When Clausewitz wrote On War, he could hardly have suspected what he set into motion. Decades after his death, a group of Clausewitz enthusiasts engineered the von Schlieffen Plan, started World War I, and changed Europe forever. And it was much more than just who owned Alsace-Lorraine, for the Great War, at least in D. H. Lawrence’s England, was the turning point in the feminist movement. As Hillary Simpson put it, the motivation for the women’s movement was largely economic, for "a highly industrialised nation faced with mass conscription of its active men had no choice but to look for an alternative labour force, and the employment of women was the obvious answer" (63). Many a man would return to find women in what had been men’s roles. Lawrence, however, remained in England during the war due to his weak lungs, which kept him out of the army. As a result, he witnessed the social evolution, watching as women became much more independent and powerful during the war. And at times he does seem uneasy about women’s new social role. But it is not merely a knee-jerk reaction, for Lawrence explores many independent female characters, and portrays them all differently. If anything, Lawrence was a careful observer with an eye to reality, and those stories which are used to indict him are used wrongly and out of context. Though his critics make him out as a landmark in literary chauvinism , when we consider all of his stories we see that he was apt to change his view from day to day, year to year. Rather than showing indecisiveness, this reflects Lawrence’s evolving opinions and attitudes. Lawrence continued to pursue the complex questions of his time throughout his life, and as he changed, so did his answers to those questions.
It hardly seems that Lawrence’s feminist critics are capable of looking at the issue with such an open mind. One such critic, Kate Millet, discusses "The Woman Who Rode Away," along with other works, in her 1970 book Sexual Politics. In it, an unnamed female character flees white society in search of American Indian spirituality only to die in a ritualistic sacrifice. Millet portrays the story as an exploitative and sadistic work, comparing it to hard core pornography such as The Story of O. Lawrence’s previous critics, according to Millet, "fudge the meaning of the story by mumbling vaguely that it is all allegorical, symbolic." (377) After hearing this criticism of vague interpretation, we cannot help but expect Millet to make a crisp, clear and irrefutable claim, powerfully changing the way we view the story. Unfortunately, we find her grasping for symbol and allegory on the very next page:
Lawrence has improved upon the rape fantasy by sterilizing the story--removing all traces of overt sexual activity and replacing them with his homemade mythology--the woman is sacrificed to the sun. But there is a sincere "religious impulse" in the tale, apart from the inanities of the pseudo-Indian legend, for the story is Lawrence’s most impassioned statement of the doctrine of male supremacy and the penis as deity.So it seems that Millet’s criticism of interpretation and intellectual symbolism was meant not to apply to her interpretation. And feeble it is indeed, with Lawrence cleverly throwing out all sexual activity in his story--a fairly indirect way of carrying out the "rape fantasy." Why should anyone else’s interpretative guess "fudge the meaning" while Kate Millet’s equally interpretive reading be sovereign? She in many places comes across as the emotionally charged female--what she says is right regardless of any facts and we had just better not argue with her. And although this strategy might have worked well enough for Millet in everyday life, it just isn’t good enough for a scholarly paper. It is easy and perhaps fun to characterize Lawrence as a chauvinist, speaking in terms of "phallic sects" and "death-fucks," but he is just not that simple.
He was many things: a miner’s son, an intellectual, a rogue, and a sickly writer. But was he a male chauvinist? His critics point out examples of dominant men who are treated as heroes and weak, submissive women, and conclude that he is. But it would be a great mistake to determine Lawrence’s "sexual politics" based only on the stories which seem to vilify him. In order to "gauge" Lawrence’s chauvinism, or lack thereof, we must go beyond Millet’s strategy of taking one or a few similar examples. That is, it would not be very effective to analyze three works from the same period--say, "The Princess," "The Woman Who Rode Away" and "The Plumed Serpent"--and leave it at that. Though carefully considering all of Lawrence’s works would be infinitely better than taking just one, this would require a lifetime of work, somewhat beyond the scope of this essay. So we must come to a bit of a compromise, and do a sort of rough statistical survey of his pieces, choosing stories that are not too alike and yet not too far from the average as to misrepresent the writer very much. Admittedly, this is not a perfect method, but is feasible and will hopefully yield results approximating the truth.
