To Be A Good Animal

As deeply unfashionable and “problematic” as he may be to contemporary tastes, D.H. Lawrence, at his best, pisses confidently and casually over most writers, both past and present. Yes, he was probably more than a little mad, and undoubtedly a nightmare to be trapped in the same room with, but I would much rather that than the bland and bloodless writers that publishers try to foist upon us today. I’m currently reader John Worthen’s biography of Lawrence, and you can imagine my surprise when I read this passage, from Sons and Lovers:

He worked a great deal from memory, using everybody he knew. He believed firmly in his work, that it was good and valuable. In spite of fits of depression, shrinking, everything, he believed in his work.

You can chisel that into my tombstone.

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