Lady Chatterley's Lover 

First published in 1928, D. H. Lawrence's scandalous Lady Chatterley's Lover has been in the to-read stack next to our bed for the better part of a year. I've been meaning to get to it, but my attention kept getting diverted to less, ummm, high-minded efforts like endlessly doom scrolling and immersing myself in online puzzles. It was only last week that I broke loose from the hamster wheel of dubious technology and picked up poor Lady Chatterley, who had spent far too many months languishing in the limbo of tsundoku*.  Since the book is almost 100 years old, I half-expected to be put off by a brain overload of stilted verbosity and/or content that was neither as relevant nor as salacious as it once was. Boy, was I wrong. 

Lady Chatterley's Lover is, in many ways, a very modern novel. By reputation, the book is considered to be an erotic classic but there's so much more to it than that. D. H. Lawrence--through the dialogue and actions of his characters--inserts his own personal convictions regarding the exploitation of the working people through rigid social constructs, as well as the destructive effects of industrialization on the environment. Now it's the 0.00001%, AI and big tech we must contend with, but Lawrence's arguments are no less compelling today. In fact, when one pompous ass refers to the nearby villagers as "animals" (because the only true humans are to the manor born), he insists that all these peons (my word not his) can only be controlled if they are kept busy mindlessly plowing away at hazardous, demanding grunt work, mindlessly spending hard-earned money on things they don't need, and mindlessly living dead-end lives while His Lordship collects a fortune, he's half-right. A large number of people are--and always have been--willing to sell their souls, or at least bend the knee, to Mammon, that great god of greed: for completely different reasons, enough will never be enough for the haves and have-nots. 

The title character of Lady Chatterley's Lover--the principal voice of the author--insists we should strive to create a less materialistic world, one that is independent of the parasitic wealthy who enslave others through false promises and shiny distractions. Lawrence's ecological concerns are brought to the forefront through scenes depicting the hellish conditions created by the immense collieries crowding the landscape. It may sound like a treatise on those famous bogeymen, socialism and communism, but it's not. It's simply, a plea for people to free themselves from mechanization, the class system, and (implied) organized religion, and all the things that prevent us from being completely alive and attuned to the natural world around us. Lawrence's novel implores us to live and love in simplicity and peace. 

However, this isn't quite as boring or preachy as it may sound because Lady Chatterley's Lover is also about sex. Lots and lots of sex. 

Nearly all the action in Lady Chatterley's Lover takes place in, and around, Wragby, the Midlands estate where Clifford--Lord Chatterley--has recently installed his beautiful new wife, Constance (Connie) as lady of the manor. Expecting to lead a traditional life befitting the wife of a minor member of the aristocracy (Clifford is a baronet, not a baron--apparently there is a difference), Connie finds herself ill-equipped to deal with the trauma that will shortly befall Clifford. Even before this, though, it is intimated that there is a certain lack of chemistry between these young newlyweds. Shortly after the honeymoon, Clifford is summoned to serve as an officer in the trenches of WWI. When, some little time later, he returns home in a wheelchair--paralyzed from the waist down--he manages to keep a stiff upper lip, immersing himself in intellectual pursuits: in essence, becoming a creature of the mind. Other than requiring her constant presence as his caretaker, audience and sounding board, Clifford doesn't seem to have much use for Connie. That she is more than willing to debate his more belligerent attitudes amuses him and sometimes even riles him, although he humors her because, after all, she is a woman. 

As Clifford's upper-class chums begin spending more time at Wragby, Connie's exasperation simmers. These men--none of them old--seem completely divorced from human emotions, viewing sex and love as unfortunate necessities that distract men from the "purer" pursuits of the mind. They while away the hours discussing politics and philosophy until Connie can no longer remain silent. She is bored to hell and back by the constant natter of this mutual admiration society. To Clifford's horror, this demure, decorative subordinate of his pipes up and speaks her mind. Never a good thing in this man's world but it reveals her to be a smart, independent thinker. 

Her Ladyship is also a passionate young woman who is starting to get antsy. She keeps things in check but she has needs. During her teen years, Connie and her sister, Hilda, attended a boarding academy in Germany, spending their spare time being schooled in the ways of the flesh by their Teutonic boy toys. By the time she married Clifford, Connie was well aware of the hunger that had been awakened within her. Now, her future looks like it's going to be a long, dry slog of suppressed desire, care-giving and unsolicited mansplaining. It's not fair: Clifford has his books and cronies (he's even won some acclaim as an up-and-coming writer). Connie, taken for granted and stultified, needs an outlet, goddammit! 