First, let us consider Banford and March from Lawrence’s novella "The Fox." They live in a tiny attempt at a sort of utopian, proto-lesbian commune, with Banford as bookkeeper and March doing the masculine farm-chores. While Banford seems to lack some of her femininity, March keeps hers, and is very attractive despite doing dirty, hard labor and wearing a man’s work clothes. It seems that the farm the pair owns is a sort of laboratory for Lawrence’s own peculiar experiment in which he examines the possibilities inherent in women’s new social role. What would the world be like without men? Would women turn into Banfords or Marches? Of course, Lawrence cannot really consider this question alone--it would hardly make for an interesting story. So he adds the corollary question: how will these new types of women behave in the real world? Perhaps the attack of the fox on their hen house represents the return of men to England following the war. It is something that both Banford and March have difficulty dealing with, for even able March, having the fox in her sights, is hypnotized by its male power and is unable to pull the trigger and kill it. So this proto-feminist duo must be rescued by a young boy, who is much like the fox that he kills. He kills Banford by felling a tree on top of her and forces March into a marriage in which he is very much the dominating male, with March learning "her place" as a female. The female is certainly dominated by the male in what could indeed be called a "twisted, sadistic fantasy." The boy’s feelings at the end of the story seem to agree with Millet’s claim that the male attitude focuses on female submission to the male:
He chafed, feeling he hadn’t got his own life. He would never have it till she yielded and slept in him. Then he would have all his own life as a young man and a male, and she would have all her own life as a woman and a female. There would be no more of this awful straining. (Portable 305)Here, "slept in him" is similar to the mental rape that Millet referred to--the domination of the female psyche is what the boy seeks. The question, therefore, is whether or not we can accept the boy as a representative male or an immature, perversion of the typical male. The fact that he is constantly referred to as "boy" seems to emphasize that he is not yet a full man, so we cannot necessarily assume that he is the universal male and Banford and March (called "girls" despite being in their thirties) are universal females. Thus, it is a far leap indeed to interpret the boy’s feelings as Lawrence’s own sexual fantasies. Admittedly though, there is ammunition in "The Fox" for Millet’s argument--not surprisingly, it is one of the few other Lawrence stories she uses as evidence in her book.
But counter to the impression that "The Fox" makes are characters like Annie in "Tickets, Please," who are strong enough to overpower men. In the story a group of young, female tram conductors turn violent on a philandering man who they feel is not being appropriately monogamous. Clearly, these women are not submissive slaves in a sadistic, twisted rape fantasy. For the independent women in "Tickets, Please," at least in some respects, get the best of the male character John Thomas, whose name as well as nickname (Coddy) refer to the male organ. Millet would have trouble finding evidence of Lawrence’s feelings of the "penis as deity" in this story, indeed. In some parts of the story, women are very overpowering, as in this scene, where they nearly kill John Thomas:
The girls rushed at him, clenched their hands on him and pulled at him: or they rushed at him and pushed him, butted him with all their might: or they struck him wild blows. He ducked and cringed and struck sideways--He lay at last quite still, with face averted, as an animal lies when it is defeated and at the mercy of the captor. (Lawrence 343)Lawrence had, in his life, watched women’s role change from domestic to much more individualistic. These "new women" were capable, at least in groups, of bettering the John Thomases of the world. It is clear then why women should seem so potentially dangerous to Lawrence as in "Tickets, Please"--they were a once weak social force which now had the confidence to become powerful. And though they become rather like men, as evidenced by their tram uniforms, they eventually choose to return to a more domestic view on sex roles, trying to force John Thomas into a monogamous relationship. Though from a certain point of view, it seems as though Lawrence is condemning the feminist movement and sexual emancipation as getting women nowhere, it also portrays women as stronger and more independent: though in effect getting nowhere, at least they are the ones making the decisions, and through this in fact making progress. Furthermore, Lawrence seems almost sympathetic to the confusion of women like Annie in their new roles. But it is not a complete victory for women in the end, for John Thomas, though cowed by the attack, still has power over Annie. But this is more of a reflection of reality than further chauvinism. So in "Tickets, Please" we see a distinctly non-chauvinist Lawrence, who is very sensitive and aware of social changes and their affects on both sexes. Clearly his position on sex roles is oscillating from story to story.
