I chose “Daughters of the Vicar” as my introduction to D.H. Lawrence, because when Nymeth posted about how much she liked Lady Chatterley’s Lover last year, she kindly gave me some story recommendations in reply to my comment. She said this one was her favourite, though the longest (44 pages!), so I decided to go for it.

Whatever I was expecting, it wasn’t a story of such humanity or a writing style that reminded me of a darker, more jaded Jane Austen. I know-all of you Austen fans out there are going “Are you serious?! Lawrence?! Isn’t he known for writing pornography?!” First off, let me suggest you read Nymeth’s review (that I linked up above) to clear up that misconception. Next, let me tell you the plot of the story: a vicar and his wife end up poorer than expected, and the two eldest children-both daughters-must decide about marriage, and its relationship to love or money (sound familliar?). Then check out this passage from the story:

“The young clergyman was keenly expected. He was not more than twenty-seven, a Master of Arts of Oxford, had written his thesis on Roman Law. He came of an old Cambridgeshire family, had some private means, was going to take a church in Northamptonshire with a good stipend, and was not married. Mrs Lindley incurred new debts, and scarcely regretted her husband’s illness.
But when Mr Massy came, there was a shock of disappointment in the house. They had expected a young man with a pipe and a deep voice, but with better manners than Sidney, the eldest of the Lindleys. There arrived instead a small, chétif man, scarcely larger than a boy of twelve, spectacled, timid in the extreme, without a word to utter at first; yet with a certain inhuman self-sureness.”

If that doesn’t remind you of Austen, then perhaps I’m just crazy.

Anyway, I don’t want to imply that reading “Daughters of the Vicar” is similar to some cozy time with Pride and Prejudice. In Austen’s world, fate is always kind to the heroines; Lawrence prefers to look at the real world, and examine what might happen therein. Oh dear, I’m having the hardest time writing this review without giving away the plot. So I’m going to turn my attention to my attention to other literary stuff.

One of the things Lawrence does magnificently in this story is to examine the different forms of love. One character has a deep, hopeless love for someone of a different class. One character discovers herself to be loved by someone she does not love, and must decide if a loveless marriage is worth the monetary advantage. That’s the romantic love-there’s also a couple of cases of mother love. The two key mothers in the story (one is the vicar’s wife, the other is from the ‘low class’ parish to which the vicar preaches) show their love in very different ways. One is determined to better her children’s situation, so that they won’t have to live in the poverty she detests. The other prefers to smother and care for her favourite child, to keep the child at home even at the expense of social advancement. They are both extremes, and I believe most real-life mothers would fall somewhere in the middle of the spectrum, but for the purposes of the story they work perfectly.

There’s no way I can talk about what I think Lawrence did best without giving away one aspect of the plot (it’s an event that occurs maybe halfway through the story). So consider this your spoiler alert. If you stop reading now, just know that Lawrence is a wonderful author to whom you should really give a chance. If, like me, the idea of beginning with one of his novels made you nervous, you can either read a story online (I’ve linked the title to a free copy) or get a hold of The Prussian Officer, the collection that contains this story. Oh, and be sure to check out my question in bold after the spoiler paragraph-I’m curious to know your answer!

Still with me? Ok. Well, the eldest daughter-Mary-decides to marry the repulsive clergyman described in the above passage for his wealth. And the best part of the story is watching her struggle with her decision, watching how as a human being she justifies her compromise of her very self. Here’s one of the most compelling passages in the story, in my opinion:

Mary, in marrying him, tried to become a pure reason such as he was, without feeling or impulse. She shut herself up, she shut herself rigid against the agonies of shame and the terror of violation which came at first. She WOULD not feel, and she WOULD not feel. She was a pure will acquiescing to him. She elected a certain kind of fate. She would be good and purely just, she would live in a higher freedom than she had ever known, she would be free of mundane care, she was a pure will towards right. She had sold herself, but she had a new freedom. She had got rid of her body. She had sold a lower thing, her body, for a higher thing, her freedom from material things. She considered that she paid for all she got from her husband. So, in a kind of independence, she moved proud and free.

Tell me you can read that passage and not want to read more Lawrence! **END OF SPOILER**

So that about sums it up: I was very skeptical of D.H. Lawrence, but now I shall definitely include one of his novels on my TBR list. Have you ever read an author and found yourself amazed that s/he was nothing like you expected? Who? And was it for the better or worse?

Other Notable Passage
She stood utterly motionless. Then clumsily he put his arms round her, and took her, cruelly, blindly, straining her till she nearly lost consciousness, till he himself had almost fallen.
Then, gradually, as he held her gripped, and his brain reeled round, and he felt himself falling, falling from himself, and whilst she, yielded up, swooned to a kind of death of herself, a moment of utter darkness came over him, and they began to wake up again as if from a long sleep. He was himself.