the same time they are repulsed by it. I think the princess suddenly acts in the same way - she is drawn into the dark aspects of the mountains, the mystery of nature; once there, true - she is repulsed.Quote:
It kind of undermines the whole reason she pushed to go into the wild.
I will address more of your post above tomorrow. Going to bed now. *Yawn*...thanks for posting this, even if I had to remind you again....haha...
That is a good point about the Italian cab driver. There is a pattern of being repulsed it seems. Yes I see the connection, but why is she so willful in wanting to go?Quote:
Originally Posted by Janine
True, repulsion can draw us in, but usually that's something like a car accident, something one comes across. But she seeks the adventure out. That is an intersting connection you make with Kate's repusion at that bull fight. It seems "repulsion" was something Lawrence was exploring around this time. I never caught that before.Quote:
Here again I think this - sometimes something that repulses us can still draw us in and capture our attention. I think back to the bull-fight in "The Plumed Serpent"; although shocking and totally revolting, repulsive; people are drawn to it like fleas. They can't escape this drawing power to see it, even when, at the same time they are repulsed by it. I think the princess suddenly acts in the same way - she is drawn into the dark aspects of the mountains, the mystery of nature; once there, true - she is repulsed.
I did find it interesting how in the previous passage it seemed to be primarily all doom and gloom during the trip, talking about the darkness, and the death-like things, and grayness, and then in this passage, there are moments when the light comes back. I am not sure what to make of that.
I think that because she really had no clear idea of just what she wanted, or what she expected, and that she was just acting on some inner instinct, on the whim of her demon as it where, it is why when she actually got to the cabin she seemed suddenly repulsed by it all. She really did not know what she wanted, and she was beginning to grow doubts of herself now that the moment, she had thought she wanted had come upon her.
Being finally truly alone with Romero in the small dark cold little cabin, she suddenly did not know what to do, or what she wanted. She just had some sort of glorified vague notion of what she was after, but she was not fit to actually have to deal with the true reality of it.
I also thought it was interesting the way demoness was mentioned in relation to the wild cat.
Ok, I know you've been waiting with bated breath for the next section. ;)
There are a number of interesting points in this section. Of course there is the intense cold. This is nature completely unsmpathetic to human needs. There is this lovely passage:Quote:
"Sit down," she said, "and drink tea."
He poured a little bootleg whisky into the enamel cups, and in the silence the two sat on the log-ends, sipping the hot liquid and coughing occasionally from the smoke.
"We burn these oak sticks," he said. "They don't make hardly any smoke."
Curious and remote he was, saying nothing except what had to be said. And she, for her part, was as remote from him. They seemed far, far apart, worlds apart, now they were so near.
He unwrapped one bundle of bedding, and spread the blankets and the sheepskin in the wooden bunk.
"You lie down and rest," he said, "and I make the supper."
She decided to do so. Wrapping her cloak round her, she lay down in the bunk, turning her face to the wall. She could hear him preparing supper over the little petrol stove. Soon she could smell the soup he was heating; and soon she heard the hissing of fried chicken in a pan.
"You eat your supper now?" he said.
With a jerky, despairing movement, she sat up in the bunk, tossing back her hair. She felt cornered.
"Give it me here," she said.
He handed her first the cupful of soup. She sat among the blankets, eating it slowly. She was hungry. Then he gave her an enamel plate with pieces of fried chicken and currant jelly, butter and bread. It was very good. As they ate the chicken he made the coffee. She said never a word. A certain resentment filled her. She was cornered.
When supper was over he washed the dishes, dried them, and put everything away carefully, else there would have been no room to move in the hole of a cabin. The oak-wood gave out a good bright heat.
He stood for a few moments at a loss. Then he asked her:
"You want to go to bed soon?"
"Soon," she said. "Where are you going to sleep?"
"I make my bed here--" he pointed to the floor along the wall. "Too cold out of doors."
"Yes," she said. "I suppose it is."
She sat immobile, her cheeks hot, full of conflicting thoughts. And she watched him while he folded the blankets on the floor, a sheepskin underneath. Then she went out into night.
