No More Heroes 1: Malcolm McLaren - Stuckism and the Quest for Authenticity

No More Heroes (Malcolm McLaren)

(SA/2026) 

 

 

I. 

 

One of the things said by Johnny Rotten that has stuck with me for fifty years is his response to Janet Street-Porter's question about who he admires: "I don't have any heroes - they're all useless." [1]

 

Ironically, his anti-hero stance instantly made him a hero to me. However, my affections and loyalty later shifted to Malcolm McLaren once it became clear that he was the conceptual genius behind the Sex Pistols [2]. 

  

And I have continued to name McLaren - along with Nietzsche, D. H. Lawrence, and Larry David - as a primary influence on my thinking. However, I'm not sure I would call them heroes. And, if I'm honest, each has disappointed in some manner. 

 

Here, and in the posts that follow, I will attempt to explain why. Let's begin by raising concerns around what might be called the ideological stuckism of my punk mentor, Malcolm McLaren.      

 

 

II.

 

To be clear: when I say Malcolm was a stuckist, I am not suggesting he had any involvement with the international movement founded in 1999 by Billy Childish and Charles Thomson to promote figurative painting as opposed to conceptual art [3]. I am simply referring to the fact that McLaren was trapped in his past like a spider in its own web [4].

 

His entire career was an endless (if brilliant) recycling of the memories, radical ideas, and obsessive fixations drawn from his 1950s childhood and his 1960s art school days. Forever associated with the Sex Pistols and defined by the role he played in The Great Rock 'n' Roll Swindle (1980), McLaren was stuck in a self-made loop of his own youthful mythology and his desire to live yesterday tomorrow [5].   

 

 

III.

 

Apart from the childhood tales told to him by his grandmother to do with Peter Pan and pirates and Dickensian street urchins, the first thing to really make a terrific impression on McLaren were the great balls of fires projected into popular culture by Jerry Lee Lewis and his fellow rock 'n' rollers. 

 

He loved the records and he loved the clothes and spent his entire life trying to perfectly recreate the look of music and the sound of fashion (a conceptual phrase coined by McLaren that he repeated in interviews and public lectures until his dying day). 

 

He may have experimented with many kinds of music in his career, but at heart he remained a rocker and it was the raw authenticity (and sheer fun) of the records he heard in the '50s that he wished to inject into his own projects and the various incarnations of the little shop at 430 King's Road, from Let It Rock to Worlds End. 

 

Ultimately, punk wasn't really an attempt to look forward - it was, rather, an attempt to strip rock 'n' roll of its bloated, progressive bullshit and recapture the excitement, danger and innocence of his childhood.      

 

 

IV.

 

If, on the one hand 1957 was a crucial year for eleven-year-old Malcolm McLaren [6], then so too was 1968 for the then twenty-two-year-old art student. For although not directly involved in the événements de mai [7], McLaren - the would-be revolutionary and Francophile - now fell under the influence of Guy Debord and the Situationists. 

 

Radical ideas to do with the société du spectacle and the staging of events in order to shatter such, thereby rescuing people from the boredom and inauthenticity of everyday life, remained important to McLaren throughout his life. A volatile character and natural born troublemaker, he was always attempting to mix the perfect Molotov cocktail: two parts art theory; one part political ideology; and one part cultural terrorism.  

 

It's certainly difficult to understand the Sex Pistols project without reference to McLaren and Jamie Reid's belief in the ruins, demand for the impossible, and wish to steal back happiness.  

 

The problem, however, is that avant-garde political theories relying on Marxism and surrealism don't adequately address the problems that emerge in a post-68 world. The revolution that happened was technoliberal in character and seems to allow not only no alternative but no outside space from which one might form a critical perspective or offer resistance. 

 

If McLaren had bothered to keep up with his reading - some Baudrillard perhaps - he might have understood that although the beach does indeed lie beneath the paving stones, it too is a constructed (artificial) reality that merely provides the illusion of depth and the false promise of authentic freedom [8].

 

As the conceptual artist Michal Martychowiec has shown, what were once believed to be natural grains of sand are actually cold and lifeless glass crystals ... [9] 

 

 

V.

 

If, then, McLaren retained a fixed model of style based on the look of music and the sound of fashion and a fixed politics that relied for the most part on subversive pranks and the technique of détournement [10], so too did he hold on to the same concept of sex throughout his life - one closely tied to his radical politics. 

 

Influenced by thinkers such as Wilhelm Reich and Herbert Marcuse, McLaren was of the view that liberating libidinal energies would outrage bourgeois society and threaten a culture founded upon sexual repression.

 

Thus, like so many other sex radicals and countercultural theorists, McLaren sought to weaponise desire, using pornographic images printed on T-shirts and a range of fetishwear sold in SEX and Seditionaries, for example, to provoke public outrage and incite his young clientele to insurrection.  

 

McLaren was (naively and mistakenly) convinced that by dragging the forbidden into the open, he was striking a blow against the state. However, this politics of desire relied entirely on what Michel Foucault famously termed the repressive hypothesis - i.e., the flawed belief that power functions primarily through prohibition, censorship, and denial. 

 

What McLaren failed to realise - and what Foucault brilliantly demonstrated [11] - is that modern power does not repress sex; it incites it, categorises it, and manages it. By remaining stuck in a sixties model of liberation, McLaren's radicalism was easily co-opted. He believed he was unleashing a dangerous, and authentic energy, when in reality, he was merely pioneering a highly profitable new market and the pornification of society.  

 

Decades later, he was still talking about bondage trousers with their zipper crotch with the exact same pseudo-academic earnestness and revolutionary zeal of a soixante-huitard [12]. 

 

 

VI. 

 

If there is one word that comes to define Malcolm McLaren's thinking, it's not sex, nor style, nor even subversion - it is rather authenticity. That's the thing that most intrigued him and which he set out to discover - authenticity in an age of artificiality and what he termed karaoke culture [13].

 

In an interview in 1999, McLaren describes authenticity as something dirty, horrible, and disgusting; something which "is to be found in the ruins" and involves "reclaiming the past"; something which is complex and "has built into it this uncomfortable idea of chaos"; something which contrasts with everything valued today as success [14].    

 

He certainly makes it sound attractive and almost has me sold on the idea. But then he goes and spoils it all by saying something stupid (or at the very least politically naive); "the authentic is something that isn't as easily assimilated by capital" [15] - something that can't conveniently be packaged and sold. 

