Education and the way to be a writer
Altogether Lawrence spent four years as a pupil teacher at Eastwood and Ilkeston. At the end of 1904, he sat for the King’s Scholarship examination, and he passed it and qualified for a free place at a training college. Six months later he passed the London Matriculation examination, which qualified him for admission to Nottingham University College. But he did not have the money for his earnings for his fees, so he taught for a further year at Eastwood, putting aside most of his earnings to pay for his future expenses. It was in September of 1906, at the age of twenty-one, Lawrence entered the Nottingham University College to follow the teachers’ training course. He had already begun working on the novel which was known as The White Peacock.
Once he planned to take an external degree in Arts of London University, but he went back to his original course of studies when he found himself unable to obtain extra tuition in Latin. Lawrence enjoyed neither his teaching practice nor the formal education he was receiving at Nottingham. ‘It had meant mere disillusion instead of the living contact of ’ 原文请+QQ32491'14辣.文^论,文'网
Lawrence was determined that he would at least name his own price. He would not take any teaching job that paid less than 90 pounds a year. After one or two disappointments, he found a job in the newly opened Davidson Road School at Croydon. But he did not enjoy his years at Croydon, though he worked under a headmaster who let him teach in his own way. Here, he had one colleague who shared his passion for literature and ideas. At the beginning he suffered from intense homesickness and several of his earliest published poems deal with this theme. When this had worm off he still found he could not believe enough in what he was doing to commit himself wholeheartedly to it.
At this period, without his mother’s encouragement, he would probably not have become a schoolteacher (as she herself had been). And he had become one, he felt frustrated and ill at ease, both because he found the daily drudgery and particularly maintenance of discipline in the classroom irksome, and also because his emotional affairs were in a state of uncertainty. But through out the petty frustrations of his job and his emotional restlessness, the ambition of being a writer remained constant. So he worked steadily at The White Peacock, and also wrote several poems.
Lawrence still corresponded with Jessie when he taught at Croydon, and sent her the various installments of his novel as well as some poems. It was Jessie who introduced him to the editor Ford. Later Ford invited Lawrence to visit him in London.毕业论文
http://www.751com.cn/ It was through Ford that Lawrence gained admission to the literary world of metropolitan London. As a writer, Lawrence seems to have known almost from the very beginning the path he wished to follow. With his first novel and some of the subsequent ones he showed a great readiness to chop and chant, and he was seeking advice not only from literary men such as Ford, but also from friends and acquaintances like Jessie. As Lawrence said I had to write, because he wanted the people, the English people to become brainier. But while he was willing and even eager to shape his early work to suit the fashions and taboos of the Edwardian literary and publishing world, he was always clear-sighted as to just what he was doing, and, on some matters, quite adamant.
It took Lawrence three years to get The White Peacock into its final form, and the novel was not published until early in 1911. But before he was able to obtain a copy especially bound up to put into the hands of his beloved mother who was dying of cancer.
Mrs. Lawrence died in December 1910, and Lawrence did very little writing during that year, though before his first novel was published he had written early versions of both The Trespasser and Sons and Lovers. About his mother’s death, he wrote:
For me, everything collapsed, save the mystery of death, and haunting of death in life. I was twenty-five, and from the death of my mother, the world began to dissolve around me, beautiful, iridescent, but passing away substance less. Till I almost dissolved away myself, and was very ill. ( A Preface to D. H. Lawrence 29)
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