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St. Mawr & The Man Who Died Mass Market Paperback – February 12, 1959
Purchase options and add-ons
- Print length224 pages
- LanguageEnglish
- PublisherVintage
- Publication dateFebruary 12, 1959
- Dimensions4.16 x 0.49 x 6.67 inches
- ISBN-100394700716
- ISBN-13978-0394700717
The chilling story of the abduction of two teenagers, their escape, and the dark secrets that, years later, bring them back to the scene of the crime. | Learn more
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Product details
- Publisher : Vintage
- Publication date : February 12, 1959
- Edition : Reissue
- Language : English
- Print length : 224 pages
- ISBN-10 : 0394700716
- ISBN-13 : 978-0394700717
- Item Weight : 4.8 ounces
- Dimensions : 4.16 x 0.49 x 6.67 inches
- Best Sellers Rank: #1,838,041 in Books (See Top 100 in Books)
- #18,789 in Classic Literature & Fiction
- #50,932 in Literary Fiction (Books)
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- Reviewed in the United States on June 15, 2021Format: Mass Market PaperbackVerified PurchaseBoth St. Mawr and The Man Who Died are amazing and life changing!
- Reviewed in the United States on December 19, 2007Format: Mass Market PaperbackVerified PurchaseSt. Mawr & The Man Who DiedI bought this book in order to share Lawrence's vision of the Christian tale with a friend. It brings together universal resurrection imagery from diverse traditions in the moving, incendiary provocative intensity Lawrence is noted for.
- Reviewed in the United States on January 16, 2016Format: Mass Market PaperbackVerified PurchaseI love D.H. Lawrence's style and although I have read some of his other works, The Man Who Died continues to be my favorite. It is succinct, unusual, and captivating.
- Reviewed in the United States on October 11, 2014Format: Mass Market PaperbackVerified Purchasegreat
- Reviewed in the United States on May 2, 2010Format: Mass Market PaperbackThere's a need for writers to gain a measure of life's seasoning in order to have something relevant to say. This is not to claim that younger writers don't have a perspective on life worth sharing - but it does imply that life experiences of the young tend to pander to the superficial level of understanding, rarely allowing readers to experience anything of life beyond said young writer's ego.
Literature is at its basis an educational device - one in which a story is told in a way allowing readers to identify with life at multiple levels. Such experience in literature is almost always an isolated, discrete one - a specific person or incident. This is for good reason: limiting literary experience keeps the reader from being overwhelmed by life's panorama.
But...and here my point leaves most younger writers in the dust...a story told skillfully enough to be considered literature will lead the reader to experience the deeper significance of the story, and this almost always leads to something we might call a word-driven mystical experience.
I don't think I'm being too high-flown here - literature at its best should be a meme for something religious folks call spiritual experience. And this experience is essentially a unifying one - an experience that makes all discrete experiences seem part of some (tangible or intangible) whole.
D.H. Lawrence wrote The Man Who Died late in his altogether-too-short life. Writers, particularly those with the poetic bent Lawrence displays in his work, seem to be able somehow to divine the future, and perhaps this book was his way of peering into his own after-life.
His story is one of Jesus of Nazareth, the central icon of Christianity, and I should digress for a moment: Lawrence seems to have two writerly urges here.
First, he takes a rather incomplete story - Biblical depictions are vague on details regarding Jesus' death, his burial and his rising after three days (How, exactly, was he buried? Where was the cave? How was the large stone rolled into the cave's entrance? What transpired, other than what Biblical scripture depicts, inside and outside the cave, during the three days? How did Jesus feel upon rising: was he physically tired, psychologically wan?). Such gaps, whether you consider them of history or myth, are irresistible to writers, and Lawrence surely felt drawn to fill these gaps in his own way. His strategy was to treat Jesus as more of a human than a sainted personality. He depicts Jesus in this story as a man living within a plausibly human context - something that clearly went (and goes) against the grain of the prevailing Christian mythos.
And second, he surely wondered: if I'm to portray Jesus as a human here, how must I treat his divine side? Lawrence's plan was to have Jesus travel to Egypt and to meet a priestess of Isis - the goddess of Egypt's Old Kingdom.
Why Isis? There are parallels with the treatment of Jesus at the end of his life with the story of Osiris:
This Egyptian god was, according to prevailing myth, stuffed into a box by his brother Set, the box thrown into the Nile. Osiris' wife, Isis, recovered the box and brought Osiris back to life via a certain spell. Thus, Osiris became the Egyptian god of the afterlife, or of resurrection (coincidentally, the Egyptian religious cults were resurrectionist, not reincarnationist, as is Christianity).
