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Lady Chatterley's Lover, chapter 6
May. 10th, 2016 10:25 amI've just finished chapter 6 of Lady Chatterley's Lover; I could be going faster, but I'm finding it rough going. Not the writing, the writing is lovely, but emotionally speaking: one gets the feeling that World War I gave the entirety of England shell-shock, or possibly that Connie's husband Clifford's shell-shock reaches out malignant emotional tentacles that wrap around everyone around him.
Not because of any malignancy on his part, but because the shell-shock is a parasite that has hollowed him out and now is looking for someone new to eat.
And they're in the coaling country, so the air always smells of sulphur, and the sky is gray with ash, and it always seems to be raining, although that at least is probably not the result of the coal; and Connie has concluded that all there is to life is nothingness, except for money, and even money is important only because you need it to fulfill the bodily necessities of your unfortunate carcass so you can drag it through the grim, gray, rainy days.
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...
I'm hoping that Lady Chatterley finds her lover soon. I am also glad that the cover copy informs me that her lover is a human man, and not the sweet oblivion of Death.
Not because of any malignancy on his part, but because the shell-shock is a parasite that has hollowed him out and now is looking for someone new to eat.
And they're in the coaling country, so the air always smells of sulphur, and the sky is gray with ash, and it always seems to be raining, although that at least is probably not the result of the coal; and Connie has concluded that all there is to life is nothingness, except for money, and even money is important only because you need it to fulfill the bodily necessities of your unfortunate carcass so you can drag it through the grim, gray, rainy days.
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...
I'm hoping that Lady Chatterley finds her lover soon. I am also glad that the cover copy informs me that her lover is a human man, and not the sweet oblivion of Death.
