D.H. Lawrence's Short Stories Thread

[Quark]

Is it really 200 degrees in your upstairs rooms? I am upstairs too with a flat roof and it has been very warm but not 200 degrees - oh come on. You would be soup by now!

Well it definitely felt like I was melting into soup yesterday. I had to shut off my computer for most of the day. Thankfully, today is pleasantly cool.

However, no one has noted, that we once again went past another 1000 posts - we are at 2000 something. Remember when you made that other congratulatory announcement when we hit 1000? That was just great!

I thought 1,000 was a milestone. I'm not sure if 2,000 is really special. I think you have to wait until 10,000, Janine. Although, perhaps 5000 is also important. I'll let you know when we cross another big threshold. We're going to have a 1,000 post party on the Chekhov thread soon.

Ok, if you read back, a few pages, you will get a better sense of the meaning or our interpretation of the fire and the flames and just what it signifies. I think it definitely does several things - it breaks the spell and it breaks off the whole connection between Winifred and Coutts, for good. Only through the flames, can they be set free from any attachment, they formerly had, or thought was still possible for them. Perhaps, the flames do show the destructiveness of their relationship and now the end of that. I think one can interpret the flames in various ways. In terms of the 'witch' theme, of this story, the flames/fire fit the idea of the pagan ritual of breaking the spell and the breaking forever the attachment between these two people; the device ends the story dramatically and very effectively. All along flame and light have lead up to this story. This story was very well crafted and written; no wonder it is considered one of his finest short stories.

That all makes sense. Do you think the lamp is significant as light also, though? We've talked about lighting a lot, and the lamp might also fit into that discussion as well.

Give me the word, Everyone, when you are ready and I will post the next story, ASAP.

I'll be ready for another discussion once I catch up in the poetry and Aeneid thread. Give me a day or two, and I should be up for it. Do you have the story already picked out?

[Janine]

Well it definitely felt like I was melting into soup yesterday. I had to shut off my computer for most of the day. Thankfully, today is pleasantly cool.

Hi Quark! Tell me about it; I think that weather of yours has come East...*ugh*sigh*moan*...I am now sitting here sweating to death; I am beginning to feel like soup. I was thinking that, this computer, no doubt, is making more heat. I may have to turn mine off for a time also, because it is sweltering here and the humidity must be really high, as well. I need my AC put into the window! Hope it gets cooler tomorrow.

I thought 1,000 was a milestone. I'm not sure if 2,000 is really special. I think you have to wait until 10,000, Janine. Although, perhaps 5000 is also important. I'll let you know when we cross another big threshold. We're going to have a 1,000 post party on the Chekhov thread soon.

*moan*sigh* oh gee, you mean we have to get all the way to 10,000 for another anouncement? I can't wait that long. If we could have a small party at the 5,000 mark that might be nice. Do we even have enough L short stories to go to 10,000 posts?

That all makes sense. Do you think the lamp is significant as light also, though? We've talked about lighting a lot, and the lamp might also fit into that discussion as well.

Oh good; yes, definitely I was referring to any light source and there were many mentioned throughout the story text - the gas street lamps, definitely the oil lamp in the house, even the lights from the train. I think all of the light was significant set against the blackness of night.

I'll be ready for another discussion once I catch up in the poetry and Aeneid thread. Give me a day or two, and I should be up for it. Do you have the story already picked out?

I could use a few days off myself; I might actually catch up on stuff other than computer (around the house) or make a dent in my cleaning and laundry.

YES, I do have the new story chosen and it is available online as well, also available in MP3 file download from Amazon ($1.98 I believe). I will provide the links, when I post the story. I also have a picture picked out and waiting to be posted, in Photobucket, unless I change my mind about the picture. It was easy actually - you will see why.

I am re-reading it now. It is not as complicated a story as this past one we have been discussing. It is more straightforward; I think it's an early one. It is in Volume 1 of the "Complete Short Stories" and not too long either.

[Virgil]

I haven't commented on the last section Janine. How about we start the next story in a week or so.

[Janine]

I haven't commented on the last section Janine. How about we start the next story in a week or so.

Hi Virgil, That would be fine with me; I really need a break. We can just chill out this week. Like I said I am very hot; the weather is so humid and I need to clean up my room, so I can have the AC installed soon, so I don't melt; I have to make a clear path to the window. It is now Tues, so lets say, I post the next story announcement/introductory page on Monday, next week; would that work for you?

