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Tema n.10:

Industrialism as "tragedy of ugliness": D.H. Lawrence's ecological consciousness

«It was in 1915 the old world ended», wrote D.H. Lawrence in Kangaroo (1923). According to Virginia Woolf’s (Mr Bennett and Mrs Brown, 1924), it was instead «In or around December, 1910, [that] human character changed». To grasp the meaning of the ‘end’ or ‘change’ announced by these two Modernist writers, it is perhaps sufficient to mention here their intimate reaction against the exasperated materialism of the 19th century. In fact they wrote their works of rupture – and in a ‘language of rupture’ – a few decades after the deflagrating echo of the triumph of progress in England (celebrated in 1851 by means of the daring architectural structure of the Crystal Palace built for the Great Exhibition of London), after the 19th century boom in industrial production, after the rapid expansion of railway lines all over the country and the increase in British merchant navy tonnage, after the frantic growth of industrial areas and, consequently, the multiplication of the slums where the masses of citified workers coming from the country were forced to live.

An answer to this era of steel – deemed intolerable also by several late 19th century European painters (Van Gogh, Rousseau a.k.a. le Douanier, Gauguin, Monet, etc.) – can be seen in the tendency to primitivism adopted by several of them[1]; a tendency which was developed, during Modernism, by Modigliani (and later on by Ligabue), Lewis and Lawrence[2] himself, to mention only some of the best known of the movement’s exponents. At the beginning of the 20th century these artists and many others all over Europe had just started looking, each from a personal viewpoint, for worlds untouched by industrialization; but if it is true that they, in agreement with the example of Gauguin’s human and artistic choices, had identified civilization with sickness and nature with health and wellbeing[3], it is also true that in almost that same period another (and opposite) answer can be seen in the publication in «The Figaro» of the Manifest du Futurism (20 février 1909), a text written by Marinetti in assertive, emphatic, quasi-militaristic language, which led writers, painters and sculptors all over Europe to adopt new epistemological and aesthetic perspectives, to celebrate the machine civilization and even to idolise war.

Modernity was exalted by the Futurists through paintings and works of art inspired by a frantic idolisation of modernity and invariably presenting movement or objects related to it – trains and locomotives, railways and tunnels, cars, hangars, aeroplanes and bird’s eye views, propellers and rotors, power plants, telegraph wires and so on – practically ignoring any idea of pollution and of the disaster impending on the world because of it. Their enthusiasm for the machine was not shared by most of the major contemporary writers (Proust, Joyce, Woolf, Pound and Stein), who tended to see the modern world as an «immense panorama of futility and anarchy» (T.S. Eliot) and who were deeply sceptical about the advantages of progress[4]. Yet the Futurists shared with the Modernists both the radical refusal of the Romantic and Decadent heritage («Uccidiamo il chiaro di luna!» was Marinetti’s motto) and the taste for hard, essentially unpoetic language[5]. Unlike the Futurists, however, the Modernists seemed to reject the radically new in favour of the radically old, that is the world of myth, by adopting the so-called ‘mythical method’; that, at least, was the solution chosen by James Joyce and T.S. Eliot, who found in it a «strumento d’assemblaggio entro il quale il reale potesse trovare una sua forma capace d’integrare i poli opposti dell’ordine e del caos»[6].

In England, amid the group of the ‘less’ revolutionary Modernists, who did not use experimental techniques, but were nevertheless innovative, especially as regards themes and cultural-spiritual attitudes, there were such important writers as Conrad, Forster and Lawrence, who were substantially hostile to the so-called ‘technological machine’; although English intellectuals and artists, in the first two decades of the twentieth century were, to quote Wyndham Lewis, already «full of titanic stirrings and snortings»[7], they often denounced in their works the damage caused by industrialism and, after 1915, also by the First World War, which they regarded as another negative and terrific consequence of the industrial revolution. It must be added that their attitude was not an entirely new one: several significant writers, thinkers and artists of the 19th century, such as Carlyle[8], George Eliot, Dickens, Hardy, Trollope, Ruskin and Morris, had already exposed the evils brought about by industrial civilisation above all in metropolitan areas, where the masses led an alienating life and individual identity was lost[9]. However, it was only at the beginning of the 20th century that this kind of consciousness clearly emerged. This means that although in Victorian literature such oppositions as Nature/Culture, Life/Death, Country/Town, Life/Intellect, Agrarian society/Industrial society imply the identification of the negative pole, in axiologic terms, with industrial civilisation, it is only with Modernist authors that the kind of consciousness of the environment that is nowadays labelled ‘ecological consciousness’ was acquired.

