D.H. Lawrence's Short Stories Thread

[Janine]

For those that may not have a hard copy, here is an electronic version. http://gutenberg.net.au/ebooks03/0301501h.html#c11. We can cut and paste quotes from there.

Good Virgil, this is very helpful. Thanks so much for providing that for us. I will have to track down a good photo to represent the story - you know, for my introduction. I have no idea what to write about that but I will think of something. I better re-read the story tonight, myself.

[Nossa]

I have this story! I'll start reading today

[Janine]

I have this story! I'll start reading today

Great Nossa! I just wrote the introduction offline, which includes some research on the background of the story, date, etc. I also came up with an interesting image, unless I change my mind for something else...you know me. I will try and post that tomorrow night late, so you all can get started talking on Monday.

[Janine]

The next story will be:

The Christening



Lawrence probably wrote this short shory in the year 1912, around the same time he completed his revision of Paul Morel, which later was retitled Sons and Lovers.

I found this reference in the book D.H. Lawrence A calendar of his works by Sagar:

29 June While here I’ve written three [short stories]. But, under the influence of Frieda, I am afraid their moral tone would not agree with my countrymen [Moore 133].
‘The Christening’ may have been written or at least begun earlier, since at the top of the first page is the address, crossed out, 13 Queen’s Square, Eastwood, Notts., where Lawrence lived from February until his departure from England; perhaps in March when Lawrence heard that his friend George Neville had fathered a second illegitimate child [Moore 103]

From the entry for July 1914:

*16 July ‘The Baker’s Man’ was later retitled ‘The Christening’. It was first published in The Smart Set, Febuary 1914.

Basically, this story involves a working class family with a daughter who has given birth to an illegitimate child; the family wishes the baby to be Christened in the privacy of their home. Thus when the story begins we are presented with the family awaiting the arrival of the parson. This is an early story of the author’s and can be found in Volume I of the Complete Short Stories.

Virgil also provided a link for the story online. Enjoy your reading and we will begin discussions tomorrow. I will post the opening text at that time, so we can we can get started. Happy reading!

[Virgil]

For those who may not be Christian, a Christening is another name for a babtism which is a religious ceremony usually performed on infants where a Priest/Minister runs water over the baby's head. It's a ceremony that initiates the baby into Christianity.

[Janine]

No, you are not seeing things. I changed the shoes again....talk about being indecisive. I read the first part of the story at my breakfast and now I see that the baby is wearing a white dress and the house is newly built by the owner, so I think those other shoes were too old and beat. I will use them for another story, since I am kind of fond of them.

Virgil, thanks for providing the information about the term "Christening". One can also look it up on Wikipedia to get a full definition, if you are not aware of this ritual in the Christian religion. This story reminds me of the Christening scene in the Thomas Hardy novel "Tess of the D'Urbervilles" - did you read the book, Virgil ? If so, do you recall the scene when Tess baptises her own child, because the parson refuses to, the child being illigitimate?
Also, to add to what you said, about having a baby Christened not long after birth, devoted Christians believed that if a baby were to die 'un-Christened' then their soul would be lost. I am sure an online definition of the term can reveal more about this sacrament/ritual.

Here is the first part of the story for all to comment on. I will comment later on this evening. I have to go out today to take care of a few important matters:

The mistress of the British School stepped down from her school gate, and instead of turning to the left as usual, she turned to the right. Two women who were hastening home to scramble their husbands' dinners together--it was five minutes to four--stopped to look at her. They stood gazing after her for a moment; then they glanced at each other with a woman's little grimace.

To be sure, the retreating figure was ridiculous: small and thin, with a black straw hat, and a rusty cashmere dress hanging full all round the skirt. For so small and frail and rusty a creature to sail with slow, deliberate stride was also absurd. Hilda Rowbotham was less than thirty, so it was not years that set the measure of her pace; she had heart disease. Keeping her face, that was small with sickness, but not uncomely, firmly lifted and fronting ahead, the young woman sailed on past the market-place, like a black swan of mournful, disreputable plumage.

She turned into Berryman's, the baker's. The shop displayed bread and cakes, sacks of flour and oatmeal, flitches of bacon, hams, lard and sausages. The combination of scents was not unpleasing. Hilda Rowbotham stood for some minutes nervously tapping and pushing a large knife that lay on the counter, and looking at the tall, glittering brass scales. At last a morose man with sandy whiskers came down the step from the house-place.

"What is it?" he asked, not apologizing for his delay.

"Will you give me six-pennyworth of assorted cakes and pastries--and put in some macaroons, please?" she asked, in remarkably rapid and nervous speech. Her lips fluttered like two leaves in a wind, and her words crowded and rushed like a flock of sheep at a gate.

"We've got no macaroons," said the man churlishly.

He had evidently caught that word. He stood waiting.

"Then I can't have any, Mr Berryman. Now I do feel disappointed. I like those macaroons, you know, and it's not often I treat myself. One gets so tired of trying to spoil oneself, don't you think? It's less profitable even than trying to spoil somebody else." She laughed a quick little nervous laugh, putting her hand to her face.

"Then what'll you have?" asked the man, without the ghost of an answering smile. He evidently had not followed, so he looked more glum than ever.

"Oh, anything you've got," replied the schoolmistress, flushing slightly. The man moved slowly about, dropping the cakes from various dishes one by one into a paper bag.

"How's that sister o' yours getting on?" he asked, as if he were talking to the flour scoop.

"Whom do you mean?" snapped the schoolmistress.

"The youngest," answered the stooping, pale-faced man, with a note of sarcasm.

