Wiedenfeld, Logan. “Excess and Economy in Sons and Lovers.” Studies in the Novel 48 (Fall 2016): 301-317.

In his article “Excess and Economy in Sons and Lovers,” Logan Wiedenfeld aims to explain how D.H. Lawrence’s Sons and Lovers both challenges and modernizes the Bildungsroman genre. Wiedenfeld rejects the claims of other critics who suggest that Lawrence discards the genre altogether. To support his theory, Wiedenfeld utilizes Georges Bataille’s “general economy” model and suggests that Sons and Lovers follows a “structure of excess” (Wiedenfeld 303). He acknowledges that despite the fact that the novel is a coming-of-age story, it contains “throwaway” scenes that do not explicitly tie back to the development of its hero, Paul Morel. These scenes, he argues, serve to break the novel out of the confines of a traditional Bildungsroman in the pursuit of something less ordered and reserved. Wiedenfeld examines different aspects of the novel and compares them to the traditional Bildungsroman; each difference, he claims, is an attempt on Lawrence’s part “to mend a vital form” rather than destroy it (303). 

Wiedenfeld begins by wrestling with Paul Morel’s curious place in the novel. He addresses Kate Millett’s accusation that all of the novel’s female characters exist only to develop Paul’s character. Importantly, Wiedenfeld does not attempt to justify the misogynistic tendency of this aspect of the novel. However, he identifies it as a consequence of the novel’s form as opposed to that of Lawrence’s own prejudices. Wiedenfeld notes that this “protagonism” is a common characteristic of the Bildungsroman, since the “economy” of the novel flows always towards the protagonist at the expense of other characters. In spite of this economy, there are other aspects of the novel that seem to tear at Paul’s centrality. The fact that the novel’s title was changed from Paul Morel to Sons and Lovers points to a more complicated relationship between Paul and the narrative. This is only compounded by the fact that Paul is not introduced until well into the already developing stories of characters like Gertrude and William Morel. 

Rather than attempting to distinguish between the “real” and “fake” plots of parts I and II as other critics have, Wiedenfeld explains the discrepancies as a reflection of Lawrence’s ideology. This ideology prioritizes relationships over singular characters, aiming to display a “vast web of relatedness” rather than “nailing” down the novel into any one shape (301). This ties back to the title of Sons and Lovers, which describes a number of relationships within the novel. Wiedenfeld claims that this change in the title better captures Lawrence’s “web of relatedness” and the novel’s ontology. According to Wiedenfeld, Lawrence’s idea of “being” is always in excess of structure – being is an action (308). This is in direct opposition to the traditional Bildungsroman, which Wiedenfeld describes as “stasis-oriented” (309). Wiedenfeld highlights Lawrence’s view of sex as an essential element of this ontology; sex functions as a way to dissolve into this “web of relatedness” and perform the act of being rather than stagnation. 

Wiedenfeld continues by pointing out Paul’s status as a member of a family in contradiction the traditional Bildungsroman. Usually, the hero will be an orphan in order to start with a blank slate and truly develop “from scratch” as the novel progresses. In addition to this, Wiedenfeld notes the novel’s refusal to either get rid of Walter Morel or write him off as an evil father from the start. Walter Morel’s own development is another oddity when compared to the Bildungsroman genre – one that Wiedenfeld highlights as a diffusion of energy away from Paul and onto the other characters (307). Lawrence’s placement of Paul into a family coupled with his own late appearance into that family reflects an attempt on Lawrence’s part to emphasize the relationships that Paul has rather than his own individual development. Through this analysis, Wiedenfeld concludes that “excessive” aspects of the novel – such as part I, Walter Morel, and William’s “stunted” coming-of-age plot – serve to break Sons and Lovers free from the traditional structure of a Bildungsroman. This rupture prioritizes the relatedness between human beings as opposed to a “detached autonomous self” and, according to Wiedenfeld, reflects the larger modernist need to reform rather than to reject the humanist worldview (316).   

While Wiedenfeld’s attempt to reconcile the ways in which Sons and Lovers breaks from the traditional Bildungsroman raises a number of good points, it also raises a number of questions. These questions, unsurprisingly, center on Paul’s position in relation to the rest of the novel. In pursuing these questions, it is helpful to focus on aspects of the novel that Wiedenfeld does not substantially cover – for example, a closer look at Gertrude rather than Walter Morel, or at the relationship between Paul and Miriam. The “web of relatedness” Lawrence aims to create within the novel is constantly under stress from the failing nature of the relationships between characters, and Wiedenfeld’s argument calling the novel a “modernist” Bildungsroman is similarly stressed under the weight of these interactions. 

Gertrude Morel, as our entry point into Sons and Lovers, functions as a main character before Paul’s own entrance fifty pages later. Even then, Paul does not become the main character immediately, and Gertrude remains an immensely important figure throughout the development of both William and Paul. Wiedenfeld notes that Gertrude’s character is closely related to the main character of another, unfinished story, Matilda. As the reincarnation of another character originally intended to be the “hero” of her own story, it makes sense that Wiedenfeld would describe Gertrude as a “formidable presence within the novel” (307). As with the rest of part I of the novel, Gertrude’s story functions as excess to Paul’s plot. However, the incorporation of an entirely different story into Gertrude’s character, along with her dominance of most of the first part of the novel, implies that her “presence” serves a larger role. Wiedenfeld’s decision to tackle Walter Morel instead of Gertrude is curious because of the long shadow Gertrude casts over Paul’s story, even after her death.