 

At that point, one realises that ultimately McLaren is still a romantic idealist at heart who has failed to fully learn the crucial (Situationist) message at the centre of The Great Rock 'n' Roll Swindle (1980). Namely, that even something like punk is very quickly recuperated - no matter how authentic it may be [16]; that even the most radical ideas and images can be stripped of their danger and turned into products or harmless forms of entertainment.    

 

 

VII.

 

So, to conclude ...

 

McLaren disappoints because of his inability (or refusal) to recognise that his ideals of sex, style, and subversion, had been rendered null and void by a radical neoliberal shift in the 1980s. 

 

His political and aesthetic strategy relied on a set of mid-century conditions that no longer existed, including a rigid, easily shocked, top-down Establishment that could be genuinely threatened by countercultural activity involving the look of music and the sound of fashion.

 

What Mark Fisher terms capitalist realism thrives on the revolutionary rhetoric and authenticity McLaren championed - the pursuit of individual expression, personal branding, constant reinvention, etc. 

 

During his Duck Rock and Nostalgia of Mud phase, McLaren operated under the optimistic delusion that paganism and primitivism were wild forces external to the market. He would insist that a man on a mountain side tapping two sticks together makes a much bigger sound than all the musicians playing electric instruments or programming their synthesisers. But the sound of two sticks can be just as easily commodified as techno-pop (file it under world music and allow it to be sampled by others).    

 

The fact is, in the twenty-first century, there is no Outside from which to launch an attack and desire is no longer (if it ever was) a wild revolutionary force; it is an entirely synthetic product engineered by the market. Capitalism does not repress our libido - it structures it through algorithms, infinite digital feeds, and consumer niches, pre-formatting what we want long before we even know it. 

 

Ironically, when McLaren made his critique of karaoke culture, arguing that young people had become timid consumers of an endlessly recyled past, he failed to realise that this digital landscape was the monstrous offspring of his own '60s ideology and that youth today are not lazy or complacent - many are acutely aware that things are fucked up - but they feel powerless to act (what Fisher terms reflexive impotence) in a way that McLaren's post-War generation of baby boomers were not. 

 

Notes

 

[1] The interview took place in late 1976 at the Denmark Street studio where the band used to rehearse and essentially squat. It was broadcast on the London Weekend Show, hosted by Janet Street-Porter, on 28 November 1976. It was one of the very first television features dedicated to the underground punk scene. To watch a clip on YouTube, click here. 

 

[2] Years later, during McLaren's Charisma Records period (1982-85), that love and loyalty paid off when he placed me inside the label's press office (acting as a kind of spy). I have written several posts about my time at Charisma: click here.  

 

[3] The name Stuckism was coined in January 1999 by Charles Thomson in response to a poem by Billy Childish in which the latter relays that his former girlfriend, Tracey Emin, had repeatedly said he was stuck with his art, writing and music. 

      After exhibiting in small galleries in Shoreditch, London, the Stuckists' first show in a major public museum was held in 2004 at the Walker Art Gallery, as part of the Liverpool Biennial. It was titled 'The Stuckists Punk Victorian'.  

      By 2017, the initial group of thirteen British artists had expanded to 236 groups in 52 countries and although painting is the dominant artistic form of Stuckism, artists using other media such as photography, sculpture, film and collage have also joined, and share the Stuckist opposition to conceptualism. 

      I would like to say more, but this is probably not the right time or place - I will endeavour to publish a post on Stuckism in the near future. 

 

[4] Interestingly, however, the first Stuckist manifesto issued by Childish and Thomson in 1999, opens with the line: "Stuckism is a quest for authenticity" [3] and that is something that McLaren fundamentally endorsed, frequently contrasting it with what he called karaoke culture, as we shall discuss.

      However, the manifesto also emphasises the value of painting as a medium and opposes what is seen as the superficial novelty and nihilism of conceptual art and postmodernism and McLaren, who often styled himself an artist without portfolio and whose final works were audio-visual in nature, would laugh at the statement: "Artists who don't paint aren't artists." I also like to think that, unlike the Stuckists, McLaren would always choose irony over sincerity, viewing art as a material practice rather than a form of spirituality. 

      The first Stuckist manifesto (1999) can be found on their website: click here.  

 

[5] To be fair, this idea of living yesterday tomorrow is not simply an exercise in bogus nostalgia and can be tied to Mark Fisher's thinking on retrofuturism and hauntology and the reclaiming of what he calls lost futures. In notes written in 2000, McLaren discussed how history might be reclaimed (and not merely pissed on): 

      "The question I find most interesting is how you reclaim history. This is a very different thing from repackaging it. It's not about nostalgia, which is basically dead tissue. Living yesterday tomorrow should be about reclaiming history then reversing it into the future. If you can discover how to do that, you are probably doing everything an artist genuinely wishes to be involved in. One must aim to use ceratin disruptive practices to challenge the dominant cultural forms and relax the grip of authority."

      Quoted by Paul Gorman, The Life and Times of Malcolm McLaren (Constable, 2020), pp. 718-719.   

 

[6] An end-of-term Christmas concert in 1957 "provided the eleven-year-old with what he would later describe as 'an epiphanic moment'. Among those selected to provide entertainment was a young male teacher who performed an enthusiastic rendition of Jerry Lee Lewis's rollicking 'Great Balls of Fire'." McLaren, who had never seen or heard anything like it, was understandably blown away. 

      Not long afterwards, his older brother took him to see Buddy Holly & the Crickets and Malcolm was fascinated with rock 'n' roll subculture for the rest of his life. See Paul Gorman, The Life and Times of Malcolm McLaren, p. 30.  

 

[7] McLaren failed to get to Paris in May '68 due to ongoing French rail and air strikes. He did, however, visit the French capital at the end of June and his political imagination was excited by the literature and graphics of the Situationist International (even if he couldn't read much French). 

      Back in London, and friends by this point with Jamie Reid and Fred Vermorel, McLaren got involved with the SI's (unofficial) British offshoot known as King Mob. See my post titled 'It Was Meant to Be Great But It's Horrible: Christmas with Uncle Malcolm and the King Mob' (21 Dec 2025): click here.     

 

[8] See the essay by Nataliya Atanasova, 'We Dreamt a Beach and Found a Desert: What It Means to Live in Post-Situationist Reality', Sofia Philosophical Review (1): 70-85 (2026). This essay can be downloaded as a free pdf via Academia.edu.   

