I.
There's an interesting post on the D. H. Lawrence Society website, by Kate Foster, concerning Lawrence's favourite footwear; namely, a pair of primitive-looking, thong-style sandals of tan coloured leather, that he either picked up on his global travels, made for himself, or was gifted by his friend Earl Brewster.
There's an interesting post on the D. H. Lawrence Society website, by Kate Foster, concerning Lawrence's favourite footwear; namely, a pair of primitive-looking, thong-style sandals of tan coloured leather, that he either picked up on his global travels, made for himself, or was gifted by his friend Earl Brewster.
Well, I say interesting, though, as a matter of fact, I have no interest, personally, in a pair of old shoes held in the Manuscripts and Special Collections at the University of Nottingham as if they were a bona fide religious relic; i.e., the personal effects of a saint.
For whilst Lawrence's books certainly deserve to be read with close critical attention and his astonishing achievement as a writer should be acknowledged, he was no saint or person deserving of religious veneration and the way we show our indebtedness to singular individuals like Lawrence is - as Zarathustra teaches - by losing them and finding ourselves; not by attempting to follow in their footsteps or by putting (proto-hippie) footwear on display in a glass case.
For whilst Lawrence's books certainly deserve to be read with close critical attention and his astonishing achievement as a writer should be acknowledged, he was no saint or person deserving of religious veneration and the way we show our indebtedness to singular individuals like Lawrence is - as Zarathustra teaches - by losing them and finding ourselves; not by attempting to follow in their footsteps or by putting (proto-hippie) footwear on display in a glass case.
II.
Having said that, there's no denying that shoes are, of course, objects of great cultural significance (and, for some, fetishistic fascination). They are not simply worn to cover or protect the feet and allow us to walk about more easily. They are worn also as indicators of class, gender, and identity and tell us something about a person's values, tastes, and even sexual preferences.
So the fact that Lawrence chose to wear sandals is, I suppose, not without interest; they betray his bohemianism, for example, and the fact that he loved to go a little bit native when in sunny foreign climes.
Having said that, there's no denying that shoes are, of course, objects of great cultural significance (and, for some, fetishistic fascination). They are not simply worn to cover or protect the feet and allow us to walk about more easily. They are worn also as indicators of class, gender, and identity and tell us something about a person's values, tastes, and even sexual preferences.
So the fact that Lawrence chose to wear sandals is, I suppose, not without interest; they betray his bohemianism, for example, and the fact that he loved to go a little bit native when in sunny foreign climes.
And, I suppose, if one wanted to get a bit Heideggerian, one might suggest that Lawrence's sandals have something of the same aura about them as a pair of Van Gogh's boots; they enable us to genuinely encounter a shoe as a shoe. That is to say, as something worn and rich with life and equipmentality - that primordial modality of existence via which we are intimately involved with the world.
In other words, when we reflect on Lawrence's sandals, we are obliged to ask not only what are they made of and where did they come from, but what is their purpose and what world do they open up and belong to ...
In other words, when we reflect on Lawrence's sandals, we are obliged to ask not only what are they made of and where did they come from, but what is their purpose and what world do they open up and belong to ...
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