It's a jumbled, careful, slow, "awkward" read. I don't really have much to say. It's a life-reconsidering book and since reading it I've had a lot of serious questions (unlike the normal ones) to ask myself. Not many books force their consciousness so hard on you. It's also like, dated, in the sense that no heterosexual person would ever write this in the 21st century, nor could they, I guess. I never really got what the mines looked like. I think people expect too much out of literature. It's so dreary! Entertainment is fine that's what it all is anyway like Anna Wintour knows literary sensibilities in respect to commercial realism (no!) but everyone else is too nerdy or academic—sad like Lawrence who for the first time since I've ever thought about him has seemed pathetic. That's just modern existence running its mouth again. Funny how dirty social media made thinking. I see the break in the veil, mater, I see it! I don't think Lawrence put a lot of thought into this book but it's reflective and I liked it.