If only to get away from Clifford and his circle, Connie finds herself taking frequent strolls into the forest on their estate. During one particular outing, Connie spies a tall, pale man bathing himself outside a small hut. Later, when she casually brings up the man in teatime conversation, she is informed that his name is Oliver Mellors, the gamekeeper at Wragby. Intrigued, she eventually manages to engage Mellors in a brief conversation that doesn't turn out the way she anticipated. Feeling dismissed and angered, Connie storms back to the manor house to report the man's insolence. Adding insult to injury, Clifford makes it clear that he really doesn't want to hear it. He explains that Mellors, like himself, was also an officer in the war, albeit an officer who actually had a promising military career. Upon returning home, Clifford was accorded the esteem due an officer and a gentleman, whereas Mellors found himself relegated back to the lower classes from whence he had come. Regardless of what heroism Mellors may have displayed during the Great War, he could never be a gentleman. Connie is advised to pay Mellors no mind because he surely must have a chip on his shoulder over the way the world works. So, she keeps her distance from the gamekeeper. Still, he arouses her curiosity.... 

Hoping to enhance his status as a serious writer, Clifford invites a successful playwright named Michaelis to join his ragtag menagerie of well-bred intellectuals. It quickly becomes clear that Michaelis is not quite cut from the same cloth as Clifford and the others. The completely oblivious playwright doesn't seem to mind: his attention is focused on Connie, and it isn't long before he puts the moves on her. Rebuffing him at first--like any lady would--Connie finally allows herself to be seduced by this silly, would-be Lothario. Her dispassionate encounters with him leave her--but not Michaelis--cold. But, even if he's smug and filled with self-regard, at least, he's someone for her to do (as opposed to someone who satisfies her needs). It's important to keep in mind that--perhaps--no man has ever satisfied Constance Chatterley. Her customary m.o. consists of maintaining a steadfast control over her partner during intercourse, only allowing herself some degree of pleasure once her bedmate is finished: it's unclear if the young woman has ever even had a real orgasm. Of course, eventually, that will change, just not with Michaelis. Needy and narcissistic, but also strangely aloof, Michaelis winds up insulting her, and that is the end of that. Connie kicks him to the curb. Hitching up her garter belt and putting on the infamous stiff upper lip, she gets on with it, and life at Wragby returns to its old rhythms (for Connie, anyway--Clifford, wrapped up in his own pursuits, never much concerns himself with his wife). 

A couple of years later, with Clifford's writing efforts on the downswing, one of his acquaintances reminds him of the unrealized fortune incubating in his own neglected colliery. Abruptly abandoning his literary endeavors, Clifford redirects all his attention towards the coal mine, and--most importantly--its promise to restore (and enhance) Wragby's slowly dwindling resources. Meanwhile, Connie has secured a local woman--the chatty, widowed former nurse, Mrs. Bolton--to see to Clifford's maintenance. With her husband kept occupied with his burgeoning enterprise, Connie finds herself with a lot of free time on her hands. Since Clifford isn't keen on her leaving the estate, she takes to her now-daily strolls with gusto. Since there is no way for her to completely avoid the gamekeeper, her frequent encounters with him range from chilled cordiality to a minor combativeness as he gently goads this feisty, hot-blooded woman to fury with sarcastic, faux-subservient comments on entitlement and responsibility. When Her Ladyship (a disdainful moniker when it comes from his mouth) responds with her own sharp observations about him and his impertinence, Mellors finds his mocking attitude thrown back in his face. He is quietly angered, but also a little admiring. Deny it though he might, he's strangely attracted to this young woman from the upper classes: his scorn for people of rank and entitlement may drive his high ideals but Connie challenges him with her passion and intelligence. 

After holding the infant of a local woman, Connie's maternal instincts kick in, and she realizes that she wants a child. Clifford, of course, being incapable of this, suggests that she allow someone to impregnate her. "It's fine as long as you don't fall in love with the man. We can raise it together here at Wragby." He'd prefer her to conceive it with someone of their own class, but a commoner like Michaelis, for instance, might do. As Clifford continues referring to his potential heir as it, Connie sees that her husband has no intention of being an actual father, and that, like Connie herself, the child will just be another of Clifford's possessions. 

In the meantime, Connie continues to spar with Oliver, and he must remind himself--and Connie--that he is done with women: his tumultuous relationship with a mean-spirited, estranged wife has permanently chilled his ardor for the opposite sex. So, he continues to bait Connie, often employing a heavy, near-impenetrable brogue he knows Connie loathes, but reverting to perfect English when it suits him, betraying the fact that, despite his lowly position, he is an educated man. The two seem to enjoy challenging one another, even if neither recognizes the fact that they're engaged in the oldest sort of mating dance: all he lacks is a club to knock her down and carry her back to his cave (although, given Connie's spikey nature, she would not go gently). Oliver and Connie tell themselves that the idea of them bedding down together is beyond the pale but is it really? 

Well, no, not when they want each other as much as these two do. After a few will-they-or-won't-they moments, the pair wind up doing the deed in Mellor's cottage. Afterwards, neither seems all that thrilled with this not-unforeseen turn of events. As is her custom, Connie--holding firm to her sense of power--keeps her pleasure (what little there may be) to herself until after Mellors has his climax. A disappointed Mellors is aware of her obstinacy--he's actually seen it before, with his wife--and he wonders if he's made a mistake. Upon further review of their recent congress, both insist it should never happen again. Except, of course, it does. Again, not a home run. But, the third time, as they say, is a charm. 

