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Med udgangspunkt i en primitiv og næsten mystisk dyrkelse af seksualiteten skildrer romanen et forhold mellem en forfinet overklassekvinde, der er skuffet i sit ægteskab, og en primitiv mand.
bluepiano: A good follow-up or perhaps corrective. Plot is broad, conventional stuff; it's Brown's great gift for language and sense of humour that make the book.
As descrições do bosque de Wragby, que constitui aqui um refúgio do mundo moderno, são belíssimas, e criam, por si só, uma tensão erótica que se vai acumulando ao longo de toda a primeira parte do romance, e que culmina num mero toque na anca da mulher e uma ordem esta se deite num colchão improvisado.
“Contudo, a primavera tinha voltado, as campainhas começavam a aparecer no bosque e os rebentos das aveleiras desabrochavam como salpicos de chuva verde. Terrível conjugação, a da primavera com um coração frio. Só as galinhas, que docemente espalhavam as suas penas sobre os ovos, eram quentes nos seus corpos solenes de fêmeas! Connie sentia-se, em todos os momentos, perto do desmaio.”
“O sol deu lugar ao frio. Os narcisos escondiam-se na erva escura. Escondiam-se assim durante o resto do dia e durante a noite, longa fria. Eram tão fortes na sua fragilidade!”
“E então, certo dia, um esplendido dia de sol em que tufos de primaveras coloriam o bosque e as violetas sulcavam os caminhos”
Estas imagens constituem-se em oposição com o ambiente circundante (a casa, a mina, a aldeia) onde impera a clausura, a submissão, as aparências e a neblina.
“Levantou-se, um pouco entorpecida, apanhou uns narcisos, começou a descer. Não gostava de apanhar flores, queria simplesmente uma ou duas. Tinha de voltar para Wragby e para aquelas paredes que presentemente odiava, especialmente aquelas paredes espessas. Paredes, sempre paredes! E, no entanto, eram necessárias por causa do vento.”
“O ar pesado cheirava a enxofre, mas estavam já ambos habituados. Ao longe via-se uma neblina, opaca pela geada e pelo fumo, lá em cima um pouco de céu azul. Parecia que tudo estava fechado, encarcerado. A vida era um sonho, ou um devaneio, mas sempre encarcerado.”
A forma como é encarado o sexo, nestes dois mundos antagónicos, é ao mesmo tempo central e sintomática de um quadro mais geral de esvaziamento do sentido. O sexo como ligação profunda, simultaneamente terna e violenta, é fundamental neste livro e na sua filosofia. Mas, mais do que pelo conteúdo erótico, este é subversivo nesse sentido mais geral, de recusa de um mundo industrializado, asfixiante, falso onde as pessoas já não sabem viver sem dinheiro.
As personagens estão muito bem construídas e movem-se pelo livro em constante fricção, como placas tectónicas, o que cria a tensão dramática. Este movimento é obviamente extensível aos referidos dois mundos, sendo que neste caso, é de salientar o papel da resistência individual – que embora impotente face ao resto do mundo, não se deixa de afirmar como resistência. Não vou conseguir mudar o mundo, mas também não deixarei que ele me mude a mim. ( )
Surprisingly I’d never read this book before although as a schoolboy we would often pass around books for the passages relating to sex. I’ve also read a lot of Lawrence’s other books and enjoyed them. When I saw there was an audiobook version read by Holliday Grainger I decided it was time I discovered what all the fuss was about and the first thing to say is that she was an inspired choice to be narrator and even made the sometimes dull parts listenable. My guess is that, if the book was published today, it would be more rigorously edited to take out some of the repetitive and redundant parts though I wouldn’t want to see Lawrence’s mystical passages excised. For me it was more about class and the rapaciousness of modern technology than about the affair between Connie and Mellors and even their relationship was as much about a clash between the classes as it was about how men and women approach sex. It helped, I think, that I grew up in Lawrence country and I could recognise all of the characters portrayed in the novel. Though many would deny it I see little difference with the type of people we encounter now to the ones Lawrence was writing about. As John Lennon put it: “You think you’re so clever, so classless and free but you’re still fucking peasants as far as I can see.” ( )
It seemed very long and boring, although in fact it was a short book. The sex scenes were quite brutal and didn't seem really necessary to the book, and I really didn't like the heroine of the book, I found her quite stupid and insipid. I could hardly finish and I didn't enjoy this experience at all. I don't think I'll ever re-read this book.
