Full of detail, contrasts, contradictions and
signature Lawrencian repetitions, this travel memoir is a fascinating read. As
regular readers of my book reviews will know, an important factor in my
enjoyment of any work is how well written is the piece. This one does not
disappoint. Lawrence uses language with a mix of expert observation and casual
scholarship rooted in instinct. His descriptions of people and place are vital,
complex, opinionated and full of character.
First published in 1923, when he and Frieda had been
married for 9 years, the book is an account of their travels from Sicily to
Sardinia. That he refers to Frieda initially as Queen Bee and then simply as
'q.b.' (yes, in lower case) says something of the relationship between husband
and wife. Though it's never stated in any direct way, the reader is left with
the impression that the marriage is a strange sort of equal partnership with
Frieda accepting Lawrence's particular take on the battle of the sexes. There
is almost nothing of their togetherness and, in fact, he rarely refers to her
in anything other than an aside, almost as if journeying alone. It's an odd
stance, but takes little away from the joy of the journey for the reader,
merely excluding the emotional interaction between the pair.
There's an air of the stoic about the way in which
he describes various tribulations of the journey. Bleakness, inefficient and
argumentative officials, and potential disaster are all taken in his stride. In
fact, he seems to actually enjoy some of the privations. Of course, I read this
account from the point of view of the modern traveller, for whom the ordinary
necessities are taken for granted. Perhaps what the Lawrences faced on their
various trips was simply the 'norm' of their day.
Post-First World War Italy and the two islands,
under Mussolini's fascist rule at the time, face change and so-called progress
with a suspicion that is sometimes palpable. One of the aspects I find so
intriguing in the account is that Lawrence, in spite of his often dismissive opinions,
is not at all judgemental on most of those occasions when one would expect
strong condemnation. He seems to simply accept that things are the way they
are.
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| English: Tunisia, Sardinia, Sicily and The South of Italy (Photo credit: Wikipedia) |
I've never been to Italy, Sicily or Sardinia but I
always associated them with warmth. They are, after all, seated well within the
Mediterranean. But the book describes the cold on parts of the journey in such
detailed terms that the reader shivers with the chill. The landscape varies
enormously over the duration of their journey, much of it through rugged
countryside still untamed, rather like the Sardinians who he appears to admire
for their almost savage way of life.
The tone of the account is that of a man tired of
the relative stability and conservatism he sees as personifying his homeland at
the time. This is a man in search of something, though it's uncertain what
exactly that is. There is admiration as well as opprobrium and he clearly loves
the characters they encounter, describing them in living terms that bring them
out of the page to sit beside you as you read.
I thoroughly enjoyed the language of the book; the
idiosyncratic English style and use of metaphor and simile. I was entertained
and informed, intrigued and stimulated. But, would the book encourage me to
visit Sardinia? It's a much changed world now, almost a hundred years later,
but there was an underlying history and tradition informing the people that
left me feeling I wouldn't be comfortable in their company. So, no, it hasn't
left me with a yearning to visit the land, unlike Captain Corelli's Mandolin by
Louis de Bernières, which had me holidaying in Cephalonia the year I read it.
The book is, nevertheless, a very good read and I have no reservations about
recommending it to armchair travellers.
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