 

[9] Sous les pavés, la plage! was a solo exhibition by Polish artist Michal Martychowiec, held at the De Sarthe Gallery in Beijing (16 July to 13 August, 2017). Creating a deceptively inviting beach setting, Martychowiec replaced natural sand with industrially produced glass crystals, in order to critique capitalist realism. For more details visit his website, michalmartychowiec.com 

 

[10] Détournement is a Situationist technique by which familiar images and texts are recontextualised or amusingly altered in some fashion, forcing people to question the original ideological meanings embedded within them. 

      It was outlined by Guy Debord and Gil Wolman in their Mode d’emploi du détournement, which originally appeared in the Belgian surrealist journal Les Lèvres Nues #8 (May 1956). An English translation by Ken Knabb can be found in the Situationist International Anthology (Revised and Expanded Edition, PM Press, 2024).     

 

[11] See Michel Foucault, The History of Sexuality 1: The Will to Knowledge, trans. Robert Hurley (Penguin Books, 1998). 

      Foucault persuasively argues in part two of this work that what most perversely characterises modern societies, "is not that they consigned sex to a shadow existence, but that they dedicated themselves to speaking of it ad infinitum, while exploiting it as the secret" (p. 35).   

 

[12] See the episode of Being Malcolm (Canal Jimmy, 2000) titled 'How To Make Subversive Trousers' in which McLaren discusses the design for bondage trousers, created in 1976 and sold in Sex and Seditionaries, the shops he operated at 430 King's Road with Vivienne Westwood. It was uploaded to YouTube by the Malcolm McLaren Estate in 2015. 

 

[13] McLaren first unveiled his Karaoke Culture thesis in an essay titled '8-Bit Punk' published in Wired (November 2003) He spent the final decade of his life expanding this concept, giving a 2010 TED Talk titled 'Authentic creativity vs. karaoke culture' shortly before his death.

      The manifesto is founded upon the idea that contemporary culture is a kind of desert of the real and that young people today are incapable of generating authentic and original art, prefering to 'mouth the words to other people's songs' - i.e., surrendering agency and living by proxy, whilst chasing instant celebrity and success (afraid of struggle and failure). Karoake culture, argued, McLaren, built a risk-free environment (or safe space) - the antithesis of 430 King's Road. To combat this, McLaren championed a romantic return to creative authenticity and real sex with real bodies in order to discover real pleasures, which had to be better, he said, than 'fucking an inflatable doll'. 

 

[14] Jefferson Hack, 'A Malcolm McLaren Moment', Another Magazine (7 May 2013) - revisiting an interview originally conducted in 1999. 

 

[15] Ibid.

 

[16] Récupération is the situationist term for the co-option and commercialization of radical ideas. Formulated by Guy Debord and the Situationist International in 1960, it describes the process by which subversive concepts are twisted and absorbed into mainstream consumer culture as harmless, innocuous commodities. 

 

 

Part two in this series - 'Nietzsche - The Man Who Failed to Die at the Right Time' (15 July 2026) can be read here.

 

 

On the Art and Sexual Politics of Petrophilia: In Anticipation of SJ Fuerst's New Exhibition

SJ Fuerst: Agate (2026) part of the exhibition  

Madonnas on the Rocks at Il Kamra ta' Fuq 

(20 Mar - 5 April 2026) 

 

'Just as every woman is born of a single rib, so too 

are all rocks and stones descended from one enormous ancestor ...'

 

 

I. 

 

The Virgin of the Rocks is the title of not one but two oil paintings by Leonardo of the same subject and identical in composition except for several details, some having symbolic weight and some simply relating to technical aspects of light and colour.   

 

The slightly larger version, which is generally considered the earlier of the two (c. 1483-86), hangs in the Louvre [click here]; the other recently restored version, dated between 1495 and 1508, hangs in the National Gallery, London [click here].  

 

Both were originally painted on wooden panels, but the Louvre version has been transferred to canvas. And both depict the Virgin Mary and child Jesus with the infant John the Baptist and an angel, Uriel, in a rocky setting (a non-biblical event, but a popular theme within medieval Christianity).

 

Both works are examples of the Renaissance painting technique known as sfumato, used to soften the transition between colours, and perfected by Leonardo. If you like your images to be smoked like your fish, then this is the technique for you - although it is in much greater evidence in the Louvre painting than the London work, which is sharper, less subtle, and I think slightly more sinister.     

 

Still, all this is essentially just artistic context allowing me to write in anticipation of a new solo exhibition by one of my favourite contemporary artists - the American figurative painter SJ Fuerst - opening on the 20th of this month, at Il Kamra ta' Fuq gallery (Malta) [1]: Madonnas on the Rocks ...      

 

 

II.   

 

Obviously, I cannot yet comment on the works, although the image released above by the artist on her Instagram page [click here], undoubtedly gives a good indication of what to expect; namely, images of beautiful women painted directly onto slices of stone, constituting a stunning and highly imaginative art of petrology.  

 

The work shown is titled Agate and one assumes that it is, therefore, painted on this common (but cryptocrystalline) variety of quartz, known both for its translucency and hardness. 

 

Perhaps less well known, is the fact that the stone was named by the Ancient Greek philosopher and naturalist Theophrastus [2], who discovered it and also famously wrote a book on all kinds of rocks and stones, in which he classified them based on their behaviour when heated and not just more obvious common properties. 

 

Theophrastus also considered the practical uses of various stones; such as the minerals necessary for the production of various pigments of paint. 

 

Ms Fuerst will be very aware of all this, I'm sure. For she's not only a hugely talented artist, but also a very well-read and intelligent one, who knows exactly what she's doing and what she wishes to achieve. And just like old Theo himself, she's very systematic and considered in her work; they may indicate playfulness, but there's nothing slapdash about her pictures. 

 

Readers who visit her website - sjfuesrt.com - will appreciate what I mean, whilst readers who recall my post 'Petrophilia: On the Geochemical Origin of Life and the Religious Worship of Rocks' (25 Jan 2024) - click here - will appreciate why I am so excited by Fuerst's new show [3].

 

Any male readers, however, who are thinking of attending should note that the artist has, somewhat controversially, forbidden ownership of the paintings by men and will be donating 20% of the sales to a women's rights organisation. 

 

I only hope that some of those organisations work with women who have fled from those nations and regions of the world where they still practice stoning (lapidation) as a method of capital punishment against women charged with illicit sexual activity [4]. This includes nations such as Afghanistan, Iran, Qatar, Saudia Arabia, Sudan, Yemen [5] - but not Malta, as far as I'm aware. 

