In
a very famous context, D. H. Lawrence is himself famous for using a word
beginning with ‘f’, a word that is infamous rather than famous. Mentioning this
word and then repeating it got the author into some serious trouble that was
not resolved until decades after his death. In this book, The Lost Girl,
Lawrence is clearly preoccupied with the word and the novel is very much focused
on it and its associated act. Its anticipation, achievement, consequences and
perceived implications seem to be the very stuff of the heroine’s life, but in
this book the word never actually appears. So, like Lawrence, let’s use a
euphemism, but let’s also be more direct than the writer. Let’s use
‘fabrication’, an activity that is central to the work of any author.
The
Lost Girl is Alvina Houghton. The surname is pronounced with an ‘f’ sound in
the middle, not an ‘o’, so its first syllable rhymes with ‘fluff’, not ‘now’.
She is the daughter of James, a shopkeeper in a small Derbyshire town called
Woodhouse, in the north English midlands. James has a shop selling Manchester
goods, the mass produced textiles of the late nineteenth century. He is not the
best businessman, however, and his activities shrink over time. His daughter,
Alvina - that’s with a ‘y’ sound in the middle, not an ‘e’ - is rather
plain-looking and apparently not too interesting either. She thinks quite a lot
about fabrication from quite an early age, but she is a determined spectator
when it comes to relationships. Her counsel, especially after her mother dies, is
from older women, some of them determined spinsters.
After
some prevarication, Alvina eventually trains as a midwife. The skill offers her
a chance of independence, but she chooses to revert to her preferred state of
familial dependence. After all, Alvina will probably inherit her father’s
business. Thus she continues her arm’s length relation with life.
There
is a short affair with a local man, a rather goofy figure who goes on to Oxford
University and probably lives long enough to make a packet. But clearly the
safe option is not for Alvina, who equally seems utterly afraid of risk in any
form. She clearly cannot bring herself to the fabrication she privately craves
and so the affair, surely destined for marriage in the eyes of the locals,
comes to nought.
Women
close to The Lost Girl die. Others remain like perched birds watching over
events. And, when James decides to leave the shop and sell off the little coal
mine he also owns there is much consternation. There is even more to chirp
about when he announces he is going into the entertainment business by opening
up a little music hall, especially when Alvina declares that she will play the
piano. Until this point, she had not mentioned being a musician. It is
worthwhile remembering that we are in age when playing the instrument was
almost part of any single woman’s trousseau.
And
so the music hall presents its act, a motley crew of Red Indian impersonators,
including a German called Max and an Italian called Cicio. Initially, the show
packs them in, but the passing of time sees interest start to dwindle. But
suddenly new opportunities arise for Alvina to think of fabrication, and
fabrication with foreigners involved to boot!
And
so the story of Lawrence’s The Lost Girl eventually fabricates its way from
Derbyshire, and we leave Alvina in what looks like a new - though very old
fashioned - life in changed circumstances. She seems now completely enslaved in
her chosen womanly role, but we are at the start of the First World War and
surely the role of women in society is about to change for ever.
The
Lost Girl deals with many of Lawrence’s recurring themes, but its fabrication
is often rather clumsy and its style often less than comfortable. It is,
however, worth seeing through, if only to realise just how much both Lawrence
and his fabricated characters - especially the women - are still locked in a
soon to be changed mind-set about gender roles and social class.
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