In "Monkey Nuts," set just prior to the armistice, Lawrence presents a new type of female character, Miss Stokes, who is one of the most independent and powerful women Lawrence develops. Though a feminist critic might try to show how Lawrence abuses Miss Stokes in the end of "Monkey-Nuts" by showing how Joe finally escapes her willpower, this is a very weak claim, for Miss Stokes certainly does her share of abusing Joe. As a young "land-girl" doing what was considered man’s work before the war, she is confident enough of herself that she is able to carry out her very own "rape fantasy," a reversal of Millet’s criticism. Stokes is able to force a strong, 23-year old soldier into a relationship and implied sex against his will, using her own latent willpower. The soldier, Joe, is powerless to resist, though he clings to a chauvinist viewpoint, saying, "I’m not keen on going any farther--she bain’t [sic] my choice" (Lawrence 372). This sentiment on Joe’s part is extremely chauvinist: he clings to his feelings that only a man can initiate a relationship, and so tries to avoid Miss Stokes, despite her being young and attractive. Yet Miss Stokes is able to win out, and only the help of the much older Corporal Albert can break Joe out of his captivity. Though the sexually dominant Miss Stokes doesn’t ultimately succeed in the end as the boy does in "The Fox," "Monkey Nuts" is much like that story in that Miss Stokes, upon her realization that she wants Joe, stops at nothing to bend him to her will. The key difference is that the sex roles are reversed: March and Joe are both the objects of the boy’s and Miss Stokes’ desires, respectively. So Lawrence seems to feel that a woman can have just the same power over a man as a man might over a woman. Perhaps Lawrence was trying to show that the attitude of the boy in "The Fox" was more of an individual characteristic than a universal male viewpoint. Perhaps Lawrence felt that some people, both males and females, are born as "foxes" while others are prey, born to be dominated. This view is quite different from Millet’s interpretation of Lawrence, and, if we are to read "Monkey Nuts" in this light, erases the chauvinist interpretation of "The Fox." And if Lawrence was merely trying to show that female sexual aggressiveness is bound to fail, then why is Miss Stokes so successful? It seems that Joe would not have escaped from the relationship had he faced Miss Stokes alone. Perhaps, had Stokes only felled a tree on top of Corporal Albert as the boy did to Banford in "The Fox," she might have had her way with Joe.
Another, still different female character is the wolf-like Mrs. Gee in "Two Blue Birds." Importantly, this is one of Lawrence’s later short stories and shows that he did not become wholeheartedly chauvinistic and exploitative as time went on, regardless of what Millet would have us believe. Mrs. Gee is the upper class version of the New Woman. Where other women were emancipated through male work roles, those like Mrs. Gee were simply emancipated--forget the work. Though she loved her handsome, witty, literary critic husband, she eventually realized that she could not live with Mr. Gee, and so ran off to more southern climates to enjoy life, have affairs, and bask in the sun, thinking occasionally of her husband, cramped in his office for 12 or more hours a day, writing. And so, Mrs. Gee lives in luxury, spending her husband’s hard-earned money. It’s not that Mrs. Gee is merely decorative and useless, for she is just as capable--no, more capable--then her husband. She is simply smart enough to enjoy herself. Mrs. Gee realizes that working would not be inherently fulfilling (something perhaps lost on modern feminists, who might be inclined to feel that a woman cannot meet her potential without entering the workforce) and instead decides to enjoy life, a day at a time. Despite this, she is not entirely happy, as she finds herself in a sort of emotional wasteland. In contrast is Mr. Gee’s aptly named secretary Mrs. Wrexall, who works herself to the bone serving her boss, appearing perhaps to the feminist critic as yet another "rape fantasy." Though the relationship between the two is not sexual, it brings to light an interesting point: as women escaped the domination of their husbands, they came under the domination of their bosses, who were almost universally male. Lawrence points this out in his characterization of the young secretary:
She may have a husband, but a husband is the mere shred of a man, compared to a boss, a chief, a man who dictates to you and whose words you faithfully write down and then transcribe. Imagine a wife writing down anything said to her! (Lawrence 514)So, in some ways, the male power in a woman’s life did not disappear when she gave up the domestic boss, her husband, for a work-boss. The world of male bosses, even today still exists to some extent--talk of corporate "glass-ceilings" for women is common in 1996. But there is an important distinction to be made between the life of the working woman and the domestic woman--while domestic women were in a sense ruled by their husbands, working women’s bosses were in many cases the bosses of lower-class men as well: Mr. Gee has manservants and female servants, as well as his trusty secretary Mrs. Wrexall. Though the work environment might be demeaning to the woman in a way much like the husband-wife relationship before the feminist movement, men were dominated side by side with the women by these boss-men. And so, the relationship became more of a class schism and less of a gender schism, a step in the direction of gender equality. "Two Blue Birds" explores both of these relationships. First, the husband-wife relationship between Mr. Gee and Mrs. Gee which, though giving Mrs. Gee her freedom, does not make her entirely happy. Secondly, we see the boss-worker relationship between Mr. Gee and his secretary, Mrs. Wrexall. In this we see something a bit slavish, but it is a mixture of chauvinism and capitalism rather than pure chauvinism. Whether or not this is an improvement is another story, more in the realm of political economy than sexual politics.