 

 

Notes

 

[1] The small independent gallery is located on the first floor above the New Life Bar, 4 Church Square, Mqabba. The exhibition runs from 20 March until 5 April, 2026 and is curated by Melanie Erixon. For more information visit the website by clicking here.

 

[2] Originally from Lesbos, Theophrastus was mentored by Aristotle and eventually succeeded the latter as head of the Lyceum, in Athens. He is considered by some to be the father of botany, for a number of groundbreaking studies on plants.

 

[3] See also my post on Gauguin's painting La Vague (1888), which features giant black rocks off of the coast of Brittany (13 August 2023): click here. 

 

[4] Although men - particularly gay men - may also be subjected to stoning, the vast majority of the victims are reported to be women and it's generally accepted that women are not treated equally and fairly by the law courts in those countries where stoning remains a legal form of punishment.

 

[5] Readers will note that these are all Muslim countries, although, interestingly, stoning is not mentioned in the Quran. It is, however, a sharia-prescribed punishment on the basis of hadith (sayings and actions attributed to the Islamic prophet Muhammad), although one that is rarely carried out, even if Islamists call for its full reinstatement and the provision for stoning is retained in law.   

 

 

For a selection of other posts on Torpedo the Ark discussing the work of SJ Fuerst, please click here. 

 

 

Queer as Punk

A punk bromance: Sid 💘 Johnny

 

'Punk is a challenge to reconsider everything you do, think or feel; 

including the ways that you love.' [1]

 

 

I. 

 

In the second volume of his memoirs - Anger is an Energy  (2014) - Johnny Rotten flatly denies the persistent rumour that he and Vicious, unlike Cook and Jones, were more than just good friends ... 

 

Perhaps one reason why this romantic myth continues to resonate is because before becoming a term used by the media to identify a form of rock music that emerged in the 1970s, the word punk had a long subcultural history rooted in illicit and deviant sexual activity.   

 

In the 16th century, for example, it was used by writers including Shakespeare as a synonym for a female prostitute and spelt rather charmingly as puncke [2]. By the late 17th century, however, it had taken on a different meaning and described a youth who is provided for by an older man in exchange for certain favours. 

 

This queer [3] etymology takes on renewed significance when one recalls the story of the Sex Pistols; an anarchic collective held together with safety pins and bondage straps which included a far wider and more diverse group of people than the actual members of the band [4]. 

 

The teens who spent their time hanging around 430 King's Road challenged heteronormative values with their behaviour, attitude, and appearance; cheerfully wearing T-shirts designed by McLaren and Westwood which included images drawn from gay porn, including homosexual cowboys, nude adolescents, and well-endowed American footballers [5].     

And so, whilst both Rotten and Vicious were for the most part straight in terms of their sexual orientation, their emphasis on non-conformity, free expression, and open acceptance of gay culture - the band and their followers would often socialise in the early days at a lesbian member's club in Soho called Louise's - was positively received within the queer community at that time.    

 

 

II. 

 

Notwithstanding what I say above, I think we should be wary of retrospectively romanticising the story of the Sex Pistols, or imposing contemporary theoretical interpretations concerning queer sexual politics and identities on to the reality of the UK punk scene in the 1970s. I don't want to be the person who says let's stick to the facts at every opportunity, but I would agree that any analysis showing a flagrant disregard for historical accuracy seems of little real value or interest.   

 

Further, as David Wilkinson points out, "once punk is separated from rooted judgement through failure to locate it within a particular conjuncture, its politics can be celebrated as uniformly positive" [6] and that's a problem: the Sex Pistols did not promise to make things better and punk wasn't entirely gay friendly; there remained elements of homophobia within it (just as there did of racism, sexism, and reactionary stupidity).   

Ultimately, for McLaren and Westwood, same-sex passion was seen as something with which to confront and discomfort the English; they wished to weaponise it, not promote gay liberation or simply camp things up for the fun of it: 

"Given [their] positioning of same-sex passion as alienated, perverse and violent, it is unsurprising that McLaren and Westwood not only seemed to have little interest in the radically transformative aims of gay liberation, but were also prone to homophobic gestures that were calculated to shock in their contempt of even reformist demands for respect, understanding and openness." [7]

 

Ultimately, as Wilkinson says, McLaren and Westwood's "was an idiosyncratic, peculiarly hybrid kind of politics, especially in relation to sexuality" [8]; one based on the radical understanding of desire as "an instinctive, irrational force capable of disrupting social norms once unanchored from the private sphere" [9], but they weren't interested in how to further loving relationships, same-sex or otherwise.   

 

And as for Johnny and Sid, for better or worse, they were more romantically fixated on Nora and Nancy than one another.   

 

 

Notes

 

[1] I'm paraphrasing Pete Shelley writing in the second issue of his self-produced punk fanzine Plaything (1978): click here. 

 

[2] Shakespeare used the word, for example, in Measure for Measure (1603-04), where Lucio suggests that since Mariana is 'neither maid, widow, nor wife', she may 'be a Puncke’ (Act 5, scene 1).

[3] I am using this term here as one that includes same-sex desire, but which is not synonymous with such. If it were up to me, as someone who finds the empty secret of non-identity philosophically more interesting than the open secret of same-sex desire, I would restrict use of the word queer to refer to forms of practice and behaviour that have nothing to do with sexuality or gender. 

      See the post of 16 March 2025, in which I discuss the term: click here. 

[4] When I think of the Sex Pistols, I certainly don't just think of Steve Jones, Paul Cook, Glen Matlock, and Johnny Rotten, but also of Malcolm McLaren, Vivienne Westwood, Jamie Reid, Jordan, Soo Catwoman, Helen of Troy, and various members of the so-called Bromley Contingent. 

 

[5] David Wilkinson makes the important point that these designs "deliberately inhabited dominant understandings of unsanctioned sexuality as perverse, sordid and violent in order to provoke a reaction" and that McLaren and Westwood were not consciously offering a set of alternative values. 

      See Wilkinson's excellent essay 'Ever Fallen In Love (With Someone You Shouldn’t Have?): Punk, Politics and Same-Sex Passion', in Key Words: A Journal of Cultural Materialism, No. 13 (2015), pp. 57-76. The line quoted from is on p. 64. 

 

[6] David Wilkinson, ibid., p. 59.

[7] Ibid., p. 65. 

 

[8] Ibid., p. 62.

 

[9] Ibid., p. 63.  

Musical bonus: Tom Robinson Band, 'Glad to be Gay', from the EP Rising Free (EMI Records, 1978): click here. 

 

 

On Creeps and Creepiness, etc.

