So, I am now reading D.H. Lawrence's
Lady Chattereley's Lover...and I absolutely love it. I keep asking myself 'What took me so long to get around to reading this?!' And then I remember that I've had sort of a negative attitude toward British Literature for some time, which I am now realizing is pretty foolish. Fortunately, I learn from my mistakes.
In any case, I'm a big fan of Henry Miller. Aside from my own personal interest in Mr. Miller, I spent a considerable amount of time researching the trial of his novel
Tropic of Cancer last spring semester for a class. In my research, several references were made to
LCL for it's sexual explicitness and it having been the landmark case which made it possible for Miller to publish in the U.S. Also, Miller and his circle of writer friends were also big fans of Lawrence's work. It was not only intellectual, but represented a seemingly unprecedented freedom of expression. At some point, Miller endeavored to write a piece on Lawrence's work, but it became an uncontrollable project and was therefore abandoned. The idea was that by proving his literary/intellectual merits, critics would take Miller's work more seriously. Would it have worked? Who knows?
I marvel at the reasoning behind book banning. If one doesn't like something, one should simply avoid exposing his or herself to it! Geez. It's not that difficult. Or better yet, read the damn book and at least understand
why it is deemed undesirable. (My apologies. I tend to go on tangents, but I'm getting better about catching myself.) Granted, Miller is often pretty crass in his novels, but I fail to see how can one not see beyond the sex. I imagine sex is one of those hush-hush topics, but man, what I love about both Miller and Lawrence are all of the ideas and thoughts on art, intellect, relations between men and women, how one relates to the world, and, of course, sex and desire. When I read these novels, I often imagine I am sitting in some smokey parlor listening to close friends ramble. Ha. I am not really sure how well that reflects upon me.
Nevertheless, I often find that certain novels find me at the most appropriate of times. Right or wrong, I tend to personalize my reading experience. I think we all do - at least to an extent. Several passages grabbed me, but there was one in particular I had to share with a friend of mine because it applied to both of us and our understanding of the social world:
"The world is supposed to be full of possibilities, but they narrow down to pretty few in most personal experience. There's lot of good fish in the sea...maybe...but the vast masses seem to be mackeral or herring, and if you're not mackeral or herring yourself, you are likely to find very few good fish in the sea."
So, I sent this quote to my friend via text and got the response "Well, you're not half-shad yourself." I'm easily amused. : )
There is something really exciting about reading a novel that defies the standard expectations of form. Flann O'Brien begins his novel, At Swim-Two-Birds, under the premise that "A good book may have three openings entirely dissimilar and inter-related only in the presence of the author, or for that matter one hundred times as many endings." That is precisely how this novel begins...and ends. The narrative is written in layers with the actual author writing a story about a writer writing a story about another writer writing a story. In some odd way, it reminds me of the movie Inception, not by any means in content, but in form. You know, the dream within a dream within a dream?