Passages that denounce the negative impact of civilization on Nature can be found in several Modernist works, for example in The Waste Land (1922), to mention only one of the most famous, where in The Fire Sermon, the third section of the poem, a praeterition was used by Eliot to evoke the litter flowing in the river Thames:

The river bears no empty bottles, sandwich papers,
Silk handkerchiefs, cardboard boxes, cigarette ends,
Or other testimony of summer nights (vv. 177-179)

However, it is only in D.H. Lawrence that ecological consciousness became a major source of inspiration: unlike his contemporaries, he not only condemned mechanization and the savage exploitation of resources (human as well as natural), but also anticipated the present sensibility to environmental problems, since in his novels the awareness of the conflict between nature and society always lead him to side with nature, which he envisaged as the only possible authentic source of existential fulfilment for the individual. It is by no mere chance that he is nowadays labelled by a few scholars a «Green novelist»[10] or a «Future primitive»[11] or a «Naturist»[12]. As suggested above, there is nothing radically new in this attitude, that shows the influence not only of Ruskin’s inflamed anti-utilitarian, anti-materialistic preaching, not only of Morris’ dream of a return to pre-industrial Britain, but also of the realistic novels by Dickens, which he had certainly read attentively, as shown by his letters, where he sometimes alludes to Dickensian fiction and characters.

On the other hand, though Dickens’ works can be regarded also as a sort of mirror of the damage caused in England by progress, and as a stimulus to the development of an ‘ante litteram’ eco-critical conscience in the readers[13], they lack a clear awareness of the real environmental and psychophysical consequences of industrialism. Dickens was aware of the impact of civilization on nature as well as on man’s health, but did not feel that this impact was something to be actively opposed. For instance, in Dombey and Son (1848), despite his supplying documentary evidence of «the polluted air, foul with every impurity that is poisonous to health and life»[14] and his dwelling on the unnatural turmoil provoked in London by the construction of the railway, his attitude to it seems to be, on the whole, that of a passive spectator:

Houses were knocked down; streets broken through and stopped; deep pits and trenches dug in the ground; enormous heaps of earth and clay thrown up; buildings that were undermined and shaking, propped by great beams of wood. Here, a chaos of carts, overthrown and jumbled together, lay topsy-turvy at the bottom of a steep unnatural hill; there, confused treasures of iron soaked and rusted in something that had accidentally become a pond. Everywhere were bridges that led nowhere; thoroughfares that were wholly impassable; Babel towers of chimneys, wanting half their height; temporary wooden houses and enclosures, in the most unlikely situations; carcases of ragged tenements, and fragments of unfinished walls and arches, and piles of scaffolding, and wildernesses of bricks, and giant forms of cranes, and tripods straddling above nothing. There were a hundred thousand shapes and substances of incompleteness, wildly mingled out of their places, upside down, burrowing in the earth, aspiring in the air, mouldering in the water, and unintelligible as any dream[15].

Amid the great Modernist authors who strenuously fought against the Machine Age, its utilitarianism and profit-logic, utterly neglecting people’s health and reducing the world to a wasteland, D.H. Lawrence undoubtedly deserves a prominent position, since his worship of Nature and of the values related to it determined both his biographical and his artistic choices. The son of a miner, he was born in 1885 in a mining village in Nottinghamshire where the impact of industrialism was everywhere visible. Since his adolescence, also because of his friendship with Jessie Chambers, who lived on a farm, he started to dream of a place that was uncontaminated and unaffected by civilization, where he could settle with all the people he liked. However, he was involved in a personal ‘ecotopia’ only many years later, when during the second phase of his artistic career, he tried to establish a little utopian community, Rananim, in Florida, where he could lead «a new life, […] in a new spirit»[16]. It was an unsuccessful attempt, however, and, throughout his life, he was unable to break completely with the civilized world. To the end of his days he remained, as Raymond Williams underlines, a man who lived and worked «between two landscapes, between two kinds of work, between two ways of life», a man who «lived on a border which was more than that between farms and mines […] the choice was not only between mine and farm but between both»[17].