Anthony Perkins as Norman Bates in 

Hitchcock's creepy horror Psycho (1960)  

 

 

I. 

 

We have been using the term creepy in English for quite some time. 

 

But it's only in our present century that the word has really come into its own. And today, almost any form of behaviour that seems to stray one micro-aggression beyond the narrow bounds of what is regarded as normal and appropriate - even if entirely non-threatening - is stigmatised as creepy and the individual who commits such behaviour branded a creep.  

 

What's going on? Why do so many people get the creeps around others and feel so creeped out around strangers they find unattractive or simply a little different? 

 

The fact that the concept of creepiness has increasingly become the subject of psychological research and philosophical interest - in the way that the uncanny was once the fashionable topic of investigation - demonstrates that something is going on within the contemporary cultural sensibility. 

 

Ironically, it seems that the more safe spaces we create the greater the general unease in society - particularly amongst the young, who apparently regard every glance, every smile, every greeting, every compliment, and every other positive social act as offensive, or intrusive, or creepy, simply because it's unsolicited.        

 

Again, why is that and what's going on? Why do so many people feel so vulnerable and uncomfortable? Why do they think they have had their personal space violated when someone simply sits close to them on the bus or sends them a love letter in the post? [1]     

 

II. 

 

I say people, but we know that it's mostly women who are creeped out and that the vast majority of those thought to be creepy are male: usually slightly older men who happen to be a bit odd-looking or unfashionably dressed; men with strange hobbies and poor personal hygiene; men who are involuntary celibates and still living with their mothers; men who are maybe just shy and awkward in company; men that society dismisses as loners and losers ... etc. [2]        

 

Now, I understand that men are usually more responsible for acts of violence - including sexual violence - than women. And I appreciate how female intuition may have evolved as a protective measure in response to potentially dangerous situations and that being able to detect a creepy guy might literally be a matter of life or death (albeit on extremely rare occasions).  

 

But there's a point when being naturally suspicious and cautious around strangers tips over into cultural paranoia and the way in which masculinity is now often characterised as toxic in and of itself - and male sexuality as pervy - seems to me problematic. Not all men are rapists and not all men are creeps.

 

Personally, I think we should value (maybe even learn to love) those ambiguous and rather unpredictable individuals who display a little quirkiness and queerness - or even out-and-out creepiness; isn't that what The Addams Family taught us? [3]       

 

They're creepy and they're kooky ...

John Astin & Carolyn Jones as Gomez & Morticia Addams

 

 

Notes

 

[1] It does seem to me that, in our hypersensitive and easily offended age, even the most innocent gesture or innocuous remark can have serious consequences. Having said that, I'm aware that a lot of appalling behaviour and inappropriate conduct is carried on under the guise of having a laugh or just being friendly. I'm not denying there are real creeps in the world and that some of these are also real psychos or perverts, but most are simply neurotic. 

 

[2] Rightly or wrongly, if you're young, good-looking, talented, rich and successful, you can certainly get away with far more than if you're none of the above. Once you pass a certain point, however - when, for example, you hit fifty - what was once seen as charisma or charm or genius becomes creepiness or even abusive behaviour. 

 

[3] Having said that, if Norman Bates invites you to supper, it's advisable to say no. And if you get the willies when staying in a strange house, it's probably best to skedaddle (as my mother would say). 

      Finally, I'd quite like to ask those unhappy individuals considered creepy, but who desperately want the world to accept them: Did you ever just consider acting normal?

 

 

Musical bonus 1: 'Creep' (1992), the debut single by Radiohead, which can also be found on the album Pablo Honey (Parlophone, 1993): click here. 

 

Musical Bonus 2: I actually much prefer this track by Danish singer Camille Jones entitled 'The Creeps'. Originally released on Tommy Boy Music in 2005, it was brilliantly remixed by Fedde Le Grand in 2007. However, I'm a little concerned that my liking the video by Marcus Adams might make me seem a little creepy to female readers ...   

 

 

This post is for Síomón Solomon.  

At Last the Legend of the White Rhinoceros is Fulfilled: Notes on Prehistoric Women (1967)

Martine Beswick as Queen Kari and Edina Ronay as slave girl Saria 

in Prehistoric Women (dir. Michael Carreras, 1967)

 

 

I. 

 

I like a good cavegirl flick as much as the next man, particularly when it deals with pressing social and political issues to do with class, ethnicity, and sexual relations. If the film also involves the religious worship of a giant white rhino, then that only sweetens the deal as far as I'm concened.

 

I couldn't, therefore, pass up the opportunity to watch Prehistoric Women when it was shown on Talking Pictures TV yesterday ...

II. 

 

Directed by Michael Carreras, Prehistoric Women was a fantasy adventure produced by Hammer Films, that was initially released in the US in 1967. An edited version, entitled Slave Girls, was released in the UK the following year. 

 

It starred Michael Latimer in the lead male role of David Marchant, a British explorer on safari in Africa; Jamaican-born beauty and Bond girl Martine Beswick, as Queen Kari; and the Anglo-Hungarian actress (who became a fashion designer) Edina Ronay, as the pouting blonde slave girl Saria, with whom David, all-too-predictably, falls in love.  

 

Central to the plot is the division of an all-female tribe into a ruling class of brunettes and a subordinate class of blondes. David, having accidently found himself caught up in the middle of things, is wanted by the beautiful dark-haired queen as her mate. He, however, appalled by her cruelty towards inferiors, spurns her advances. 

In fact, he has the hots for Saria and is soon encouraging her and her fair-haired comrades - as well as the men who are all kept as prisoners in a cave - to revolt against Kari, and against the Devils, a tribe of black Africans with whom she is in league (and who worship a large white rhino carved in stone). 

Long story short, this slave revolt against the dark-haired matriarchal order is a success and the rhino-masked devils are driven off. What's more, Kari is impaled and killed by the horn of a charging white rhino that mysteriously appears out of the jungle in a terrible temper.

 

Despite proclaiming his love for her, Saria tells David that her world is not his world and insists that he return home, which, via an act of iconoclastic magic he does, thereby fulfulling the legend of the white rhino.  

 

Once back at camp, David wonders whether it was all a mad dream - or he had really traveled back in time to reunite a lost African tribe and end a million-year-old legend ...? He begins to think it was probably the former, but then finds the white rhino brooch given to him by Saria in his pocket. So, it was true and it had happened!

 

The film ends on a happy romantic note: David is asked to greet some people joining the safari from London and, to his astonishment, one of the guests, called Sarah, is a reincarnation (or certainly a pretty good lookalike) of Saria.  

