English novelist and poet David Herbert Richards "D. H." Lawrence (1885 - 1930) was also a playwright, essayist, literary critic and painter. Lawrence explored sexuality, emotional health and instinct in his works. His opinions earned him enemies, persecution and censorship. On his death, his reputation was that of a pornographer who had wasted his talents. But E. M. Forster, in an obituary, described him as "The greatest imaginative novelist of our generation."
The White Peacockby D. H. Lawrence
Focusing on three relationships - one destructively stillborn, one disastrously unfulfilling and one passionately unspoken - Lawrence exploits the language and conventions of the rural tradition to foreground man's alienation from the natural world. His evocation of the vanishing countryside of the English midlands, as soon through the eyes of the effete Cyril Beardsall, is both vivid and arresting, and as the novel draws towards its tragic conclusion Lawrence handles his themes with an increasingly visionary power. The White Peacock is both a fascinating precursor of the more famous novels to come and a moving and challenging book in its own right. underrated novel, and shows how Lawrence was already breaking the mould of English fiction.
D.H. Lawrence was an English novelist, poet, playwright, essayist and literary critic. His collected works represent an extended reflection upon the dehumanising effects of modernity and industrialisation. In them, Lawrence confronts issues relating to emotional health and vitality, spontaneity, and instinct.
- Echo Library
- Publication date:
- Product dimensions:
- 6.00(w) x 9.00(h) x 0.62(d)
Meet the Author
- Date of Birth:
- September 11, 1885
- Date of Death:
- March 2, 1930
- Place of Birth:
- Eastwood, Nottinghamshire, England
- Place of Death:
- Vence, France
- Nottingham University College, teacher training certificate, 1908
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She paints a pretty picture, But the story has a twist, Her paint brush is a razor, And her canvas is her wrist, She paints her pretty picture, In a color that's blood red, While using her sharp paint brush, She finally ends up dead. Her pretty pictures fading, Quite slowly on her arm, The blood is not racing through her, She can no longer do harm. She painted her pretty picture, But her picture had a twist, You see her mind was her razor, And her heart was her wrist.