Dirty Black Summer
I spent the morning reading one of the best pieces on DH Lawrence one will encounter, courtesy of the great James Wood. It's a testament to Wood's insight that now, with the vernal equinox upon us, he chooses to elevate Lawrence, a writer one must appreciate as a reader of good books. Lawrence straddles the 19th and 20th centuries with his books, and is often left off when discussing the 'best of the century', as us commoners often do. Lawrence is so good, so radical and fresh with each re-read, that I consider myself stupid for forgetting him, but of all artists that matter, that devoted life to craft, that lived the bold line, he has few if no equals. Wood's take reminds us of Lawrence oddities, his naturalist tendencies (my favorite, with Cormac McCarthy a close second), and he reminds me of what early 20th century Euro lit should have been, rather than the experimental nonsense that turns undergrads into Proust/Joyce zealots (I was one, now in remission - thank god). We have our own coal mines in the 21st century, yet we call them by different names (Wall Street, Silicon Valley), and our collective retreats into the cocoon with our iPods and satellite TVs give us little appreciation of the large world wonders within driving distance from our homes. Wood's piece also reminded one of the fear this time of year brings - though the long, bright days are here, their end is at the distant horizon. Daisy Buchanan always forgot the date of the solstice, but my favorite turn from Dickens sums nature's swift impact on our lives: "A great wind rises, and the summer is gone in a moment. We are playing in the winter twilight, dancing about the parlour." Fishing season starts April 28th - nature beware.
I spent the morning reading one of the best pieces on DH Lawrence one will encounter, courtesy of the great James Wood. It's a testament to Wood's insight that now, with the vernal equinox upon us, he chooses to elevate Lawrence, a writer one must appreciate as a reader of good books. Lawrence straddles the 19th and 20th centuries with his books, and is often left off when discussing the 'best of the century', as us commoners often do. Lawrence is so good, so radical and fresh with each re-read, that I consider myself stupid for forgetting him, but of all artists that matter, that devoted life to craft, that lived the bold line, he has few if no equals. Wood's take reminds us of Lawrence oddities, his naturalist tendencies (my favorite, with Cormac McCarthy a close second), and he reminds me of what early 20th century Euro lit should have been, rather than the experimental nonsense that turns undergrads into Proust/Joyce zealots (I was one, now in remission - thank god). We have our own coal mines in the 21st century, yet we call them by different names (Wall Street, Silicon Valley), and our collective retreats into the cocoon with our iPods and satellite TVs give us little appreciation of the large world wonders within driving distance from our homes. Wood's piece also reminded one of the fear this time of year brings - though the long, bright days are here, their end is at the distant horizon. Daisy Buchanan always forgot the date of the solstice, but my favorite turn from Dickens sums nature's swift impact on our lives: "A great wind rises, and the summer is gone in a moment. We are playing in the winter twilight, dancing about the parlour." Fishing season starts April 28th - nature beware.
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