 

 

III.

 

What, then, do we learn from the film? 

 

Well, one takeaway could be that strictly enforced class divisions will invariably result in social tension and violence. That seems quite a progressive political message.

 

On the other hand, however, we might also note how the unconscious bias of the filmmakers results in fair-haired and light-skinned people being equated with beauty and goodness, whilst dark-haired, dark-skinned people are invariably portrayed as cruel, savage, devil-worshippers. 

 

A movie that promotes social justice can, it seems, still perpetuate racial stereotypes - and, indeed, sexual stereotypes. Because what Prehistoric Women confirms above all else is something established in One Million Years B.C. (1966). Namely, that barefoot cavegirls wearing fur-lined animal skin bikinis will forever find a place in the (male) pornographic imagination [1].

 

 

IV.

 

Critically panned and commercially unsuccessful, I still rather enjoyed watching this (politically suspect) Hammer film; not least of all for the sensual (and at times sadistic) scenes involving Martine Beswick. Push comes to shove, I'm not sure I wouldn't have chosen Queen Kari over Saria had I been in David's shoes.

 

There's something about a domineering dark-haired woman with a whip who also knows how to handle a knife and worships a rhinoceros, that excites even more than a virtuous blonde slavegirl (even when they look like Edina Ronay). 

 

It's arguable, in fact, that without a little coldness and cruelty a woman lacks character and I suspect that, ultimately, a great hunter like David would soon be bored by Saria/Sarah and seek out a woman more like Kari. 

 

For as Zarathustra reminds us, the brave man desires two things above all else: danger and distraction: 'And for that reason he wants a woman who will be the most dangerous plaything of all.' [2]

 

 

Beware the lash of the savage goddess Kari - ruler of a world

where men are chained, tortured, and made slaves to desire!

  

          

Notes

 

[1] Evidence of this can be found on the Dangerous Minds website: click here for an excellent entry on prehistoric cheesecake and the curvaceous cavewomen of B-movie cinema. 

 

[2] See Nietzsche, Thus Spoke Zarathustra (1883-85), Section XVIII of Zarathustra's discourses on 'Old and Young Women'.

 

 

Bonus: click here to watch the official trailer for Prehistoric Women (1967). 

 

She Never Lied to Us: Reflections on the Case of Irena Dubrovna

Simone Simon as Irena Dubrovna in  

Cat People (dir. Jacques Tourneur, 1942)

 

She was marked with the curse of those who slink and mate and kill by night ...

 

 

The 1942 psychological and supernatural suspense - I wouldn't call it a horror movie - Cat People is the fascinating tale of a beautiful and mysterious fashion illustrator in New York; Serbian-born Irena Dubrovna (played by the kitten-faced - but said to be temperamental - French actress Simone Simon).

 

Crazy as it sounds to her new apple-pie loving husband and the creepy psychiatrist he persuades her to visit, Irena believes herself - rightly as it turns out - to be descended from an ancient race of ailuranthropes who shapeshift (or metamorphose) into panthers when emotionally (or sexually) aroused.        

 

Her foreignness combined with her feline qualities make her doubly exotic and doubly attractive to those of us who identify as xenophiles and cat lovers, although she undoubtedly would make a problematic wife or girlfriend, unless one happens to have a fetishistic desire to be killed and possibly eaten by a wild animal (which I don't, but some people do).    

 

Several critics have described Cat People as boring and Simone Simon's acting as poor. But, having recently rewatched the film on TV, I would challenge this. The film may not be sensational, unlike many contemporary films, but it has a subtle understanding of shadowplay and the sexual politics of the period. 

 

Further, as far as I can see Miss Simon does a perfectly fine job in the role of Irena, one of the strangest characters in mid-20th century American cinema; a woman soothed by the sound of lions roaring and who finds the darkness friendly.     

 

One only wishes that the character could have embraced her nature and acknowledged her kinship with the feline-looking woman (played by Elizabeth Russell) who addresses her in a Serbian restaurant on her wedding night as moja sestra. 

 

And it might also have been satisfying to have seen Irena use her claws on Oliver, her patient but patronising (and ultimately unfaithful) husband (played by Kent Smith) and his co-worker-cum-mistress, Alice (Jane Randolph), as she does on the sleazy shrink (and sexual predator) Dr. Judd (Tom Conway) who, having dismissed her fears as irrational and infantile - and having threatened to have her locked up - attempts to seduce Irena, thus triggering the fatal transformation from woman to panther.

 

If things don't end well for Dr. Judd, then, sadly, things don't end well for Irena either and she too lies dead at the end of the film, thereby leaving the path clear for Oliver and Alice to marry and live happily ever after in a world no longer threatened by Irena's inhuman otherness [1].    

 

  

Notes

 

[1] Actually, that wasn't quite the case: in The Curse of the Cat People (dir. Gunther von Fritsch and Robert Wise, 1944), Oliver and Alice (played once more by Kent Smith and Jane Randolph) are now married and have a six-year-old daughter, Amy (Ann Carter), an extremely introverted child with a predilection for fantasy, who befriends the ghost of her father's deceased first wife, Irena (again played by Simone Simon). 

      Although sharing some of the same cast and characters - and clearly marketed as a sequel by RKO studio executives hoping to cash in on the success of their 1942 release - The Curse of the Cat People has little relationship to Cat People. Interestingly, however, its critical reputation has grown over the years and it is now seen by some as an enchanting and complex study of child psychology disguised as a ghost story.     

To watch the original trailer for Cat People, click here. 

 

To read a related post from May 2017 on woman-as-animal (with reference to a picture of Naomi Campbell by David LaChapelle entitled Cat House), click here.   

Notes on 'The Ladybird' (Pt. 1)

Wenn ich ein Marienkäfer wär'

Und auch vier Flüglein hätt',

Flög' ich zu dir -

 

I. 

 

The first work by D. H. Lawrence that I ever wrote about was The Ladybird [a]. Along with The Fox and The Captain's Doll, it formed part of my English A-level syllabus. 

 

My teacher, Mr Woodward, was not impressed with my musings, however, and gave me the lowest mark I'd ever had for an essay (I think it was a D, but that may even have come with a minus symbol). Anyway, I'm hoping to improve upon that here, in this rather more considered series of reflections ... [b]

 

 

II. 

 

The Ladybird opens in a hospital for prisoners of war, in November 1917. 

