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hadeanstars's review against another edition
4.0
A novel of profound contrasts, which takes some effort to fully appreciate. The first brush strokes on the canvas of the novel paint a dreary scene of English working class tyranny, and this is of course a Lawrence staple. How does one individuate? It is an age old challenge for the unorthodox, like Lawrence himself. He never solved it in his life, so we cannot expect solutions here, but what we do find is a highly competent rendition of the problem; one that we all should recognise.
The protagonist, Alvina Houghton is a well-to-do 'lady' living in the below station environs of a working class Midlands town. Her father James indulges his endless and primarily fruitless schemes for summitting the entrepreneurial edifice and giving his daughter the means to substantiate her genteel expectations. More or less, he fails, but he never stops trying. In each iteration the family are reduced until Alvina is forced to contend with her greatest fear:
Alvina is in many ways The Lost Girl. Too good to work, and with no adequate suitors, at least none who excite her. Here we meet that other staple of Lawrencian philosophy: sex. Alvina could of course setlle, and marry a cold, almost fishlike, Cambridge academic. Or go to the other extreme and marry a wealthy tradesman, but she doesn't want to settle. A disappointing spinsterhood beckons.
And she is trapped between these poles, unable to demean herself to live among the common herd, and yet failing to truly live.
The parallels with his Later novel, Lady Chatterley are evident. This is a better work (in truth Chatterley is bitter and angry and not much else), but here DHL is wrestling with the problem that always consumed him. His class self-loathing. His desire to break the composure of the aristocratic woman. His repressed sexual ambivalence. This last is expressed through the character of Ciccio an Italian actor so lovingly rendered, so exotic, so desirable that we wonder why Lawrence never describes his women with such delicacy. Inevitably, Alvina is fascinated, who would not be? She is the moth to the flame.
This juxtaposition is the beautiful glint of Lawrence's genius, and we have had to get through a whole novel to see it. The man was at another level, but he let his bitterness destroy him. You can see it here, in its infancy. The beauty and freedom - and actually hope - of his early work, The Rainbow, Women in Love, the homage to himself that is Sons and Lovers, it has started here to curdle. But the brilliance still shines out all the same.
The protagonist, Alvina Houghton is a well-to-do 'lady' living in the below station environs of a working class Midlands town. Her father James indulges his endless and primarily fruitless schemes for summitting the entrepreneurial edifice and giving his daughter the means to substantiate her genteel expectations. More or less, he fails, but he never stops trying. In each iteration the family are reduced until Alvina is forced to contend with her greatest fear:
She rebelled with all her backbone against the word job. Even the substitutes, employment or work, were detestable, unbearable. Emphatically, she did not want to work for a wage. It was too humiliating. Could anything be more infra dig than the performing of a set of special actions day in day out, for a life-time, in order to receive some shillings every seventh day. Shameful! A condition of shame. The most vulgar, sordid and humiliating of all forms of slavery: so mechanical. Far better be a slave outright, in contact with all the whims and impulses of a human being, than serve some mechanical routine of modern work.
Alvina is in many ways The Lost Girl. Too good to work, and with no adequate suitors, at least none who excite her. Here we meet that other staple of Lawrencian philosophy: sex. Alvina could of course setlle, and marry a cold, almost fishlike, Cambridge academic. Or go to the other extreme and marry a wealthy tradesman, but she doesn't want to settle. A disappointing spinsterhood beckons.
Men can suck the heady juice of exalted self-importance from the bitter weed of failure—failures are usually the most conceited of men: even as was James Houghton. But to a woman, failure is another matter. For her it means failure to live, failure to establish her own life on the face of the earth. And this is humiliating, the ultimate humiliation.
And she is trapped between these poles, unable to demean herself to live among the common herd, and yet failing to truly live.
The parallels with his Later novel, Lady Chatterley are evident. This is a better work (in truth Chatterley is bitter and angry and not much else), but here DHL is wrestling with the problem that always consumed him. His class self-loathing. His desire to break the composure of the aristocratic woman. His repressed sexual ambivalence. This last is expressed through the character of Ciccio an Italian actor so lovingly rendered, so exotic, so desirable that we wonder why Lawrence never describes his women with such delicacy. Inevitably, Alvina is fascinated, who would not be? She is the moth to the flame.