Ecological issues are prominent in his fiction from his first published novel, The White Peacock (1911) to the last, Lady Chatterley’s Lover (1928), as well as in many of his short stories and essays. For example, in The White Peacock, Annable, the gamekeeper – a rather naïve prototype of Mallors, the gamekeeper in Lady Chatterley’s Lover – who had married a noble and maleficent woman, Lady Crystabel, is portrayed as a man who hates anything that has to do with culture and as «a man of one idea: – that all civilisation was the painted fungus of rottenness»[18]. Ecological issues became more prominent in Sons and Lovers (1913), where the narrator’s attention focused on the ugliness of industrialisms by describing the changes suddenly produced by «the large mines of the financiers»[19] and the installation and development of the first industrial coal companies. The landscape he described in the novel was at the beginning almost unaltered by the little gin-pits, so that «The brook ran under the alder trees, scarcely soiled by these small mines, whose coal was drawn to the surface by donkeys that plodded wearily in a circle round a gin»[20]. Then, Lawrence wrote, «a sudden change took place», a change that seemingly meant progress, since many new mines were initiated and the railway ran across the valley and the corn fields and up to the hills, but he wanted to emphasize how the promoters of industrial development (the fictional ones were «Carston, Waite and Co.» while the real one he remembers from his childhood was «B.W & Co.»)[21] had defaced the rural landscape by opening new pits just to improve their financial assets («six mines like black studs on the countryside, linked by a lop of fine chain, the railway»[22]. They also had changed the way of living of the colliers and their families, since women and children found themselves compelled to face the blackness of the scoriae of the pits:

The dwelling-room, the kitchen was at the back of the house, facing inward between the blocks, looking at a scrubby back garden, and then at the ash-pits. […] So, the actual conditions of living in the Bottoms, that was so well built and that looked so nice, were quite unsavoury because people must live in the kitchens, and the kitchens opened on that nasty alley of ash-pits[23].

Lawrence here already tended to interpret the changes brought about by industrialisation and capitalism (savage urbanization, poverty, strikes, etc.) according to an ecological perspective. To suggest his own attitude to these changes he introduced a symbolic imagery[24] into the novel starting from the unpromising names («Hell Row»/«The Bottoms») used for the colliers’ houses and developing it through the dichotomy appearance («The Bottoms […] looked so nice»)/substance («The actual conditions of living in the Bottoms […] were quite unsavoury»[25]). Also the obvious symbolism provided by the blackness of coal and the grey of ash pits helped to conjure up the appropriate atmosphere for the story narrated in the novel, to suggest the doom impending both on the protagonists’ lives and on the countryside. The landscape which, since the time of Charles II, had already been altered and was unnaturally spotted by «queer mounds and little black places among the corn-fields and the meadows»[26], at the beginning of the 20th century had become utterly defaced because of the new mining methods.

As Lawrence claimed in his essay Nottingham and the Mining Countryside (1929), these methods had a negative impact on landscape and on human consciousness, condemning both to «ugliness, ugliness, ugliness. Meanness and formless and ugly surroundings, ugly ideals, ugly religion, ugly hope, ugly love, ugly cloth, ugly furniture, ugly houses, ugly relationship between workers and employers»[27]. As he explained, «The industrial problem arises from the base of forcing all human energy into a competition of mere acquisition»[28]. The colliers of his days, he observed, remembering his grandfather’s life, could not understand any longer what beauty was (the beauty of small everyday gestures, such as beholding a flower or a garden or playing the piano, or singing and dancing), because they could not experience any longer the beauty of nice houses and squares where to live, to meet people and sit together, or the pleasure of looking at nice pieces of furniture or wearing nice dresses. But, he added, the pit did not mechanize the men because, being ignorant and unable to read, they went on living by instinct and were content with their life. He claimed, paradoxically, that the ordinary collier’s sense of beauty was awakened down in the pit and killed when he came up from the pit itself because «he [the collier] met with just cold ugliness and raw materialism»[29].

For Lawrence, in England, more than in Italy or in America, the disheartening of men has utterly destroyed their contact with the earth and that kind of archaic, archetypal wisdom rooted in rural life. He is rather drastic in exposing a situation he saw in terms of a disaster which was not only ecological, but also aesthetic and even moral, and was not afraid to express his indignation about what he considered as the ‘regress’ of Nottinghamshire, as well as of other English industrialized areas due to the increasing mechanization and exploitation by the promoters of industry: «The real tragedy of England, as I see it, is the tragedy of ugliness. The country is lovely: the man-made England is so vile»[30].