 

Lady Beveridge was paying a visit to the sick and wounded out of the goodness of her pierced heart. For despite losing two sons and her brother in the War, she loved humanity; "and come what might, she would continue to love it" [157] - including her enemies. It was the Christian thing to do. And besides, she had been educated in Dresden and had many German friends. 

 

Whilst the narrator of the tale seems to admire Lady Beveridge's refusal to be swept up into a general form of hate, it's clear that he's scornful of her universal love and moral idealism, even if he doesn't openly jeer at her "out-of-date righteousness" [158] and bluestocking elegance, like some members of the younger generation.   

 

Whilst walking the wards, Lady Beveridge encounters someone she knows: Count Johann Dionys Psanek. As recently as the spring of 1914, he and his wife had stayed at her country house in Leicestershire. But now he's not in great shape, having had one bullet tear through the upper part of his chest and another bullet break one of his ribs:

 

"The black eyes opened: large, black, unseeing eyes, with curved black lashes. He was a small man, small as a boy, and his face too was rather small. But all the lines were fine, as if they had been fired with a keen male energy. Now the yellowish swarthy paste of his flesh seemed dead, and the fine black brows seemed drawn on the face of one dead. The eyes however were alive: but only just alive, unseeing and unknowing." [159] [c]

 

Poor Lady Beveridge "felt another sword-thrust of sorrow in her heart" [159] as she looked upon what appeared to be a dying man. Then, saddened, she went off to visit her daughter Daphne; yet another of those young women whom Lawrence likes to describe as poor, even though they live in flats overlooking Hyde Park. 

 

Lady Daphne, 25, is tall and good-looking; a natural beauty, with a splendid frame and "lovely, long, strong legs" [160-61]. But, alas, she is wasting away, due to the "wild energy damned up inside her" [161] for which she has no outlet. 

 

For Daphne had married an adorable husband (Basil) and adopted her mother's creed of universal love and benevolence, whereas she needed a daredevil and to be reckless like her father: 

 

"Daphne was not born for grief and philanthropy [...] So her own blood turned against her, beat on her nerves, and destroyed her. It was nothing but frustration and anger which made her ill, and made the doctors fear consumption." [160-61] 

This, of course, is a common theme in Lawrence's work and Lady Daphne is in much the same mould as Lady Chatterley [d]. No suprises then where this tale is headed ...   

 

III.

 

Daphne remembers Count Dionys with genuine fondness. He may have seemed a bit comical and resembled a monkey in her eyes, but he was a dapper little man nonetheless - not to mention "'an amazingly good dancer, small yet electric'" [164]. 

 

Daphne also recalls that Count Dionys presented her with a thimble on her seventeenth birthday. Now, as everybody knows, thimbles were traditionally associated with the ritual of courtship, so it was perhaps not the kind of gift that a married man ought to be giving to a teenage girl. Daphne's acceptance of the thimble, however, arguably indicated her willingness to be more than friends at some point ... 

 

At any rate, Daphne decides to visit the hospital (with her mother at her side, for appearances sake). She wears a black sealskin coat "with a skunk collar pulled up to her ears" [165]. Like many people, she finds being inside a hospital very distressing; "everything gave her a dull feeling of horror" [165]. 

 

But then, the Count finds her somewhat frightening: "He looked at her as if she were some strange creature standing near him." [165] She sits and attempts to make small talk. He tells her that he had wanted to die and that he wouldn't mind if they buried him alive "'if it were very deep, and dark, and the earth heavy above'" [167]. Which is a bit awkward. 

 

It's ten days before she next visits. But go back she does, unable to forget him. Happily, he's looking and feeling better, though his conversation still leaves much to be desired. As a rule, I would advise that when someone kindly brings you flowers and asks if you like them, it's best not to reply: 

 

"'No [...] Please do not bring flowers into this grave. Even in gardens, I do not like them. When they are upholstery to human life!'" [168]

 

Queer, obstinate, and rude only works with a very rare sort of woman - though fortunately for the Count, Daphne is one such: "She sat looking at him with a long, slow wondering look." [169] In other words, she's hooked and even when she's not sitting by his bedside she's thinking of him: "He seemed to come into her mind suddenly, as if by sorcery." [169]

 

And so, over the winter months, their relationship develops ... 

 

 

IV. 

 

One bright morning in February, the Count tells Daphne that he's a subject of the sun. He also reveals that he's a tricophile who believes in the magical healing power of female hair. He asks if, one day, she will allow him to wrap her golden locks round his hands. Whilst not consenting, neither does she rule out his kinky request: "'Let us wait till the day comes,' she said." [171]   

Another time, the Count asks Daphne if people tell her she is beautiful. Before then (rudely and rather cruelly) asking what kind of lover her husband is: "'Is he gentle? Is he tender? Is he a dear lover?'" [172] She replies yes, but curtly, to demonstrate her displeasure at the question - or perhaps at the thought of her husband and his lovemaking technique.  

The Count smiles and informs her that every creature finds its mate; not just the dove and the nightingale, but also the buzzard and the sea-eagle. And the adder with a mouthful of poison. Perhaps not quite sure what he is driving at, nevertheless the last thought makes her give a little laugh.

By the early spring, the Count is able to get up and get dressed. He and Daphne sit on the terrace in the sun, laughing and chatting. He asks her about the thimble and she tells him she still has it. And so he asks her to sew him a shirt [e] - one with his initial and his family crest: a seven-spotted ladybird [f]

However, even when he gets his handsewn shirt, the Count isn't particularly grateful: "'I want my anger to have room to grow'" [177], which is difficult in a shirt that doesn't fit. Daphne decides not to see him again. But, of course, she can't stay away - he has a subtle (but powerful) hold over her; "the strange thrill of secrecy was between them" [179].   

 

 

This post continues in part two (sections V-IX): click here. 

 

 

Notes

 

[a] The Ladybird was a completely rewritten and extended version of an earier short story by Lawrence - 'The Thimble' - which I have discussed here. It was published in a volume along with two other novellas in 1923. The edition I am using here is The Fox, The Captain's Doll, The Ladybird, ed. Dieter Mehl, (Cambridge University Press, 1992). All page references given in the post refer to this edition.

 

[b] It's arguable that all my work on Lawrence over the last 40-odd years has, in fact, been an attempt to to compensate for this one low grade and to erase the stain on my early academic record. I suppose also I wanted to find out what it was that I had overlooked in my initial engagement with The Ladybird, a work which, as one critic says, has provoked a wide range of "evaluative judgements, theoretical approaches, and invested interpretations". 