It seemed very long and boring, although in fact it was a short book. The sex scenes were quite brutal and didn't seem really necessary to the book, and I really didn't like the heroine of the book, I found her quite stupid and insipid. I could hardly finish and I didn't enjoy this experience at all. I don't think I'll ever re-read this book.
It seemed very long and boring, although in fact it was a short book. The sex scenes were quite brutal and didn't seem really necessary to the book, and I really didn't like the heroine of the book, I found her quite stupid and insipid. I could hardly finish and I didn't enjoy this experience at all. I don't think I'll ever re-read this book.
Could have used more smut. When John Thomas and Lady Jane are properly covered up there's dreary philosophizing in their stead: about how Connie thinks everything is nothingness, and how industrialization is emasculating British men, and how Mellors thinks strong willed women should be shot. Though there's also a sharp critique of the English class system, not that that is all that rare a beast by these days.
Much more entertaining are passages like this lovely, in which Connie bemoans the withdrawal of the post-ejaculatory penis:
And only now she became aware of the small, bud-like reticence and tenderness of the penis, and a little cry of wonder and poignancy escaped her again, her woman's heart crying out over the tender frailty of that which had been the power.
Merged review:
Could have used more smut. When John Thomas and Lady Jane are properly covered up there's dreary philosophizing in their stead: about how Connie thinks everything is nothingness, and how industrialization is emasculating British men, and how Mellors thinks strong willed women should be shot. Though there's also a sharp critique of the English class system, not that that is all that rare a beast by these days.
Much more entertaining are passages like this lovely, in which Connie bemoans the withdrawal of the post-ejaculatory penis:
And only now she became aware of the small, bud-like reticence and tenderness of the penis, and a little cry of wonder and poignancy escaped her again, her woman's heart crying out over the tender frailty of that which had been the power.
Although written many years ago, Lady Chatterley's Lover has just been reissued by the Grove Press, and this fictional account of the day-to-day life of an English gamekeeper is still of considerable interest to outdoor minded readers, as it contains many passages on pheasant raising, the apprehending of poachers, ways to control vermin, and other chores and duties of the professional gamekeeper. Unfortunately one is obliged to wade through many pages of extraneous material in order to discover and savor these sidelights on the management of a Midland shooting estate, and in this reviewer's opinion this book cannot take the place of J.R. Miller's Practical Gamekeeping.
tilføjet af Cynfelyn | RedigerField and Stream, Ed Zern(Nov 1, 1959)
Oplysninger fra den engelske Almen VidenRedigér teksten, så den bliver dansk.
Publisher's dedication : "......to the twelve jurors who returned a verdict of 'Not Guilty' [on 2 November, 1960] and thus made D.H. Lawrence's last novel available for the first time to the public in the United Kindom"
Første ord
Oplysninger fra den engelske Almen VidenRedigér teksten, så den bliver dansk.
Ours is essentially a tragic age, so we refuse to take it tragically.
Citater
Oplysninger fra den engelske Almen VidenRedigér teksten, så den bliver dansk.
Ours is essentially a tragic age, so we refuse to take it tragically. The cataclysm has happened, we are among the ruins, we start to build up new litle habitats, to have new little hopes. It is rather hard work: there is no smooth road into the future: but we go round, or scramble ver the obstacles. We've got to live, no matter how many skies have fallen.
The beautiful pure freedom of a woman was infnitely more wonderful than any sexual love. The only unfortunate thing was that men lagged so far behind women in the matter. They insisted on the sex thing like dogs.
"No, I don't hate you," she said. "I think you're nice." - "Ah!" he said to her fiercely, "I'd rather you said that to me than said you love me! It means such a lot more..."
The world is supposed to be full of possibilities, but they narrow down to pretty few in most personal experience. There's lots of good fish in the sea... maybe... but the vast masses seem to be mackerel or herring, and if you're not mackerel or herring yourself, you are likely to find very few good fish in the sea.
"I can't see I do a woman any more harm by sleeping with her than by dancing with her... or even talking to her about the weather. It's just an interchange of sensations instead of ideas, so why not?"
"If you HAVE the proper sort of emotion or sympathy with a woman, you OUGHT to sleep with her," said May. "It's the only decent thing, to go to bed with her. Just as, when you are interested talking to someone, the only decent thing is to have the talk out."
Perhaps the human soul needs excursions, and must not be denied them. But the point of an excursion is that you come home again.
It was the last bit of passion left in these men: the passion for making a display.