The stars were big. Mars sat on the edge of a mountain, for all the world like the blazing eye of a crouching mountain lion. But she herself was deep, deep below in a pit of shadow. In the intense silence she seemed to hear the spruce forest crackling with electricity and cold. Strange, foreign stars floated on that unmoving water. The night was going to freeze. Over the hills came the far sobbing-singing howling of the coyotes. She wondered how the horses would be.
Shuddering a little, she turned to the cabin. Warm light showed through its chinks. She pushed at the rickety, half-opened door.
"What about the horses?" she said.
"My black, he won't go away. And your mare will stay with him. You want to go to bed now?"
"I think I do."
"All right. I feed the horses some oats."
And he went out into the night.
He did not come back for some time. She was lying wrapped up tight in the bunk.
He blew out the lantern, and sat down on his bedding to take off his clothes. She lay with her back turned. And soon, in the silence, she was asleep.
She dreamed it was snowing, and the snow was falling on her through the roof, softly, softly, helplessly, and she was going to be buried alive. She was growing colder and colder, the snow was weighing down on her. The snow was going to absorb her.
She awoke with a sudden convulsion, like pain. She was really very cold; perhaps the heavy blankets had numbed her. Her heart seemed unable to beat, she felt she could not move.
With another convulsion she sat up. It was intensely dark. There was not even a spark of fire, the light wood had burned right away. She sat in thick oblivious darkness. Only through a chink she could see a star.
What did she want? Oh, what did she want? She sat in bed and rocked herself woefully. She could hear the steady breathing of the sleeping man. She was shivering with cold; her heart seemed as if it could not beat. She wanted warmth, protection, she wanted to be taken away from herself. And at the same time, perhaps more deeply than anything, she wanted to keep herself intact, intact, untouched, that no one should have any power over her, or rights to her. It was a wild necessity in her that no one, particularly no man, should have any rights or power over her, that no one and nothing should possess her.
Yet that other thing! And she was so cold, so shivering, and her heart could not beat. Oh, would not someone help her heart to beat?
She tried to speak, and could not. Then she cleared her throat.
"Romero," she said strangely, "it is so cold."
Where did her voice come from, and whose voice was it, in the dark?
She heard him at once sit up, and his voice, startled, with a resonance that seemed to vibrate against her, saying:
"You want me to make you warm?"
"Yes."
As soon as he had lifted her in his arms, she wanted to scream to him not to touch her. She stiffened herself. Yet she was dumb.
And he was warm, but with a terrible animal warmth that seemed to annihilate her. He panted like an animal with desire. And she was given over to this thing.
She had never, never wanted to be given over to this. But she had willed that it should happen to her. And according to her will, she lay and let it happen. But she never wanted it. She never wanted to be thus assailed and handled, and mauled. She wanted to keep herself to herself.
However, she had willed it to happen, and it had happened. She panted with relief when it was over.
Yet even now she had to lie within the hard, powerful clasp of this other creature, this man. She dreaded to struggle to go away. She dreaded almost too much the icy cold of that other bunk.
"Do you want to go away from me?" asked his strange voice. Oh, if it could only have been a thousand miles away from her! Yet she had willed to have it thus close.
"No," she said.
And she could feel a curious joy and pride surging up again in him: at her expense. Because he had got her. She felt like a victim there. And he was exulting in his power over her, his possession, his pleasure.
Nature is charged with intensity and power: the planet like a mountain lion's eye, the intense silence, the forest "crackling with electricity and cold," and howling of the coyotes, "singing-sobbing." She is obviously uncomfortable with the sleeping arrangements, though she asks about the horses. And Romero ironicaly replies, "My black, he won't go away. And your mare will stay with him. You want to go to bed now?" This counterpoints her and Romero's situation, I think. Or it shows how Romero thinks, a mare will submitt to the male.Quote:
The stars were big. Mars sat on the edge of a mountain, for all the world like the blazing eye of a crouching mountain lion. But she herself was deep, deep below in a pit of shadow. In the intense silence she seemed to hear the spruce forest crackling with electricity and cold. Strange, foreign stars floated on that unmoving water. The night was going to freeze. Over the hills came the far sobbing-singing howling of the coyotes. She wondered how the horses would be.
