D H Lawrence
I had targeted four novels of D H Lawrence: Sons and Lovers, The Rainbow, Women in Love, and Lady Chatterley’s Lover in that order. I have finished the first two. I wanted to write a review after completing all the four. But, here I am, not to let year 2020 go without a blog post.
Readers must be familiar with fiction that takes you to the heart of the story. But, Lawrence takes you to the heart of his characters, where the stirrings of the human heart are yet in their rudimentary state, yet unsure whether they carry the rationality of the conscious, the accretive tension of the subconscious, or the subversive quality of the unconscious. He is not so much the author of the outer world as he is of the inner. Imagine someone drunk with feelings, that's Lawrence for you. His writing is a thick dab of raw emotions. You can't judge such authors. They are too deep and sincere in their expression. Lawrence is an experience. The subject might bore you but don't our lives too.
Lawrence can give botanist a run for their money. You can’t imagine the countless flowers he names. I can hardly name a dozen flowers both in Hindi and English together. He knows more names of flowers than an average botanist does, I guess.
The outer world of pansies, violets, and countless other flowers that decorate his writings and used as symbolism that is half lost on me doesn’t diminish my appreciation of the life-like quality of his writing. It's like admiring a painting that has layers and sublayers. I am sure half of those who bought his books haven't read them except maybe a few pages of Lady Chatterley's Lover, solely because it was banned soon after it was published. Glad I read his other books.
Readers must be familiar with fiction that takes you to the heart of the story. But, Lawrence takes you to the heart of his characters, where the stirrings of the human heart are yet in their rudimentary state, yet unsure whether they carry the rationality of the conscious, the accretive tension of the subconscious, or the subversive quality of the unconscious. He is not so much the author of the outer world as he is of the inner. Imagine someone drunk with feelings, that's Lawrence for you. His writing is a thick dab of raw emotions. You can't judge such authors. They are too deep and sincere in their expression. Lawrence is an experience. The subject might bore you but don't our lives too.
Lawrence can give botanist a run for their money. You can’t imagine the countless flowers he names. I can hardly name a dozen flowers both in Hindi and English together. He knows more names of flowers than an average botanist does, I guess.
The outer world of pansies, violets, and countless other flowers that decorate his writings and used as symbolism that is half lost on me doesn’t diminish my appreciation of the life-like quality of his writing. It's like admiring a painting that has layers and sublayers. I am sure half of those who bought his books haven't read them except maybe a few pages of Lady Chatterley's Lover, solely because it was banned soon after it was published. Glad I read his other books.
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