      See Peter Balbert, 'Thirteen Ways of Looking at The Ladybird: D. H. Lawrence, Lady Cynthia Asquith, And the Incremental Structure of Seduction', Studies in the Humanities, 1 June, 2009, (Indiana University of Pennsylvania): click here to read this essay online via The Free Library. 

[c] Lawrence is keen to emphasise the non-Aryan aspect of the Count's features, with his black hair and beard, and his "queer, dark, aboriginal little face" [159]. As Dieter Mehl writes: "It is made clear that Count Dionys is not of German but of Czech origin, with possible associations of Gipsy [...] blood. Throughout the story, the Count is associated with Eastern races and cultures rather than with Western civilisation." See Mehl's explanatory note 159:35 on p. 258.   

 

[d] It's very tempting to see Lady Daphne as an early version of Lady Chatterley; like the latter, for example, she has a thing for the work-people on her parents estate: 

      "She talked with everybody, gardener, groom, stableman, with the farm hands. [...] The curious feeling of intimacy across a [socio-cultural] breach fascinated her. [...] There was a gamekeeper she could have loved - an impudent, ruddy-faced, laughing, ingratiating fellow [...]" [211]

 

[e] One wonders if the Count shares the same thought as Basil when it comes to wearing a hand-sewn shirt: "'To think I should have it next to my skin! I shall feel you all round me, all over me. I say how marvellous that will be!'" [194] There's something very feminine about this I think; women often like to wear their partner's clothes in order to experience a similar feeling. Researchers have found that the scent of a loved one on clothing can lower the amount of stress hormone cortisol in the brain, making the wearer feel happier and more secure.

 

[f] Later in the story, Daphne's husband Basil asks the Count about the ladybird on his family crest. The latter says it's quite a heraldic insect in his view, with a long history that can be traced all the way back to the mysterious Egyptian scarab: "'So I connect myself to the Pharaohs: just through my ladybird.'" [209] The Count is also happy if this connects him - like the scarab, a type of African dung-beetle - to the principle of decomposition.  

Chase Me - Catch Me - Kill Me - Eat Me!

 

The leopard will never lie down with the antelope. 

Whilst the leopard is leopard, he must fall on the antelope, to devour her. 

This is his being and his peace, in so far as he has any peace. 

And the peace of the antelope is to be devourable.

 

 

I. 

 

Those readers familiar with Luc Besson's sci-fi thriller Lucy (2014), starring Scarlett Johansson as a woman who gains superhuman powers - including massively enhanced cognitive abilities - thanks to a (fictional) nootropic (CPH4), will doubtless recall the terrifying opening scene at the hotel when she delivers a metal briefcase to Mr. Jang (a South Korean crime boss played by Choi Min-sik) containing bags of the designer drug in blue-powdered form.

 

As she waits nervously in the lobby, scenes of a cheetah stalking an antelope flash on the screen, indicating the mortal danger she is in. When she is brought before Jang by his henchmen, she desperately pleads for her life as images of the cheetah having caught its tender young prey, carries it away to be eaten [1]. 

As a visual metaphor, it's hardly subtle and is perhaps something of a cliché, combining elements of the lurid and the banal that remind one of the kind of pornography that appeals to those men who enjoy the thought of commiting acts of savage sexual violence against vulnerable-looking doe-eyed girls, or to those who desire to swallow others, or fantasise about being devoured by a large predator, red in tooth and claw. 

 

 

II. 

 

The scene also reminds me, however, of a memorable passage in D. H. Lawrence's essay 'The Reality of Peace', that I'd like to share with readers:

 

"Look at the doe of the fallow deer as she turns back her eyes in apprehension. What does she ask for, what is her helpless passion? Some unutterable thrill in her waits with unbearable acuteness for the leap of the mottled leopard. Not of the conjunction with the hart is she consummated, but of the exquisite laceration of fear, as the leopard springs upon her loins, and his claws strike in, and he dips his mouth in her. This is the white-hot pitch of her helpless desire. She cannot save herself. Her moment of frenzied fulfilment is the moment when she is torn and scattered beneath the paws of the leopard, like a quenched fire scattered into the darkness. Nothing can alter it. This is the extremity of her desire, this desire for the fearful fury of the brand upon her. She is balanced over at the extreme edge of submission, balanced against the bright beam of the leopard like a shadow against him." [2]  

 

For Lawrence, these two types of animal - predator and prey - exist by virtue of juxtaposition; to negate the being of one would be to negate the being of the other. Similarly, any ideal attempt to reconcile the cat and the rat, the wolf and the lamb, or the leopard and the antelope, "is only to bring about their nullification" [3].

 

That's arguably true, but what's interesting is how Lawrence eroticises his philosophy - and does so in a manner that many commentators also find porno-lurid and clichéd. 

 

Michael Black, for example, notes how, in the above passage, the deer is female and the leopard male and he wonders what this tells us about Lawrence's sexual politics. It is one thing, writes Black, "to contemplate predation as a fact of nature; it is another to elevate it to a mystic principle" [4] which eroticises violent death and being devoured. 

 

He has a point, but I suspect Black fails to appreciate just how perverse Lawrence's writing is. 

 

For despite Lawrence's sexual politics mostly oscillating between the romantic and the reactionary, his work also provides us with an explicit A-Z of paraphilias and fetishistic behaviours, obliging readers to think about subjects including: adultery, anal sex, autogynephilia, cross-dressing, dendrophilia, female orgasm, floraphilia, gang rape, garment fetishism, homosexuality, lesbianism, masturbation, naked wrestling, objectum-sexuality, podophilia, pornography, psychosexual infantalism, sadomasochism, and zoophilia. [5] 

 

It's neither shocking nor suprising, therefore, that Lawrence should also allow an element of vorarephilia to enter his text ...    

   

 

Notes

 

[1] This scene can be watched on YouTube thanks to Universal Pictures All-Access: click here. 

 

[2] D. H. Lawrence, 'The Reality of Peace', in Reflections on the Death of a Porcupine and Other Essays, ed. Michael Herbert, (Cambridge University Press, 1988), p. 50. 

 

[3] Ibid. 

      I discussed Lawrence's philosophy of anatgonistic opposition - or what he likes to call polarity - at greater length with reference to 'The Reality of Peace' in an earlier (related) post: click here.

 

[4] Michael Black, D. H. Lawrence: The Early Philosophical Works, (Cambridge University Press, 1992), p. 440. 

      

[5] I'm quoting from my post on Torpedo the Ark entitled 'D. H. Lawrence: Priest of Kink' (19 July 2018): click here.