"Emma! Oh, she's very well, thank you!" The schoolmistress was very red, but she spoke with sharp, ironical defiance. The man grunted. Then he handed her the bag and watched her out of the shop without bidding her "Good afternoon".

She had the whole length of the main street to traverse, a half-mile of slow-stepping torture, with shame flushing over her neck. But she carried her white bag with an appearance of steadfast unconcern. When she turned into the field she seemed to droop a little. The wide valley opened out from her, with the far woods withdrawing into twilight, and away in the centre the great pit streaming its white smoke and chuffing as the men were being turned up. A full, rose-coloured moon, like a flamingo flying low under the far, dusky east, drew out of the mist. It was beautiful, and it made her irritable sadness soften, diffuse.

[Virgil]

Yes, I read Tess, and that scene is vaguely familiar. It's a good thing you thought of that because I am sure Lawrence is aware of it and has it on his mind.

[Janine]

I thought so too, Virgil, when I first read the story. It is an early story and I actually noticed in the timeline book that this was about the time he was writing his essay on Hardy, or at least the time when he revised this story he was writing the Hardy essay. Interesting, isn't it? Apparently, if you read my introduction and background information, he was inspired to write this story, right after he heard of George Neville fathering his second illegitimate child...or so it was suggested.

[Dark Muse]

You are freaking me out Janine the shoes keep changing LOL

[Janine]

You are freaking me out Janine the shoes keep changing LOL

Yeah, real spooking, isn't it? Actually, I discovered the baby's dress is described as 'white' and so these shoes worked better, although I loved those others. I won't change them again - promise, DM.

[Nossa]

You are freaking me out Janine the shoes keep changing LOL

Me too! I was like 'wasn't it another color? maybe I'm seeing things?'

[Virgil]

Janine, you already posted the first section? I thought we usually discuss the story as a whole before we get to sections.

[Dark Muse]

The mistress of the British School stepped down from her school gate, and instead of turning to the left as usual, she turned to the right. Two women who were hastening home to scramble their husbands' dinners together--it was five minutes to four--stopped to look at her. They stood gazing after her for a moment; then they glanced at each other with a woman's little grimace.

The lines in bold here bothered me a bit. Though perhaps I am just being nit picky, but I kept wondering to myself, just what was the significance, of the fact that the women were on their way home to cook dinner.

I did not like the fact, that it seemed like it was just a random detail thrown in the story. Why did the reader need to know this?

So I really want these lines to have some purpose in the overall story, though perhaps I am trying to stretch things too far.

But I thought perhaps these two women were meant to sort of offset against the abnormalcy, of dysfunctional family and life of the Robtham's. They are more or less "normal" sense they are on their way to cook for their husbands, in contrast to Hilda.

Patricianly where it states:

They stood gazing after her for a moment; then they glanced at each other with a woman's little grimace

I thought this scene with the preceding lines:

To be sure, the retreating figure was ridiculous: small and thin, with a black straw hat, and a rusty cashmere dress hanging full all round the skirt. For so small and frail and rusty a creature to sail with slow, deliberate stride was also absurd. Hilda Rowbotham was less than thirty, so it was not years that set the measure of her pace; she had heart disease. Keeping her face, that was small with sickness, but not uncomely, firmly lifted and fronting ahead, the young woman sailed on past the market-place, like a black swan of mournful, disreputable plumage.

Were both painful and comical at the same time. You can just picture these two biddies standing there gossiping behind Hilda's back as she passes them by before they rush off home. And I think Hilda is set up to be prideful and defiant in the face of such gossip. With her slow deliberate stride, and the way she "sails" down the street.

like a black swan of mournful, disreputable plumage

I found the use of these lines to be interesting, and though when I first read it, I winced slightly because I thought the metaphor was perhaps just a bit overdone, but I liked the symbolism behind the words.

White sawns are often used as this image of purity, maidenhood, and innocence. So I liked this contrast of the black swan being like the black sheep of the family. The color of their feathers being their mark against them. And yet the birds are just as elegant and beautiful as their white cousins.

I found the whole exchange between Hilda and the Baker to be quite entertaining. Though I wondered why he was made to look like such an unhappy brute. I will try and coment more upon the rest of that part of the text once I have had time to mull it over some more.

[Janine]

Me too! I was like 'wasn't it another color? maybe I'm seeing things?'

Ok, first yours. I did change the shoes, Nossa, so don't worry about your sanity. I just thought, after a second reading of the story, that indeed, the baby was not that poor and was wearing a white Christening dress so I would go with these white shoes instead. I hope I can use those other antique shoes, for another story or poem. I really liked those; they had so much character.

*moan*Virgil, go back to the Olympics! I'm really just fooling with you.

I know, we have given individual opinions in the past, but isn't that what usually lands us in trouble right from the start? Why not just skip that for now (no passing judgement) and start discussing the story as we encounter it. We got started late this month anyway, so I figured we would not waste time hashing the story about and beating it to death, before we really discuss and analysis it. Later one when we finish we can all express our opinions on the value of the story, etc. I think that Dark Muse has pointed out some good things in this beginning part of the text, so after this post I will address what she has written.

[Virgil]

I know, we have given individual opinions in the past, but isn't that what usually lands us in trouble right from the start? Why not just skip that for now (no passing judgement)

I'm not talking about judgements, but a discussion on what the story is about, general themes, it's structure.

and start discussing the story as we encounter it. We got started late this month anyway, so I figured we would not waste time hashing the story about and beating it to death, before we really discuss and analysis it. Later one when we finish we can all express our opinions on the value of the story, etc. I think that Dark Muse has pointed out some good things in this beginning part of the text, so after this post I will address what she has written.

I've always felt that you can't talk about the minutia without an understanding of the overall. But so be it.