Lawrence's writing, beyond the scandalous histrionics gathered about his stories, was essentially about resolving sexual polarities in human culture, i.e., how do - or can - we humans resolve our need for and emotional attachments to those of the opposite sex? In keeping with this bent, Lawrence brings Jesus - who remains in something of an emotional funk following his crucifixion and is still physically ailing - into a liaison with this priestess of Isis.
Something about the priestess' physicality seems to salve Jesus' wounds, and he goes on as a man - a wanderer - ever in search of peace as a human.
This story, then, has to do with treating Jesus as a single, human entity, then implying mythic connections with an Egyptian god of similar traits, and leading the reader to some deeper sense of meaning regarding this fictionalized portrayal. In so doing, Lawrence hoped, I think, to have the reader understand something of the divine in human experience, no matter how tragic.
Commentaries on this story depict Jesus' human afterlife as viewing humanity's collective state of mind as one in deep need of psychological and emotional healing, as ego-driven, as desperate to reconcile individual needs with collective needs.
Part of the genius Lawrence displays here is in treating these dichotomy-driven emotional states, not through didactics, but purely through a sweetly told story.
- Reviewed in the United States on March 23, 2012Format: Mass Market PaperbackUnlike many readers, I find ST. MAWR more absorbing than THE MAN WHO DIED, so am restricting remarks to that first novella, a potent distillation of later Lawrence (much like his unfinished THE VIRGIN AND THE GYPSY).
Often framed as a misogynist, Lawrence typically seems as hard, if not harder, on his men than his women. Perhaps he's truly a misanthrope. One of his unvarying themes seems to be that men fall short of true masculinity, and therefore merit disdain. Here, Lou Witt and her memorably dry-witted mother Rachel Witt, transplants from Texas, find in the brute beauty of a stallion named St. Mawr all the taste of the "old, aboriginal England" missing from the men in their lives. Their spiritual hunger soon leads them on a pilgrimage to the existential landscapes of New Mexico.
Lou's handsome fiance, Rico, comes under fire for his effeteness. Lawrence compares Rico unfavorably with St. Mawr's blue-collar Welsh groom, as well as an American Indian groom, whom the author seems to view as exemplars of manhood. Annoying as such didacticism could be, Lawrence is so earnest--so willing to risk absurdity--he disarms you, and carries you along with all his fervent assertions regarding vitality and life-force.
Descriptively, Lawrence's keen X-acto knife slices his characters off the pages, delineating their eccentricities like crisp silhouettes. Meanwhile, in terms of plot, the narrative cleaves close to life: perhaps uncomfortably so. Its action arises from various whims of human motivation, as opposed to dramatic structure, reminding us just how random our experience really is.
ST. MAWR has both a wild energy and a spiritual desolation. It confronts some of the profoundest existential feelings available to human beings. This is odd indeed, given that the protagonist is only 25 years old and is fairly inexperienced (though Lawrence's third-person narration gives us flashes of various interior lives). Like much of Lawrence's oeuvre, it reads as if composed in a fever. ST. MAWR is a meditation on vitality itself, exploring some essential mysteries of human relation. Rarely has fiction so powerfully conveyed what strangers we can be to one another beneath our social veneers.
Given its jagged facets, I'd recommend this rough gem for established fans of Lawrence--those who agree that modern ennui can be assuaged by a pagan communion with nature.
- Reviewed in the United States on March 27, 2000Format: Mass Market PaperbackThis book kept me up until 3am one night because I just had to finish it.
'St. Mawr' is a very entrancing short story about a woman and her dissatisfaction with men as a whole. The heroine, a countrified gentile, has a wild imagination in this, and Lawrence describes her thoughts in terms of the horse's power and motion and ability. I got so caught up in this that I finished it in just over an hour. It's a very well structured read.
'The Man Who Died' has become my favourite contemporary version of the last days of Christ. It's an amazing and original story that leaves you asking questions. Many heavy handed Christians became infuriated by this story when it was published, and i'm sure many will continue to rail against it for the humanizing of thier idol.
At first glance, I wasn't aware that they were both seperate stories but, after reading 'The Man Who Died', I kept asking myself - Why are these two stories together like this? The only conclusion I could draw was, the fallibility of one and the infallibility of the other. Be advised though, D.H. does his best to derail your thinking here.