The changes brought about by industrialism and by recent socio-economic changes, as well as the severe ecological damage caused both by pits and their service sector, which had spread «a great scrabble of ugly pettiness over the face of the land»[31] is also found in a few plays (The Widowing of Mrs Holroyd; A Collier’s Friday Night; The Merry-Go-Round; Touch and Go) and short stories about the difficult life of the miner (Strike Pay; The Miner at Home; Her Turn; A Sick Collier; Daughters of the Vicar; The Christening; and Fannie and Annie)[32]. Here Lawrence’s denunciation of the degrading and alienating effects caused by working in coal mines, while implicit, was even more indignant than in Sons and Lovers and Women in Love. In these short stories there also emerges occasionally the same note of nostalgia of rural England that was sometimes present in the above mentioned essay Nottingham and the Mining Countryside, where he complained about the «curious cross between industrialism and the old agricultural England of Shakespeare and Milton and Fielding and George Eliot»[33], so that here Lawrence’s fiction, while grafted onto the proto-ecological tradition of Ruskin and Morris, «incorporates several philosophical ideas which are relevant to modern ecological thinking»[34].

In Sons and Lovers the negative effects produced by pollution both on the physical and psychological level are emphasized in the episode where Lawrence describes the death of William, the first son of the Morels. Affected in the body and in the mind as a consequence of working too hard in the attempt to achieve a middle-class social status, thus fulfilling his mother’s dream, William, while raving in bed during his agony, goes on repeating sentences he used at business while examining cargoes of sugar in the port of London: «Owing to a leakage in the hold of this vessel, the sugar has set, and become converted into rock. It needed hacking?»[35]. He dies because he is «prisoner of industrialism»[36], and also the protagonist of the novel, Paul Morel, finds himself in the same condition when he starts working in a small factory. References to ecological issues (industrialism and polluted air) are also found in the drawing of a rainbow, overhanging an industrial area, that Lawrence produced in 1915, soon after finishing his novel The Rainbow: Lawrence, alluding to the popular legend of a golden pot to be found at the ‘end’ of the rainbow itself, sent the drawing to Viola Meynell, to whom he wrote: «Now off and away to find the pots of gold at its feet»[37], but in his drawing the rainbow overhangs an industrial area, crossed by a train and full of chimneys issuing thick smoke.

Industrial contamination, according to a ‘green’ writer such as Lawrence, was a negative phenomenon affecting not only landscape, men, ‘birds, beasts and flowers’, but also the human soul that, because of it, had become arid, mean, «ugly»[38]. Thus Lawrence offers his readers not only a description of the changes produced by industrialization (as a few nineteenth century writers had done), but also an eco-critical interpretation of them. It was in his being so deeply aware of the negative impact of civilization on the inner self of man and his attempt «to move beyond the rationalism and intellectualism of his contemporaries»[39] that Lawrence showed his having developed a new «environmental consciousness»[40]. For instance, in Women in Love (1921) Lawrence depicts the increasing inner dryness of Gerald Crich, the son of a colliery owner, as the result of a greed for wealth and, at the same time, of the alienation produced by loss of contact with nature; an alienation that has brought Gerald to admire what he despised years before:

He looked at Beldover, at Selby, at Whatmore, at Lethley Bank, the great depended entirely on his mines. They were hideous and sordid, during his childhood they had been sores in his consciousness. And now he saw them with pride. Four raw new towns, and many ugly industrial hamlets were crowded under his dependence. He saw the stream of miners flowing along the causeways from the mines at the end of the afternoon, thousands of blackened, slightly distorted human beings with red mouths, all moving colliery villages which subjugate to his will. […] They were all subordinate to him. They were ugly and uncouth, but they were his instruments. He was the God of the machine[41].

Just like Gerald Crich, in Women in Love, Leslie Tempest, in The White Peacock, is an «advocate of machinery which will do the work of men»[42], since he too is an adorer of mechanical instruments and technology, which have made him insensitive to the rhythms of Nature and empty of human feelings.

