Sons and Lovers, and the Economy of Sacrifice (Stephen Pallas)

If, as Becker contends, "Domesticated tradition was, and is, consumable" (20), then I would like to explore the ingestion of cultural (as has been my focus in earlier posts) on modernism in literature and the effect of domestic tradition on individual representations with a case study of  D.H. Lawrence's novel, Sons and Lovers.  Early in the narrative, the children of the Morel family ritualize the act of sacrifice with a doll (a strangely apropos invocation of an earlier novel, Hardy's Jude the Obscure) named Arabella.  Paul, the novel's protagonist, speaks: “‘Let’s make a sacrifice of Arabella,’ he said.  ‘Let’s burn her’…He made an altar of bricks, pulled some of the shavings out of Arabella’s body, put the waxen fragments into the hollow face, poured out a little paraffin, and set the whole thing alight.  He watched with wicked satisfaction” (82-83).  In this scene, Lawrence invites easily the reader into a thematic structure by which the economy of sacrifice defines interpersonal relationships.  In attempting to avoid perversely introducing the sometimes-overbearing Marxian language into this discourse (although it might be a helpful lens for a future project), I don't want to consider the socioeconomic machine necessarily in terms of producers and consumers, but as a culture of subjects with deep and potentially tragic investments into the game of life; as such, readers must consider Lawrence's characters as risking their bankroll of ethics and morality, love and friendship, and personal identity.

Working backward through the language of sacrifice in Sons and Lovers, Paul "would not give in [to Miriam].  Turning sharply, he walked towards the city’s gold phosphorescence.  His fists were shut, his mouth set fast.  He would not take that direction, to the darkness, to follow her.  He walked towards the faintly humming, glowing town, quickly” (464).  He decides to forgo sacrifice in lieu of his identity, having already invested so much of his time in unfulfilled love (as represented by Miriam who had enriched his soul, and Clara who had sexually satisfied him, but neither comprising a complete woman).  So he turns back toward the industrialized town, toward his family and home, to regenerate his procession of self-discovery.  This is the culmination of an entire life of sacrifice--the novel having begun while his mother (Gertrude Morel) was pregnant with Paul.  There existed a reciprocity of sacrifice in Paul and Miriam's relationship, as "He wanted her to hold him and say, with joy and authority: 'Stop all this restlessness and beating against death. You are mine for a mate.' She had not the strength. Or was it a mate she wanted? or did she want a Christ in him?" (463).  Likewise, “she would suffer for him. She put her hand on his knee as he leaned forward in his chair. He took it and kissed it; but it hurt to do so. He felt he was putting himself aside. He sat there sacrificed to her purity, which felt more like nullity” (326).  This reciprocity denies the hegemony of gender, and invents the economy of sacrifice to be a mutual endeavor rooted in personal investment--he for her, she for him.  Ultimately, however, their relationship can never be fulfilled, as neither can fully enact the necessary sacrifice--Miriam with sexual intercourse, nor Paul with marriage.  Paul's behavior exhibits the fear projected by his upbringing: Walter Morel's (his father) “wife was casting him off, half regretfully, but relentlessly; casting him off and turning now for love and life to the children.  Henceforward he was more or less a husk” (62).  This scene came during Paul's childhood, and having consumed the domestic tradition of fear and abjection provided for Paul the seeds for his understanding of the economy of sacrifice, hence the scene with the doll, and the failed quest for love.