Not sure why Romero takes off his clothes in such cold weather, other than he was planning to do what he does.
Here's a wonderful Lawrencian passage that moves her emotions to the point of where her will crystalizes:
She's really in a quandry. The cold has pushed her to depend on Romero, but her will represses.Quote:
She dreamed it was snowing, and the snow was falling on her through the roof, softly, softly, helplessly, and she was going to be buried alive. She was growing colder and colder, the snow was weighing down on her. The snow was going to absorb her.
She awoke with a sudden convulsion, like pain. She was really very cold; perhaps the heavy blankets had numbed her. Her heart seemed unable to beat, she felt she could not move.
With another convulsion she sat up. It was intensely dark. There was not even a spark of fire, the light wood had burned right away. She sat in thick oblivious darkness. Only through a chink she could see a star.
What did she want? Oh, what did she want? She sat in bed and rocked herself woefully. She could hear the steady breathing of the sleeping man. She was shivering with cold; her heart seemed as if it could not beat. She wanted warmth, protection, she wanted to be taken away from herself. And at the same time, perhaps more deeply than anything, she wanted to keep herself intact, intact, untouched, that no one should have any power over her, or rights to her. It was a wild necessity in her that no one, particularly no man, should have any rights or power over her, that no one and nothing should possess her.
But nature forces her to give in:
And then the rape, at least from her point of view. From Romero's he can justifiably say she accepted it, or even wanted it. But here's where I think Lawrence loses me again in this story:Quote:
Yet that other thing! And she was so cold, so shivering, and her heart could not beat. Oh, would not someone help her heart to beat?
She tried to speak, and could not. Then she cleared her throat.
"Romero," she said strangely, "it is so cold."
Where did her voice come from, and whose voice was it, in the dark?
She heard him at once sit up, and his voice, startled, with a resonance that seemed to vibrate against her, saying:
"You want me to make you warm?"
"Yes."
As soon as he had lifted her in his arms, she wanted to scream to him not to touch her. She stiffened herself. Yet she was dumb.
Lawrence is claiing she willed it to happen, and maybe that's what Lawrence intended, but I don't see it. Unlike the story, The Prussian Officer, where Lawrence develops this subconcious desire, I don't think he does enough to convince me in this story that she really wanted the sex, even when consciously she doesn't. Perhaps someone can defend Lawrence here, but it just feels undeveloped to me. But still the entire section is a great passage.Quote:
And he was warm, but with a terrible animal warmth that seemed to annihilate her. He panted like an animal with desire. And she was given over to this thing.
She had never, never wanted to be given over to this. But she had willed that it should happen to her. And according to her will, she lay and let it happen. But she never wanted it. She never wanted to be thus assailed and handled, and mauled. She wanted to keep herself to herself.
However, she had willed it to happen, and it had happened. She panted with relief when it was over.
Finally!... I thought we would never push onto this climatic moment - near end of your post.Quote:
Originally Posted by Virgil
Exceedingly interesting post indeed! I quite enjoyed this bit of Lawrence's writing. If you have ever camped or been out in the wilderness when it is indeed cold or on the chilly side, then you might not be able to relate to this. I did have a rare opportunity to do so many years back. Camping itself and nature alters ones' perception entirely in my opinion. Of course fire and warmth, also comfort food (soup, etc.) seem now to be priorities in life. And yes, Virgil, I will be disputing your last part and your confusion about Lawrence's writing; you know me, I will be defending my Lawrence.;):lol: I don't really this inward confusion as any different than the confusion within many of Lawrence's characters (often women, but sometimes men, as well) in this novels or stories.Quote:
There are a number of interesting points in this section. Of course there is the intense cold. This is nature completely unsmpathetic to human needs. There is this lovely passage:
Is this quote correct - or should that be thousand miles away from here OR from him? I don't know if the whole line reads right either. *confused*...is this from her point of view or his? I guess I am referring to "his strange voice."Quote:
Do you want to go away from me?" asked his strange voice. Oh, if it could only have been a thousand miles away from her! Yet she had willed to have it thus close."