Despite his being, throughout his literary career, an «appassionato apostolo della natura nel mondo delle macchine»[43], Lawrence was not exempt from contradictions in his ecological crusade, since he was never willing to give up the comforts and advantages of civilization: for instance, he was annoyed and disappointed if his books were not promptly and efficiently commercialized and was very upset if, while travelling, he found a public means of transport, or a private hotel or a restaurant not up to ‘modern’ standards; even unconsciously, he despised uncultured, ‘natural’ people, as shown by the observations he jotted down in his personal notebooks during his travels, such as Twilight in Italy (1916), Sea and Sardinia (1921) and Etruscan Places (1932).

Perhaps it is excessive to describe him as an artist «anticipating the vision of deep ecology»[44] as Paul Delany does in his essay D.H. Lawrence and Deep Ecology, but it is certainly true that, as Gutierrez puts it, Lawrence possessed «an ecological sense of human unity with nature and earth, […] in which the recognition of a crucial interdependence between humanity and nature could help preserve nature and thus humanity»[45].


[1] See D. Stanley, In Search of the Primitive: A Critique of Civilization, New Brunswick N.J.,Transaction Books, 1974.

[2] J. McGovern, D.H. Lawrence, Wyndham Lewis and the Politics of Primitivism, London, University of East London, 1999.

[3] Paul Gauguin, who strongly defended in his writings the style of life selon la nature fighting against the dominating nature of French and European Industrialism, in 1891, when he was on the point of departing from France, wrote: «Je parts pour être tranquille, pour être debarassé de l’influence de la civilisation […] j’ai besoin de me retemprer dans la nature vierge, de ne voir que des sauvages». (in L’Écho de Paris, 23 février 1891, p. 2).

[4] See the milestone essay by S. Kern, The Culture of Time and Space: 1880-1918, Cambridge, MA, Harvard University Press, 1983.

[5] M. Perloff, The Futurist Moment: Avant-Garde, Avant Guerre, and the Language of Rupture, «Performing Arts Journal», vol. 10, n. 3 (1987), pp. 119-120.

[6] S. Sabbadini, «Make it New»: il Mauberley di Pound e The Waste Land di Eliot in Modernismo/Modernismi. Dall'avanguardia storica agli anni Trenta e oltre, a c. di G. Gianci, Milano, Principato, 1991, pp. 361-379. Quotation is on page 372.

[7] W. Lewis, Blasting and Bombardeering: An Autobiography 1914-26 [1937], London, Calder and Boyars, 1967, p. 253.

[8] The term ‘Industrialisms’ was coined by Thomas Carlyle in Sartor Resartus (II, IV, 1833-34).

[9] See The Environmental Tradition in English Literature, ed. by J. Parham, Aldershot & Burlington VT: Ashgate, 2002.

[10] See D. Wall, Green History: A Reader in Environmental Literature, Philosophy and Politics, London and New York, Routledge, 1994, p. 206.

[11] D. LaChapelle, D.H. Lawrence: Future Primitive (Philosophy and the Environment Series, vol. 5), Denton (Texas), University of North Texas Press, 1996, p. 293. See also R. Ebbatson, Lawrence and the Nature Tradition: A Theme in English Fiction 1859-1914, Brighton, Harvester Press, 1980.

[12] J. Alcorn, The Nature Novel from Hardy to Lawrence, London and Basingstoke, Macmillan, 1977, p. IX; 116; 120.

[13] See G. Greg, Ecocriticism: The New Critical Idiom, Oxford, Routledge, 2004, p. 5.

[14] C. Dickens, Dombey and Son, http://www.gutenberg.org/files/821/821.txt (site visited 12 August 2010).

[15] Ivi.

[16] Letter to Mary Cannan, 24 December 1915, in The Letters of D.H. Lawrence, ed. by G.J. Zytaruk-J.T. Boulton, vol. II, 1913-1916, Cambridge, New York, Melbourne, Cambridge University Press, 1981, p. 485. On Rananim see also G. Pissarello, The Failure of a Utopia: D.H. Lawrence and the Community of Rananim, «Utopia and Utopianism», Madrid (2009), n. 3, pp.169-184..

[17] R. Williams, The Town and the City, London, Chatto & Windus,1973, p. 264. As regards this conflicting dualism in Lawrence, a seminal text is H.D. Daleski, The Duality of Lawrence, «Modern Fiction Studies», 5.1 (1959), pp. 3-18.