Spoiler
Of course, Alvina is lost once more. The Italian scenes are wonderful but mostly through their contrast. It is entirely another world. Rich yet Spartan. Hopeless and tragic in another way entirely.klara1204's review against another edition
adventurous
sad
medium-paced
- Plot- or character-driven? Character
- Strong character development? Yes
- Loveable characters? It's complicated
- Diverse cast of characters? No
- Flaws of characters a main focus? Yes
4.25
rosielazar1's review against another edition
lighthearted
medium-paced
- Plot- or character-driven? Character
- Strong character development? Yes
- Loveable characters? Yes
- Diverse cast of characters? No
- Flaws of characters a main focus? Yes
3.75
irislane12's review against another edition
challenging
reflective
medium-paced
- Plot- or character-driven? A mix
- Strong character development? It's complicated
- Loveable characters? No
- Diverse cast of characters? N/A
2.0
This book was weird. It started off interesting lots of great back story but then the last 50 pages felt like they were notes and disconnected parts of where the author wanted the story to go but didn’t get there. I have liked D.H. Lawrence books in the past but there is a reason I hadn’t heard of this one.
Also weird descriptions/attitudes towards Italians that were uncomfortable as well as some blatantly racist/problematic content consistent with the times but still not fun to read.
Also weird descriptions/attitudes towards Italians that were uncomfortable as well as some blatantly racist/problematic content consistent with the times but still not fun to read.
sarahhahmad's review against another edition
3.0
lawrence is a superb writer, though this book was a little too slow. it was written sporadically which definitely shows. however, i loved the candidness with which lawrence talks about female sexual desire, way ahead of his time. minus points for the persistent orientalism
titan3lla's review against another edition
2.0
This is not the first book I read from Lawrence, and I thought I'd like this. Somewhere along the book there is a sentence about how the girl is extraordinary, which I think is not the case.
I do not know what category I should put this book in, but the character did not change, nothing particular happened to her. I was kind of bored listening to the story of boring things happening to her. I already forgot her name even...
I do not know what category I should put this book in, but the character did not change, nothing particular happened to her. I was kind of bored listening to the story of boring things happening to her. I already forgot her name even...
myliteraryshelf's review against another edition
2.0
Lawrence is one of my favourite authors. The intensity of feeling with which he writes is incredibly powerful. I enjoy his narratives of human relationships. However, I found The Lost Girl difficult to follow. Upon reading, the text is littered with obstacles in the forms of unnecessary facts and descriptions. The natural and usually smooth writing becomes disjointed and difficult to follow, so much so that I abandoned the novel about a quarter of the way through.
epictetsocrate's review
3.0
SA LUĂM, DE PILDĂ, UN ORĂŞEL minier ca Woodhouse, cu o populaţie de zece mii de locuitori, având trei generaţii în urmă. Acest spaţiu de trei generaţii pledează pentru o comunitate bine statornicită. Vechea „nobilime” îşi luase tălpăşiţa la vederea mormanelor de cărbune răscolit din măruntaiele pământului şi se răspândise prin alte regiuni, încă idilice, pentru a-şi fructifica pe acolo drepturile asupra minereurilor. Rămăsese un singur magnat, măreţ şi inaccesibil, proprietarul local al cărbunelui: cu trei generaţii în spate şi cocoţat pe treapta de jos a „nobilimii”, dar izbind cu piciorul în masele de dedesubt. Să facem abstracţie de el.
O comunitate bine statornicită în Woodhouse, stratificată într-o gamă de nuanţe fine, de la negrul prafului de cărbune, până la nisipul zgrunţos al zidarului şi la rumeguşul cherestegiului, trecând prin luciul gros al slăninei, untului şi cărnii, la aromele farmacistului şi dezinfectantele doctorului, până la sumbra poleială, a funcţionarilor bancari, casierilor firmei, preoţilor şi a altora deopotrivă, şi ajungând la radioasa strălucire a automobilului directorului general al tuturor minelor. Odată ajunşi aici ne plus ultra[1].
Directorul general locuieşte în singurătatea umbrită de boschete a aşa-numitului conac. Casa rezidenţială, părăsită de „nobilime”, a fost preluată de firmă şi transformată în birouri.
Iată-ne deci aici: un vast substrat de mineri; un strat gros de comercianţi amestecaţi cu funcţionari administrativi, şi diversificat de profesori de şcoală elementară şi cler nonconformist; mai sus o pătură de directori de bancă, morari bogaţi, patroni de fabrici metalurgice, prosperi, cler episcopal şi administratori de mine; iar în vârf, vişina grasă şi cleioasă, a proprietarului cărbunelui, răspândindu-şi scânteierile peste toţi şi peste toate.