This statement and the one at the end of the first section of text you posted, already demonstrates to us some confusion and opposition within Dolly's own mind. She seems to want some type of connection with Romero, but she does not want him to have power over her. When she realises she is in this position she then feels she is the 'victim.' However, later I think she wavers in asking him into her bed. He did not just barge in without being invited afterall. I don't think Dolly remains firm, she wants something and then she doesn't. Hey, what do they always say 'it is the right for a woman to change her mind'...unfortunately Dolly puts herself in a very precarious positon, leads Romero right up to the brink of his explosive passion and then backs down - 'changes her mind'. She brings this on herself with that state of indecision or confusion within herself.Quote:
"No," she said.
And she could feel a curious joy and pride surging up again in him: at her expense. Because he had got her. She felt like a victim there. And he was exulting in his power over her, his possession, his pleasure.
Absolutely charged with "intensity and power" I just love those images and L's references. The writing in this part is exceptional! Yes, the horses do mimic the way in which Romero thinks. Much like the image of Gerald in WIL, he is the master, not only of the woman but of his horses and his 'black' horse is master over the mare; thus showing Lawrence's view at this time of the male naturally being dominent over the female. Ok, here definitely is where the feminists start howling. But this theme does run through many of his novels and stories.Quote:
Nature is charged with intensity and power: the planet like a mountain lion's eye, the intense silence, the forest "crackling with electricity and cold," and howling of the coyotes, "singing-sobbing." She is obviously uncomfortable with the sleeping arrangements, though she asks about the horses. And Romero ironicaly replies, "My black, he won't go away. And your mare will stay with him. You want to go to bed now?" This counterpoints her and Romero's situation, I think. Or it shows how Romero thinks, a mare will submitt to the male.
He is warm blooded??? like....Quote:
Not sure why Romero takes off his clothes in such cold weather, other than he was planning to do what he does.
"He's warm blooded, check it and see, he's got a fever of 103%" - remember that song? haha...:lol:
Yes, excellent passage, well written; I agree.Quote:
Here's a wonderful Lawrencian passage that moves her emotions to the point of where her will crystalizes:
Yes, she certainly is in a quandry but she put herself willingly into this situation. The cold in "Virgin and the Gypsy" put her into a similar situation; in that case the woman did not reject the man. She also asked for help in getting warmed up. She was the younger of the two women and yet she has less naivity about sex than Dolly has. Dolly has book learning about sex and not actually knowledge of the act. She thinks she wants the male closeness and warmth but she is 'unrealistic' when it comes to what that will mean in the end to her.Quote:
She's really in a quandry. The cold has pushed her to depend on Romero, but her will represses.
And then the rape, at least from her point of view. From Romero's he can justifiably say she accepted it, or even wanted it. But here's where I think Lawrence loses me again in this story:Quote:
But nature forces her to give in:
Lawrence is claiing she willed it to happen, and maybe that's what Lawrence intended, but I don't see it. Unlike the story, The Prussian Officer, where Lawrence develops this subconcious desire, I don't think he does enough to convince me in this story that she really wanted the sex, even when consciously she doesn't. Perhaps someone can defend Lawrence here, but it just feels undeveloped to me. But still the entire section is a great passage.[/QUOTE]
Well, her 'will' was strong all throughout the story. I think she believed she could maintain that 'will' and have her 'will' over Romero in the end. But she could not. I don't see where this is so unrealistic, as far as the writing was concerned. They are in another worldly type environment; as I said nature can alter one's perception greatly. One can feel almost insignificant against the backdrop of the power of nature as Lawrence has painted it here. And afterall, Lawrence usually does write about 'conflicts' within his characters themselves. I see this as a great conflict within Dolly, from the start of this story. Dolly wanted something she could not have. She was 'unrealistic' as I already said. I thought the passage was great and written very well. I didn't once feel it to be under-developed. Maybe you are looking at it too much from a male point of view, Virgil;) I seriously think that any man in this circumstance would have reacted the same way as Romero does. He may feel she wants to be taken; he may be reading her all wrong; who wouldn't given she even invites him into her bed? He has felt her thoughts out all through the journey to this point, to this cabin. When she agrees that he come into her bed, then she crosses that delicate line. After that, the story situtation quickly spirals out of control.
