It’s hard to imagine that 85 years ago, a man was able to write a book so intense in passion, it actually contained the words- “ We fucked a flame into being.” As I read the portrayal of sexual frenzied desire between Connie, a woman trapped in a crippling (literally!) marriage, and the mysteriously elusive Mellors, the estate’s gamekeeper, I can’t help turn a blind eye to the moral issues relating to extramarital activities. How did Mr. Lawrence, a man who had his own share of domestic problems, manage to scrape every bit of carnal bliss possible between two souls and paint it so intricately in his work? Comparing this to the shallow attempts at portraying insane lust in recent ‘shady’ books makes me want to weep.

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