In the meantime, please do comment on that last part and ending of the story; I am always anxious to hear what you have to say about these stories. It is the climax and the important scene, isn't it? We really should not pass by it so quickly, or neglect it.

[Janine]

The weather is going to cool down significantly. LOL I'll take the hot and humid any day. Every day!

I'm ready to move on when everyone else is.

Ok, good to know, Antiquarian. Well, Virgil seems to want to comment a little more on the ending and he requests a short break; Quark also needs one and I am tired out myself and could use this week to clean; I know...ugh. Only one, DM, left to hear from and she will probably go along with whatever we all decide. I would say it is reasonable to expect the new story posted on Monday. How does that sound?

I would take the heat also, but the thing is, it is so totally humid here today, I am literally soaking wet right now and I only have access to 3 back windows to open. Also this humidity makes me ache.

I have to get offline - bad thunder!

[Janine]

Horrors! We got bumped to the second page of my search - so I don't want Virgil to forget about us if he does not see the thread.

Hey, Virgil, what did you want to say about the ending of the story? We need this story put to it's final resting place!

[Virgil]

Yes i have a couple of points to make about the ending. Please be patient. Perhaps tonight. I re-read those last two pages and frankly they are magnificent. I wanted to point out a few things.

[Janine]

Ditto!!!

[Janine]

Well, you never know when a fourth might appear, Antiq.

[Janine]

I don't know much of anything at all today, Janine. LOL Except it's been a perfectly beautiful day. Sunny and warm (could have been warmer, though, but beautiful). I took a book and went to a lake to read, but just stared at the water and the trees, instead.

You know, Antiquarian - actually that sounds wonderful to me; it feels just like what I have been craving to do for days. I live right by a lake, so why am I hanging out here, starring into a white screen? Now that is artificial! If I am not on here, I feel guilty, like I should be cleaning or doing laundry, so I still don't go out and enjoy the spring. Then I am totally mad at myself.

It is absolutely best, to just 'let go' sometimes and do 'nothing'. I love to get away and go this park by the river and just stare into the water and the trees. That is life!

We were riding home and I glanced out the window and there was a patch of sweet clover; believe it or not, I wanted to open the car door, jump out and just smell that clover. I thought of Lawrence and this scene in "Women in Love" when Birkin sheds his clothing and runs out into a wheat field; very spiritually cleansing. Of course, I would not shed my cloths on this busy local road. The point is, why don't I take the time to do such small, but significant things? Kind of crazy, huh? I must have 'spring-fever' badly today!

[Virgil]

He turned to her. Again looking up darkly, from under her lowered brows, she lifted her hands like small white orchids towards him. Without knowing, he gripped her wrists with a grasp that circled his blood-red nails with white rims.

"Good-bye," he said, looking down at her. She made a small, moaning noise in her throat, lifting her face so that it came open and near to him like a suddenly-risen flower, borne on a strong white stalk. She seemed to extend, to fill the world, to become atmosphere and all. He did not know what he was doing. He was bending forward, his mouth on hers, her arms round his neck, and his own hands, still fastened on to her wrists, almost bursting the blood under his nails with the intensity of their grip. They remained for a few moments thus, rigid. Then, weary of the strain, she relaxed. She turned her face, offered him her throat, white, hard, and rich, below the ear. Stooping still lower, so that he quivered in every fibre at the strain, he laid his mouth to the kiss. In the intense silence, he heard the deep, dull pulsing of her blood, and a minute click of a spark within the lamp.

Then he drew her from the chair up to him. She came, arms always round his neck, till at last she lay along his breast as he stood, feet planted wide, clasping her tight, his mouth on her neck. She turned suddenly to meet his full, red mouth in a kiss. He felt his moustache prick back into his lips. It was the first kiss she had genuinely given. Dazed, he was conscious of the throb of one great pulse, as if his whole body were a heart that contracted in throbs. He felt, with an intolerable ache, as if he, the heart, were setting the pulse in her, in the very night, so that everything beat from the throb of his overstrained, bursting body.

The hurt became so great it brought him out of the reeling stage to distinct consciousness. She clipped her lips, drew them away, leaving him her throat. Already she had had enough. He opened his eyes as he bent with his mouth on her neck, and was startled; there stood the objects of the room, stark; there, close below his eyes, were the half-sunk lashes of the woman, swooning on her unnatural ebb of passion. He saw her thus, knew that she wanted no more of him than that kiss. And the heavy form of this woman hung upon him. His whole body ached like a swollen vein, with heavy intensity, while his heart grew dead with misery and despair. This woman gave him anguish and a cutting-short like death; to the other woman he was false. As he shivered with suffering, he opened his eyes again, and caught sight of the pure ivory of the lamp. His heart flashed with rage.

