There is so much in Lawrence that still entices. And his characters are often too close, engrossed in each other or captivated by an idea of themselves they have got from another person and can’t escape from. He invites it from readers – his prose claims almost excessive personal investment. Returning to these has felt claustrophobic during the months of our proximity, perhaps especially because intense closeness is a feature of Lawrence’s writing. I’ve read the essays where Lawrence condemns “cocksure women”, celebrates the phallus, propounds ideas of racial hierarchy, rails against democracy and urges us to hit our children. Since then, I’ve read the women – Simone de Beauvoir, Kate Millett – who have found him more dangerous.
0 Comments
Leave a Reply. |