Hello Virgil or anyone! *echo* Hello! Are we ever going to progress with this story? I thought by now someone would have answered my post above. I'm just posting now to remind you all that the L thread exists.
I have been meaning to respond to the latest part posted I just have not been able to get around to doing so yet. I will try to soon.
Thanks for responding Dark Muse, sorry I did not mention you by name. I didn't forget you. I thought you were probably in Poe-land. I am glad you didn't forget this story. Virgil seems to have a mental block this month about the short story or else he is so busy working. I will give him a gentle nudge towards this thread; drop a line in his profile page.Quote:
Originally Posted by Dark Muse
Complaining, complaining. :pQuote:
Originally Posted by Janine
Yes, that's a good way to put it, pushing the situation to the priorities of life. Actually to an animal's existance, naturalism in the extreme.Quote:
Exceedingly interesting post indeed! I quite enjoyed this bit of Lawrence's writing. If you have ever camped or been out in the wilderness when it is indeed cold or on the chilly side, then you might not be able to relate to this. I did have a rare opportunity to do so many years back. Camping itself and nature alters ones' perception entirely in my opinion. Of course fire and warmth, also comfort food (soup, etc.) seem now to be priorities in life.
I copied it off the web site. It looks like a typo. I don't have my hard text with me. Perhaps someone can look it up and see if it's the same in the print.Quote:
Is this quote correct - or should that be thousand miles away from here OR from him? I don't know if the whole line reads right either. *confused*...is this from her point of view or his? I guess I am referring to "his strange voice."
Yes, that is a good way to look at it.Quote:
This statement and the one at the end of the first section of text you posted, already demonstrates to us some confusion and opposition within Dolly's own mind. She seems to want some type of connection with Romero, but she does not want him to have power over her. When she realises she is in this position she then feels she is the 'victim.' However, later I think she wavers in asking him into her bed. He did not just barge in without being invited afterall. I don't think Dolly remains firm, she wants something and then she doesn't. Hey, what do they always say 'it is the right for a woman to change her mind'...unfortunately Dolly puts herself in a very precarious positon, leads Romero right up to the brink of his explosive passion and then backs down - 'changes her mind'. She brings this on herself with that state of indecision or confusion within herself.
Actually more like the way Lawrence thinks. :DQuote:
Absolutely charged with "intensity and power" I just love those images and L's references. The writing in this part is exceptional! Yes, the horses do mimic the way in which Romero thinks.
Hehe, I love it when the feminists start howling. :DQuote:
Much like the image of Gerald in WIL, he is the master, not only of the woman but of his horses and his 'black' horse is master over the mare; thus showing Lawrence's view at this time of the male naturally being dominent over the female. Ok, here definitely is where the feminists start howling. But this theme does run through many of his novels and stories.
Do you do more than dance? I guess Dollie doesn't want to. ;)Quote:
He is warm blooded??? like....
"He's warm blooded, check it and see, he's got a fever of 103%" - remember that song? haha...:lol:
Oh I haven't read The V&G. Sounds like there are parallels.Quote:
Yes, she certainly is in a quandry but she put herself willingly into this situation. The cold in "Virgin and the Gypsy" put her into a similar situation; in that case the woman did not reject the man. She also asked for help in getting warmed up. She was the younger of the two women and yet she has less naivity about sex than Dolly has. Dolly has book learning about sex and not actually knowledge of the act. She thinks she wants the male closeness and warmth but she is 'unrealistic' when it comes to what that will mean in the end to her.
I can't help but feel that Lawrence is unclear. Does he really dig into Dollie's mind as he does with other characters? I don't think so. This was already a fairly long story and I bet he was trying to cut corners. But I think you're interpretation of Dollie's actions is correct.Quote:
Well, her 'will' was strong all throughout the story. I think she believed she could maintain that 'will' and have her 'will' over Romero in the end. But she could not. I don't see where this is so unrealistic, as far as the writing was concerned.