When Connie returns to Mellor's cottage on the third day, she inadvertently lets down her guard and experiences what must be one of the most explosive orgasms ever put to paper. And then another. And another. It turns out that Mellors is quite the stud. From this point on, Connie and Mellors go at it with fervent abandon. In the cottage, 'neath a tree in the woods, and, most movingly, on a hillside in the rain. I may be gay but even I was stirred by Lawrence's rousing account. When an unfamiliar word comes up in conversation, Connie tells Oliver that she has no idea what cunt means so Oliver shows her (at the same time defining the word cock) in a manner she'll never forget (FYI: she needs no introduction to the word fucking, of course, since they're going at it night and day). 

Despite his preoccupation with the coal mine, Clifford begins to take notice of Connie's frequent tardiness at tea and dinner. Mrs. Bolton takes notice as well. By now, Mrs. Bolton has established herself as a permanent fixture at Wragby: she's Clifford's closest confidante--the pair stay up all night playing cards--and principal caregiver.  You'd almost think they lovers, except the very thought is anathema to the hopelessly snobby Clifford.  As one of the oppressed townsfolk in Clifford's employ, Mrs. Bolton secretly hates him. What she enjoys, however, is living among the rich and powerful; cozying up to Clifford is a small price to pay for this privilege. She even likes Connie, with whom she shares a mutual respect. Unfortunately, Mrs. Bolton can never quite be trusted: she's inclined to be nice to people, but she's also the town gossip. She doesn't want to cause trouble, but the poor thing can't seem to get a grip on her tongue. And so, one day, when Clifford sends her out looking for his wife (as usual, late for tea), Mrs. Bolton inadvertently comes across a glowingly happy couple stepping out of Oliver's cottage. In that moment, she knows. And soon the entire town knows: Lady Chatterley and Oliver Mellors are lovers! Mrs. Bolton just can't help herself. 

Of course, it isn't long before Clifford hears the rampant rumors of Connie's dalliance with his gamekeeper (as well as her alleged pregnancy) and all hell breaks loose-- but hell in the cooly snarkish manner typical of his class. Throughout most of his marriage, Clifford has never minded Connie having a clandestine tryst here and there with some anonymous admirer--he's even suggested it--but he's not ready to have the news of her "infidelity"--with his own lowly employee, no less--spread across his entire fiefdom. Really, this is all too much! From here, things go about as well as can be expected. Which is to say not swimmingly. Oliver's hateful wife, Bertha, shows back up to further complicate matters, raising the alarm to one and all that she--not Lord Chatterley's wife--belongs in Oliver's bed and will not give him up for another woman.  After dismissing Oliver, Clifford sets his sights on making Connie's life as unpleasant as possible. He has no intention of giving her away to the likes of Mellors. Plenty of hurdles are set up for our star-crossed lovers but is tragedy the only outcome? Maybe yes, maybe no. The ending of Lady Chatterley's Lover is rather ambiguous: we don't get a happily-ever-after but neither are we left feeling bereft and hollowed out. In the end, there is a sense of hope. 

Oliver Mellows, Lawrence's stand-in, is both idealistic and embittered, full of anger towards the entitled classes, and empathy for his own. He is distant, a loner who's had his fill of humanity and just wants to be left alone to do his own thing. I liked this character a lot, even if some of his words and actions come across as cruel, and sometimes racist. However well-educated he may be, Oliver is a product of his place and time, and though he strives to do better, he's far from perfect. The same may be said for Connie--the book's true protagonist--who maintains a certain degree of independence even as she relies on men to provide life's comforts for her. Like a wanton in the guise of a "Lady", she ultimately refuses to be the mistress of anyone's manor: she's aware of her place in the world, but she also realizes how hard this world treats those lacking her status and opportunities. With her intelligence, youthful zeal and stubborn single-mindedness, Connie reminds me a bit of Scarlett O'Hara in Gone with the Wind. In fact, her entire relationship with Oliver brings to mind Scarlett and Rhett Butler's own turbulent union. Of course, D.H. Lawrence's lovers take things much, much further than Margaret Mitchell dared to do. Once they finally get together, Connie and Mellors are, maybe, the hottest, horniest couple to populate the pages of 20th Century literature.

 

The author, himself, managed to pack a number of remarkable works into his brief 44 years. Lady Chatterley's Lover was his last novel, but its fame endures alongside his other classics like Women in Love, The Rainbow, and Sons and Lovers, which all courted controversy at the time of their original publication. With Lady Chatterley, Lawrence creates a fascinating world with such well-defined lead characters that they--and their affair--lingered in my mind long after I turned the last page. 

*tsundoku = Japanese for a pile of unread books.