A final Lawrencian female is Juliet, from "Sun," another work written after "The Woman Who Rode Away." She leaves her husband in New York for an independent life in Greece, hoping to recover from illness in the warmer climate. There, she discovers joy in sunbathing and heals both physically and mentally. Though one might interpret this as a chauvinist work, saying that the female character is reduced to a mere vacationer dependent on her husband, this is really not true to the story as an analysis of the story’s language shows. Juliet "had always been mistress of herself, aware of what she was doing, and held tense for her own power" (Lawrence 535). She is a capable and intelligent woman, even if she is part of the upper class and needn’t work. She is also so much more vibrant than her pale, New York husband Maurice, who is "like a worm that the sun has never seen" (531), that we are sure that Lawrence did not feel him to be superior. And she seems somewhat sexually emancipated, as her thoughts about a peasant she sees reveal: "Why shouldn’t I meet this man for an hour and bear his child? Why should I have to identify my life with a man’s life" (544)? Clearly Lawrence is trying to explore life from a woman’s perspective, evidenced by Juliet’s frustration with her sex-defined role as loyal wife. Yet, she is responsible, and remains faithful to Maurice out of her own will. Though she makes the decision because of some imagined "fatal chain of continuity," nonetheless it is her own decision (545). And if the ending is tinged with sadness, at least it is not a fearful depiction of the self-reliant woman. So upon examination, we see Juliet as quite a noble character. Though she is not a wage-earning woman, she is still very independent, and Lawrence portrays her glowingly. "Sun" seems to reinforce the claim that Lawrence did not become more and more chauvinistic later in his life, and again he appears to appreciate the feminist viewpoint and independent female characters.
Despite their differences, these stories all focus on women in independent roles--whether imposed by the war or individually sought out. Generally the situation is far from utopian, but this reflects realism rather criticism. In none of the stories does the emerging feminist come out unscathed, but the men do not always just stand by, static, either. John Thomas for example, bruised and beaten, suffers from the turmoil of feminist development as much or more then the ticket-taker women. And the train itself is a sort of representation of the direction in which society is heading: traveling from a more domestic, perhaps rural life to a generally more unsure, urban life, in which the world around, like the ground beneath the tram, is constantly changing. It is a wild ride, indeed. Upon this unsure ground, the modern world must come to terms with itself. And in some of the stories the women are portrayed as being essentially good, for who could really criticize either Banford or March? They try the best that they can, and are moderately successful, even if the fox is able to torment them. And the emancipated ticket-takers are much like young men--even their uniforms remind us of soldiers. These women have more control over themselves then in the past, but that must necessarily come with their new, necessary, war-induced societal roles. They are more independent, which Lawrence might or might not have felt was well, but more importantly are doing their job and it is an important one, and we must admire them for their essentially happy acceptance of their new and different role.
But it is the women who rode away that seems to suggest that Lawrence might have had concerns about the new role of women, as we can infer from Millet’s choice of the story as her primary example for Lawrence’s perversity and sadism. It is clear that the woman in the story revolts, but it is done in a silly way, and she ends up sacrificed--no one but a truly unreasonable ideologue could call her a martyr of feminism rather than a fool. But the question remains: is the act of defiance (leaving) a proud triumph no matter what the cost or does it show how silly a feminist movement could be? The answer is more a matter of personal opinion, and it is, as always, difficult to determine exactly what Lawrence himself thought. Whatever it was, the fact that there is a question at all reveals that even this story, which is the keystone of the argument for Lawrence’s literary cruelty towards women, is not as clearly chauvinist as the feminist critics portray it.
In hindsight, we know that the feminist movement of Lawrence’s time continued to evolve, becoming more and more powerful in the years after he wrote these stories. But what is interesting about the stories is that they were written during a time of social transition. What he thought about this gender issue is very illuminating, for he looked on it in a unique way, with both the expectant radicalism of an intellectual and the reactionary chauvinism of a male of his period. In Lawrence, two ideas and two world views were flowing, and the way they mixed and developed in his stories is very telling, about the period and the man. Lawrence is one of those people who defy category--hard as Kate Millet tried to put him in one. It is part of human nature to generalize and classify, but sometimes things are just too complex. Though we might stuff Lawrence into a category or a genre, we would destroy him in the process. Sometimes we must accept that there is no prepackaged answer, as inconvenient as that might be for our own particular politics, sexual or otherwise.
Works Cited
Millet, Kate. Sexual Politics. New York, Avon-Doubleday, 1970.
Lawrence, David Herbert. The Complete Short Stories (Vol.2). New York: Penguin Books, 1976.
Lawrence, David Herbert. "The Fox." The Portable D.H Lawrence. Diana Trilling et al. New York: Penguin Books, 1977.
Simpson, Hillary. D. H. Lawrence and Feminism. London: Croom and Helen, 1982.
Inside the File Cabinet
© 1997 Garrett Moritz. All rights reserved.