I just wanted to review these four paragraphs. I find them so well written. But before I get to the writing, let me point out some motifs and themes we haven’t discussed so far.

Notice this: “She made a small, moaning noise in her throat, lifting her face so that it came open and near to him like a suddenly-risen flower, borne on a strong white stalk.” Now that moaning noise relates to the musical motif that has been running through, but I also think it stands in contrast. Certainly it’s an audible sound, but a moan is unmusical, a conflation of pitch. It suggests a deeper, more primitive motif. All the “fog” of allusions (chivalric, classical, etc.), all the learned, cultural banter dissolves into raw passion. Also, notice the “suddenly-risen flower” simile. We’ve seen the flower analogy before, and it’s Lawrence’s ideal state. No need to point out the blood imagery. But this sentence stands out: “Dazed, he was conscious of the throb of one great pulse, as if his whole body were a heart that contracted in throbs.” Both characters have moved out of mental consciousness (all that intellectual, learned banter) into pure blood consciousness. “Dazed” suggests a loss of mental capability. Also in that last paragraph I quoted, notice how many times he refers to “the woman” or “this woman.” Not only has the music conflated to a guttural moan, their identities conflate to a primitive sexual identity. There are no names mentioned in any of these paragraphs. Just, he, she, woman. So put it together we see the traditional Lawrence themes, blood consciousness as an ideal state of life, which is analogous to the nature of flowers, something that is below the surface of societal constructs. Hope that made sense.

Now let me say something about the writing. Read those paragraphs out loud and listen to their rhythmic beauty. Take that second paragraph. Look at how Lawrence creates the rhythm. “She made a small, moaning noise in her throat, lifting her face so that it came open and near to him like a suddenly-risen flower, borne on a strong white stalk.” Notice how he extends the sentence with a sequence of phrases (I think they’re noun participle phrases, but I could be wrong; my grammar escapes me). Then he extends the next sentence that with a series of infinitive phrases (“She seemed to extend, to fill the world, to become atmosphere and all.”). Then a short staccato sentence (“He did not know what he was doing.”). And then another extended sentence of a series of noun particple phrases again (“He was bending forward, his mouth on hers, her arms round his neck, and his own hands, still fastened on to her wrists, almost bursting the blood under his nails with the intensity of their grip.”). And we see this pattern through out, sentences that are extended through some form of series interspersed with a short staccato sentence. It’s pure movement and action. Notice the wonderful choreography between the two characters, emphasized by the rhythmic sentences. Notice also how Lawrence alternates with sentences starting with he and she. He/she, he/she. This too provides lovely rhythm. Hard to believe Lawrence is 25 when he wrote this. Such a gifted writer.

[Virgil]

Virgil, I noticed that Lawrence used the long, more complex sentences in describing Coutts emotions, and Coutts is the most conflicted at this point (well, all the way through, of course) and the shorter, staccato ones in describing Winifred. Faulkner would do the same thing.

And yes, it is hard to believe that he wrote this when only twenty-five. While I'm a passable writer now, I wasn't much at twenty-five. Of course, I'm not a genius the way Lawrence was. One can learn so much from him.

You know I always felt that Lawrence and Faulkner in places both wrote similarly. Well, perhaps one needs to qualufy that significantly and I'm not going to do it here. But both had this incredible rhythm to their prose. Interesting, I never paid attention to the content of complex and simple sentences. I'll have to keep that in mind.

Oh if Janine wants to move on, I'm done with this story.

[Dark Muse]

*bounces up and down waiting for the next story*

[Janine]

I just wanted to review these four paragraphs. I find them so well written. But before I get to the writing, let me point out some motifs and themes we haven’t discussed so far.

Virgil, finally....and it was worth waiting for!

