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convincingly demonstrates that a number of key modern texts are underwritten by 19th-century children's books.Just as a palimpsest reveals an earlier script beneath a later one, so the image of a children's book may lie beneath an exigent and sophisticated modern work. I remember nothing about the chemistry itself, except that oxygen and carbon figured prominently. But I think she misses the larger point: real sex can be quaint and sentimental, it can be fantastic, quotidian, surprising, almost anything. And Lawrence, for better or worse, captures its every mood. His extended descriptions of sex can be cringe-worthy, so cringe-worthy I won’t quote them here. However, as it turned out, nothing had prepared me for D. I know that speculating is futile, but I feel that if Lawrence had had more time, in high school, and as I reread it recently, I squirmed, due to the less than positive qualities that Harrison enumerates.Connie, now carrying Oliver's child, must choose between a pampered but joyless existence with her husband or an uncertain future with the man she has come to love.
In terms of more exigent readings, Burnett's work appears a powerfully feminist and Lawrence's a phallocentrically apocalyptic work.Burnett is an a-political writer, largely content with the status quo; her "Boy Who Became a Socialist," for example, treats as comedy a child's yearning for social justice.Lawrence, on the contrary, is an apocalyptic writer ready to junk the entire apparatus of human civilization.Then as he began to move, in the sudden helpless orgasm, there awoke in her new strange thrills rippling inside her. Rippling, rippling, rippling, like a flapping overlapping of soft flames, soft as feathers, running to points of brilliance, exquisite and melting her all molten inside.
Accept your own aloneness and stick to it, all your life. The cataclysm has happened, we are among the ruins, we start to build up new little habitats, to have new little hopes. When you don't have them they hate you because you won't; and when you do have them they hate you again, for some other reason.