Aşa arăta complexul sistem social al unui orăşel industrial din Anglia centrală, în anul de graţie 1920. Dar îngăduiţi-mi să privesc puţin îndărăt. Aşa arătă de fapt în ultimul an de linişte şi belşug, 1913.
Un an de linişte şi belşug. Doar o singură maladie cronică, urâcioasă: fetele bătrâne. În numele a tot ce înseamnă prosperitate, nu înţeleg de ce, într-o asemenea societate, toate clasele sociale, cu excepţia celei mai de jos, sunt împovărate de mlădiţele sterpe ale femeilor singure, nemăritate, care se numesc fete bătrâne? De ce oare fiecare comerciant, fiecare profesor, fiecare director de bancă şi fiecare cleric produce una, două, trei sau chiar mai multe fete bătrâne? Oare în clasa de mijloc, mai ales în straturile mai de jos ale clasei mijlocii, se nasc mai multe fete decât băieţi? Sau poate, că bărbaţii din straturile de jos ale clasei mijlocii îşi aleg nevestele din categoriile fie superioare, fie inferioare lor, lăsându-şi astfel partenerele de drept la strâmtoare? Sau să fie femeile din mica burghezie foarte mofturoase în alegerea soţilor?
Oricum ar fi, e o tragedie. Sau poate că nu e.
O comunitate bine statornicită în Woodhouse, stratificată într-o gamă de nuanţe fine, de la negrul prafului de cărbune, până la nisipul zgrunţos al zidarului şi la rumeguşul cherestegiului, trecând prin luciul gros al slăninei, untului şi cărnii, la aromele farmacistului şi dezinfectantele doctorului, până la sumbra poleială, a funcţionarilor bancari, casierilor firmei, preoţilor şi a altora deopotrivă, şi ajungând la radioasa strălucire a automobilului directorului general al tuturor minelor. Odată ajunşi aici ne plus ultra[1].
Directorul general locuieşte în singurătatea umbrită de boschete a aşa-numitului conac. Casa rezidenţială, părăsită de „nobilime”, a fost preluată de firmă şi transformată în birouri.
Iată-ne deci aici: un vast substrat de mineri; un strat gros de comercianţi amestecaţi cu funcţionari administrativi, şi diversificat de profesori de şcoală elementară şi cler nonconformist; mai sus o pătură de directori de bancă, morari bogaţi, patroni de fabrici metalurgice, prosperi, cler episcopal şi administratori de mine; iar în vârf, vişina grasă şi cleioasă, a proprietarului cărbunelui, răspândindu-şi scânteierile peste toţi şi peste toate.
Aşa arăta complexul sistem social al unui orăşel industrial din Anglia centrală, în anul de graţie 1920. Dar îngăduiţi-mi să privesc puţin îndărăt. Aşa arătă de fapt în ultimul an de linişte şi belşug, 1913.
Un an de linişte şi belşug. Doar o singură maladie cronică, urâcioasă: fetele bătrâne. În numele a tot ce înseamnă prosperitate, nu înţeleg de ce, într-o asemenea societate, toate clasele sociale, cu excepţia celei mai de jos, sunt împovărate de mlădiţele sterpe ale femeilor singure, nemăritate, care se numesc fete bătrâne? De ce oare fiecare comerciant, fiecare profesor, fiecare director de bancă şi fiecare cleric produce una, două, trei sau chiar mai multe fete bătrâne? Oare în clasa de mijloc, mai ales în straturile mai de jos ale clasei mijlocii, se nasc mai multe fete decât băieţi? Sau poate, că bărbaţii din straturile de jos ale clasei mijlocii îşi aleg nevestele din categoriile fie superioare, fie inferioare lor, lăsându-şi astfel partenerele de drept la strâmtoare? Sau să fie femeile din mica burghezie foarte mofturoase în alegerea soţilor?
Oricum ar fi, e o tragedie. Sau poate că nu e.
ninjasunknown's review against another edition
adventurous
slow-paced
- Plot- or character-driven? A mix
- Strong character development? No
- Loveable characters? Yes
- Diverse cast of characters? No
- Flaws of characters a main focus? Yes
4.5