Notice this: “She made a small, moaning noise in her throat, lifting her face so that it came open and near to him like a suddenly-risen flower, borne on a strong white stalk.” Now that moaning noise relates to the musical motif that has been running through, but I also think it stands in contrast. Certainly it’s an audible sound, but a moan is unmusical, a conflation of pitch. It suggests a deeper, more primitive motif. All the “fog” of allusions (chivalric, classical, etc.), all the learned, cultural banter dissolves into raw passion. Also, notice the “suddenly-risen flower” simile. We’ve seen the flower analogy before, and it’s Lawrence’s ideal state. No need to point out the blood imagery. But this sentence stands out: “Dazed, he was conscious of the throb of one great pulse, as if his whole body were a heart that contracted in throbs.” Both characters have moved out of mental consciousness (all that intellectual, learned banter) into pure blood consciousness. “Dazed” suggests a loss of mental capability. Also in that last paragraph I quoted, notice how many times he refers to “the woman” or “this woman.” Not only has the music conflated to a guttural moan, their identities conflate to a primitive sexual identity. There are no names mentioned in any of these paragraphs. Just, he, she, woman. So put it together we see the traditional Lawrence themes, blood consciousness as an ideal state of life, which is analogous to the nature of flowers, something that is below the surface of societal constructs. Hope that made sense.

Those are wonderful observations. A page or more back, I tried to explain the flower ideal and the blood consicousness connected to this passage, but I could not get it straight in my own mind, nor express it clearly, as you do here. This is marvelous! I totally agree with what you have written. It does all make complete sense, from the flower significance and the blood references and the lose of conscious self - only using the words: he, she, woman, man being used. I too thought these passages entirely beautiful and filled with the deepest sense of passion; and such brillant perceptive writing on Lawrence's part. Well, Virgil, you expressed it all so perfectly here; much better than I could attempt ever to do.

Now let me say something about the writing. Read those paragraphs out loud and listen to their rhythmic beauty. Take that second paragraph. Look at how Lawrence creates the rhythm. “She made a small, moaning noise in her throat, lifting her face so that it came open and near to him like a suddenly-risen flower, borne on a strong white stalk.” That sentence Notice how he extends the sentence with a sequence of phrases (I think they’re noun participle phrases, but I could be wrong; my grammar escapes me). Then he extends the next sentence that with a series of infinitive phrases (“She seemed to extend, to fill the world, to become atmosphere and all.”). Then a short staccato sentence (“He did not know what he was doing.”). And then another extended sentence of a series of noun particple phrases again (“He was bending forward, his mouth on hers, her arms round his neck, and his own hands, still fastened on to her wrists, almost bursting the blood under his nails with the intensity of their grip.”). And we see this pattern through out, sentences that are extended through some form of series interspersed with a short staccato sentence. It’s pure movement and action. Notice the wonderful choreography between the two characters, emphasized by the rhythmic sentences. Notice also how Lawrence alternates with sentences starting with he and she. He/she, he/she. This too provides lovely rhythm. Hard to believe Lawrence is 25 when he wrote this. Such a gifted writer.

It is funny, that is just how I read Lawrence, in a flow, as when I read poetry. I didn't always do so, but as I have read him more and more, I now know his rhythms and can feel the beat and the rhyme, instinctively. It is like reading Shakespeare, for me. I love the way you actually took this appart and explained the poetry and the perfect timing. Do you think Lawrence was aware he was doing this, as he wrote; or do you think it sprung out of that 'deep well of blood' he spoke of; do you think it came naturally to him, instinctively? To me, it seems so and not contrived in one word or line.

It totally amazes me, that he was only 25 when he wrote this; it is a sophisticated work with much complexity to the entire story structure/symbolism/thematic elements. I don't know when it was published, or how many rewrites it had. I need to look that up, in the timeline
book.

Virgil, thanks for taking the time to post this and glad I peeked back in here, to find this great post. Great post!

Now I am going to go watch my movie! See you tomorrow, Anti. I will answer your last one then.

[Quark]

So put it together we see the traditional Lawrence themes, blood consciousness as an ideal state of life, which is analogous to the nature of flowers, something that is below the surface of societal constructs.

I would agree with that, but that sentence about all her wanting is the kiss sticks in my mind. It doesn't seem to fit. In Women in Love Birkin draws a distinction between the Blood consciousness you're talking about and the pornographic ideal. Coutts and Winifred appear like they're playing out the pornographic ideal more than expressing their natural Blood consciousness. At least, the line about the kiss does--and all the stuff about Winifred's nervousness. Although, you are right about the imagery. The flower is a particularly important symbol, and we see it connected with Winifred. It's difficult to say what's going on in the last passage exactly.

*bounces up and down waiting for the next story*

Oh, as am I. This last one was an amazing story. It'll be hard for her to top it.