Perhaps so.Quote:
They are in another worldly type environment; as I said nature can alter one's perception greatly. One can feel almost insignificant against the backdrop of the power of nature as Lawrence has painted it here. And afterall, Lawrence usually does write about 'conflicts' within his characters themselves. I see this as a great conflict within Dolly, from the start of this story. Dolly wanted something she could not have. She was 'unrealistic' as I already said. I thought the passage was great and written very well. I didn't once feel it to be under-developed. Maybe you are looking at it too much from a male point of view,
Well, that could explain the initial sex. But there is more to the actions which I'll post tonight.Quote:
Virgil;) I seriously think that any man in this circumstance would have reacted the same way as Romero does. He may feel she wants to be taken; he may be reading her all wrong; who wouldn't given she even invites him into her bed? He has felt her thoughts out all through the journey to this point, to this cabin. When she agrees that he come into her bed, then she crosses that delicate line. After that, the story situtation quickly spirals out of control.
I did notice something else in this section just now that I should have mentioned. Look at this paragraph:
Notice the word "annihilate." Lawrence uses that word a lot. There are two manners in which he uses it. One, as a climax to a battle of wills where one will destroys the other. Or two in a moment of sexual climax where the will just disappears for a moment and one is in a moment of mindlessness, the will being temporarily destroyed. Not sure how Lawrence is using it here. It seems to come around the sexual moment. But it also seems to come at a point where his will over comes her resistance.Quote:
And he was warm, but with a terrible animal warmth that seemed to annihilate her. He panted like an animal with desire. And she was given over to this thing.
I do not think that in this part of the story it can truly be called a rape at this point. Though she does not "want" the sex, at least not in the tradidtional sense she is not actively enjoying it, she could just as well have asked him to start a fire again if she wanted warmth.
She of her own will agreed to get into bed with him. So to speak since they do not acutally have beds. She is determined to have this experince, so I think she does consent to it, I do not truly think she is being froced here. She asked for it to happen, and allowed it to happen even if she is not enjoying it.
If at this point the story Romero truly wanted to rape her, he would not have asked her if she wanted to sleep with him, he could have just pounced upon her and overpowered her.
This is true Muse. I don't think Lawrence would consider it a rape. In fact I change my mind. It's not a rape. God, the feminists have almost gotten to me too. :p :D
I totally agree with you, Dark Muse. Pretty weird, huh?... We are agreeing again. We might agree on more things than you would think. :lol:Quote:
Originally Posted by Dark Muse
Yes, Virgil, I believe those darm feminists have almost got to you again! :lol:
I will answer your reply above to my comments later on, V.
Dark Muse, isn't a bunk a sort of bed? or do you think they are referring here to the floor or the cabin? Just curious. Is it our turn to comment on your text or further comment on your posts about my comments on the text, Virgil? I feel sort of lost now in this discussion.Quote:
He unwrapped one bundle of bedding, and spread the blankets and the sheepskin in the wooden bunk
Sheepskin? Do you think he had condoms? :lol:Quote:
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He unwrapped one bundle of bedding, and spread the blankets and the sheepskin in the wooden bunk
I must admit I was confused as to what they were sleeping on. At first i thought it was sleeping bags but when I saw bunk the other day I thought, oh they had beds or cots. I'm still not sure. And why are you lost? You said above you were going to reply to my comments. I was waiting.Quote:
Originally Posted by Janine
hahaha....very funny....Virgil! I don't think so. I think they were skins from sheeps that were wooley and kept one warm!Quote:
Originally Posted by Virgil
Oh, yeah :blush: I sort of forgot (thus I am a bit 'lost' lately)...sorry 'bout that. I will get to that tomorrow; still watching my Tenessee Williams play. I guess this is going to run into next month; but maybe we can try hard to get it done this following week; what do you think?Quote:
I must admit I was confused as to what they were sleeping on. At first i thought it was sleeping bags but when I saw bunk the other day I thought, oh they had beds or cots. I'm still not sure. And why are you lost? You said above you were going to reply to my comments. I was waiting.
Ok, let's get it done by the end of January. I think there are about three more sections to go. How about one tomorrow night, one Sunday night, and one mid week? That should cover it.