"A woman wants you to like her and talk to her, and at the same time love her and desire her; and it seems to me the two things are mutually exclusive."- "But they shouldn't be!" - "No doubt water ought not to be so wet as it is; it overdoes it in wetness. But there it is! I like women and talk to them, and therefore I don't love them and desire them. The two things don't happen at the same time in me." - "I think they ought to."
All the great words, it seemed to Connie, were cancelled for her generation: love, joy, happiness, home, mother, father, husband, all these great, dynamic words were half dead now, and dying from day to day. Home was a place you lived in, love was a thing you didn't fool yourself about, joy was a word you applied to a good Charleston, happiness was a term of hypocrisy used to bluff other people, a father was an individual who enjoyed his own existence, a husband was a man you lived with and kept going in spirits. As for sex, the last of the great words, it was just a cocktail term for an excitement that bucked you up for a while, then left you more raggy than ever. Frayed! It was as if the very material you were made of was cheap stuff, and was fraying out to nothing.
All that really remained was a stubborn stoicism: and in that there was a certain pleasure. In the very experience of the nothingness of life, phase after phase, étape after étape, there was a certain grisly satisfaction. So that's that! Always this was the last utterance: home, love, marriage, Michaelis: So that's that! And when one died, the last words to life would be: So that's that!
It seemed as if most of the `really good' men just missed the bus. After all you only lived one life, and if you missed the bus, you were just left on the pavement, along with the rest of the failures.
"A woman has to live her life, or live to repent not having lived it."
Society was terrible because it was insane. Civilized society was insane. Money and so-called love are its two great manias; money a long way first.
Sidste ord
Oplysninger fra den engelske Almen VidenRedigér teksten, så den bliver dansk.
John Thomas says good-night to Lady Jane, a little droopingly, but with a hopeful heart.
Med udgangspunkt i en primitiv og næsten mystisk dyrkelse af seksualiteten skildrer romanen et forhold mellem en forfinet overklassekvinde, der er skuffet i sit ægteskab, og en primitiv mand.
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The lady Chatterley's lover
7
“Contudo, a primavera tinha voltado, as campainhas começavam a aparecer no bosque e os rebentos das aveleiras desabrochavam como salpicos de chuva verde. Terrível conjugação, a da primavera com um coração frio. Só as galinhas, que docemente espalhavam as suas penas sobre os ovos, eram quentes nos seus corpos solenes de fêmeas! Connie sentia-se, em todos os momentos, perto do desmaio.”
“O sol deu lugar ao frio. Os narcisos escondiam-se na erva escura. Escondiam-se assim durante o resto do dia e durante a noite, longa fria. Eram tão fortes na sua fragilidade!”
“E então, certo dia, um esplendido dia de sol em que tufos de primaveras coloriam o bosque e as violetas sulcavam os caminhos”
Estas imagens constituem-se em oposição com o ambiente circundante (a casa, a mina, a aldeia) onde impera a clausura, a submissão, as aparências e a neblina.
“Levantou-se, um pouco entorpecida, apanhou uns narcisos, começou a descer. Não gostava de apanhar flores, queria simplesmente uma ou duas. Tinha de voltar para Wragby e para aquelas paredes que presentemente odiava, especialmente aquelas paredes espessas. Paredes, sempre paredes! E, no entanto, eram necessárias por causa do vento.”
“O ar pesado cheirava a enxofre, mas estavam já ambos habituados. Ao longe via-se uma neblina, opaca pela geada e pelo fumo, lá em cima um pouco de céu azul. Parecia que tudo estava fechado, encarcerado. A vida era um sonho, ou um devaneio, mas sempre encarcerado.”
A forma como é encarado o sexo, nestes dois mundos antagónicos, é ao mesmo tempo central e sintomática de um quadro mais geral de esvaziamento do sentido. O sexo como ligação profunda, simultaneamente terna e violenta, é fundamental neste livro e na sua filosofia. Mas, mais do que pelo conteúdo erótico, este é subversivo nesse sentido mais geral, de recusa de um mundo industrializado, asfixiante, falso onde as pessoas já não sabem viver sem dinheiro.
As personagens estão muito bem construídas e movem-se pelo livro em constante fricção, como placas tectónicas, o que cria a tensão dramática. Este movimento é obviamente extensível aos referidos dois mundos, sendo que neste caso, é de salientar o papel da resistência individual – que embora impotente face ao resto do mundo, não se deixa de afirmar como resistência. Não vou conseguir mudar o mundo, mas também não deixarei que ele me mude a mim.
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