[18] D.H. Lawrence, The White Peacock [1911], in http://www.archive.org/stream/
%20lawrrich_djvu.txt (site visited 26 September 2010).

[19] ID., Sons and Lovers [1913], London and Glasgow, Collins, 1969, p. 18.

[20] Ivi.

[21] See ivi, and ID., Nottingham and the Mining Countryside [1929] published in the «New Adelphi», June-August (1930) and also in «Architectural Review», August (1930) under the title Disaster Looms Ahead, pp. 133-140. Quotation is on page 133. In Women in Love the fictional industrial promoter’s name was «C.B. & Co.» in chapter XVII The Industrial Magnate in http://www.gutenberg.org
/files/4240/4240-h/4240-h.htm[chap17 (site visited 23 September 2010).

ID. Sons..., cit., p. 19.

[23] Ivi.

[24] See P. Bridget, Lawrence and Industrial Symbolism, in «Renaissance and Modern Studies», 29 (1985), pp. 33-49.

[25] D.H. Lawrence, Sons..., cit., p. 19.

[26] Ivi, p. 18.

[27] ID., Nottingham..., cit., p. 138.

[28] Ivi.

[29] Ivi, p. 137.

[30] Ivi.

[31] Ivi, p. 139.

[32] For these short stories see M. Modiano, Domestic Disharmony and Industrialization in D.H. Lawrence’s Early Fiction, Upsala, Acta Universitatis Upsaliensis. Studia Anglistica Upsaliensia (62), 1987, pp. 58-76.

[33] D.H. Lawrence, Nottingham..., cit., p. 138.

[34] A. Odenbring Ehlert, There’s a bad time coming: Ecological Vision in the Fiction of D.H. Lawrence, Upsala, Acta Universitatis Upsaliensis. Studia Anglistica Upsaliensia (114), 2001, p. 12.

[35] D.H. Lawrence, Sons..., cit., p. 144.

[36] Ivi, p. 102.

[37] Letter to Viola Meynell, 2 March 1915 in The Letters..., ed. by G.J. Zytaruk-J.T. Boulton, vol. II, 1913-1916, cit., p. 299. A reproduction of the above mentioned drawing The Rainbow is inserted in this volume.

[38] This kind of permeation between urban/metropolitan space and human soul was underlined several times by T.S. Eliot; to quote an example, in the third of his Preludes where a woman’s conscience is seen as if it were identical to the squalid room (perhaps that of a cheap hotel) in which she awakes. («You tossed a blanket from the bed,/ You lay upon your back, and waited,/ You dozed, and watched the night revealing/ the thousand sordid images/ of which your soul was constituted;» [III, vv. 1-5]).

[39] B. Deval, Book Review of D. LaChapelle, D.H. Lawrence: Future Primitive in Trumpeter, vol. 13, no 4 (1966) in http://trumpeter.athabascau.ca/index.php/trumpet/article/viewArticle/244/353 (site visited on 15 January 2010).

[40] See D.I. Janĭk, D.H. Lawrence and Environmental Consciousness, in «Environmental Review», Winter (1983), pp. 359-371.

[41] D.H. Lawrence, Women in Love [1920] in chapter XVII The Industrial Magnate in http://www.gutenberg.org/files/4240/4240-h/4240-h.htm[chap17 (site visited 25 September 2010). Here also the colliers are depicted as frustrated by the new mechanical system: «The working of the pits was thoroughly changed, all the control was taken out of the hands of the miners, the butty system was abolished. Everything was run on the most accurate and delicate scientific method, educated and expert men were in control everywhere, the miners were reduced to mere mechanical instruments. They had to work hard, much harder than before, the work was terrible and heart-breaking in its mechanicalness».

[42] ID., The White..., http://www.archive.org/stream/whitepeacock00lawrrich/%20white%20peacock00%20lawrrich_djvu.txt (site visited 26 September 2010).

[43] F. Gozzi, La narrativa del primo Lawrence, Pisa, ETS, 1979, p. 13.

[44] P. Delany, D.H. Lawrence and Deep Ecology, «An Official Journal of the College English Association», vol. 55 Winter (1993), n. 2, pp. 27-41. Quotation is on page 29.

[45] D. Gutierrez, D.H. Lawrence’s «Spirit of Place» as Eco-Monism, in «D.H. Lawrence Journal of the D.H. Lawrence Society», (1991), pp. 39-51. Quotation is on page 39.
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