In many ways, the emotional failure of Gertrude and Walter’s marriage sets the stage for the arguably problematic relationship that develops between Gertrude and Paul later in the novel. This failure, though it happens “in excess” to Paul’s main story, resonates throughout the other parts of the novel; failure in one of Gertrude’s relationships pushes her to cling even more tightly to the ones she has to her children: “Now she ceased to fret for [Morel’s] love: he was an outsider to her. This made life much more bearable… She also had the children” (Lawrence 25). This moment of transition in Gertrude’s affections is a formative moment in Paul’s life, despite the fact that Paul does not have a life at this point. This is especially poignant since Wiedenfeld comments upon a “narratological divorce” between Paul and his father – what implications are there that Paul is not able to obtain this same kind of divorce between himself and his mother? On the one hand, the pushing aside of Walter Morel helps to make up for the fact that Paul is not literally an orphan. On the other hand, Paul’s inability to separate himself from Gertrude disallows him a complete freedom within the narrative. Wiedenfeld’s point about the oddity of Paul being raised by his own family rather than orphaned as many other Bildungsroman heroes would be augmented by an examination of how Gertrude’s presence before Paul’s life inextricably shapes it thereafter. 

Since Lawrence’s ontology is structured upon relationships between characters, it makes sense to more closely examine the romantic relationships Paul develops. More specifically, Wiedenfeld claims: “This is why sex is so central to Lawrence’s metaphysics: sex destroys the illusion of detached autonomy” (Wiedenfeld 308). That is to say, sex deepens a relationship; as well as being an action, it erases the boundaries between two people and allows them to merge with the world around them. With this claim in mind, it is useful to investigate the way sex functions in Paul’s relationships throughout the novel. First, there is Miriam. For most of their relationship, Paul and Miriam seem bound to marry, despite their initial claims that they are only friends. However, there is one dimension on which their relationship never works – the physical. No matter how deep and connected their emotional intimacy, the two are never able to be as close physically as they are mentally. Paul describes the way that Miriam makes him feel torn between his physical and mental selves: “You switch me off somewhere, and project me out of myself. I am quite ghostish, disembodied… That water there ripples right through me… There are no barriers between us” (Lawrence 232). The language here mirrors what Wiedenfeld frames as a positive aspect of sex – the dissolution of boundaries between people and the world. But something malfunctions here that “dissolves” Paul in a way that is described many times as painful to him. Comparing Paul’s relationship with Miriam to the one he has later with Clara might add an important layer to Wiedenfeld’s argument about the role sex plays in Lawrence’s ontology. What does it mean that Lawrence privileges these relationships in Paul’s “web” only to have them fall apart? Wiedenfeld neglects the negative side of this dissolution between people by almost completely ignoring Paul’s encounters with Miriam as well as the eventual failure of his relationship with Clara. 

Unfortunately, Wiedenfeld touches only briefly upon the ending of the novel. He comments upon the traditional path for a Bildungsroman, which ends in the solitary hero landing himself a home and marriage. Rather than follow this path, Wiedenfeld says, Lawrence has to sacrifice closure in order to privilege the relationships he develops within the narrative (309). I would argue that Wiedenfeld does not go far enough here. At another point in the piece, he describes Sons and Lovers as “a development narrative in which development is conceived as a socially embedded process” (Wiedenfeld 311). It is true that Paul starts his story deeply embedded within a family and finds himself tangled up in many relationships throughout the novel. It is also true that the novel ends on hopeful tone, with Paul refusing to follow his mother’s ghost. From a formal standpoint, however, the ending of Sons and Lovers is an almost complete reversal of the traditional Bildungsroman, not just an aberration from certain aspects of the genre: 

Beyond the town the country, little smouldering spots for more towns – the sea – the night – on and on! And he had no place in it. Whatever spot he stood on, there he stood alone… The people hurrying along the streets offered no obstruction to the void in which he found himself. (Lawrence 464)

Rather than beginning as an orphan and finding a home and a wife by the story’s end, Paul begins as “socially embedded” and ends totally alone – his mother dead, his siblings married off, and his romantic relationships nonexistent.

With this in mind, the question becomes: how many pieces of a system can you replace before it becomes something new? Wiedenfeld argues that Lawrence’s work in Sons and Lovers is to mend the Bildungsroman. While I agree that Lawrence does not aim to destroy the genre altogether, I disagree that these substantial alterations can constitute the same form. By neglecting aspects of Paul’s relationships with Clara, Miriam, and Gertrude, Wiedenfeld seems to fit Sons and Lovers back into a box it is deliberately trying to escape. It feels like an attempt to “nail down” the novel in a new way rather than truly follow Lawrence’s warning that this will “kill the novel” (Wiedenfeld 301). Wiedenfeld quotes Frieda Lawrence in her claim that “new thing must find a new shape, then afterwards one can call it art” (316). He wants to reconcile Sons and Lovers as both creating a new form and renovating an old one. I am not convinced that the two can coexist, and instead argue that Lawrence, while not rejecting the Bildungsroman form, is transforming its old parts into an entirely “new shape.”

Works Cited

Lawrence, D. H., and Blake Morrison. Sons and Lovers. Penguin, 2006.Wiedenfeld, Logan. “Excess and Economy in Sons and Lovers.” Studies in the Novel 48 (Fall 2016): 301-317.