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You're built to win it. Welcome to Snewscast, the podcast designed to help you fall asleep.

Find us at Snewscast.com and if you enjoy our show, please share us with a friend. This episode is brought to you by pushes of lilac and gilder rose. Tonight, we'll read the beginning of the Rainbow, a novel by British author, D.H. Lawrence. The Rainbow tells the story of three generations of the Bronwyn family, a dynasty of farmers and craftsmen who live in the East Midlands of England. The book spans a period of roughly 65 years from the 1840s to 1905 and shows how the love relationships of the Bronwyn's change against the backdrop of the increasing industrialization of Britain. The first central character, Tom Braunwen, is a farmer whose experience of the world does not stretch beyond these two counties. the last Ursula, his granddaughter, studies at university and becomes a teacher in the

of aggressively urbanized capitalist and industrial world.

Let's get cozy.

Close your eyes. Relax your body into the softness of your bed. Now, take a few deep breaths. One of Tom Bronwyn married a Polish lady. The Bronwyn's had lived for generations on the Marsh farm. In the meadows that twisted sluggishly through all their trees, two miles away, a church tower stood on a hill.

The houses of the little country town climbing

acidiously up to it.

Whenever one of the brown winds in the fields

lifted his head from his work,

he saw the church tower in the empty sky.

So that as he turned again to the horizontal land, he was aware of something standing above him and beyond him in the distance. There was a look in the eyes of the Bronwyns as if they were expecting something unknown about which they were eager. They had that air of readiness for what would come to them, a kind of surety, an expectancy, the look of an inheritor. They were fresh, blonde, slow speaking people, revealing themselves plainly but slowly, so that one could watch the change in their eyes from laughter to anger. Blue lit up laughter to a hard blue staring anger. Through all the irresolute stages of the sky when the weather is changing. Living on rich land, on their own land, near to a growing town, they had forgotten what it was to be in straightened circumstances. They had never become rich because they were always children, and the patrimony was divided every time, but always at the marsh there was ample. So the Bronwyn's came and went without fear of necessity, working hard because of the life that was in them, not for the want of the money. Neither were they thriftless. They were aware of the last half penny, and instinct made them not waste the peeling of their apple. For it would help to feed the cattle. heaven heaven and earth was teaming around them, and how should this cease? They felt the rush of the sap in the spring. They knew the wave which cannot hold, but every year throws forward the seed to be getting. And falling back leaves the youngborn on the earth. They knew the intercourse between heaven and earth. Sunshine drawn into the breast and vowels. The rain sucked up in the daytime. Nakedness that comes under the wind and autumn. Showing the birds' nests no longer worth hiding. Their life and interrelations were such, feeling the pulse and body of the soil, that opened to their furrow for the grain and became smooth after their plowing, and clung to their feet with a weight that pulled like desire, lying hard and under-sponsive when the crops were to be shorn away. The young corn waved and was silken, and the lustre slid along the limbs of the men who saw it.

They mounted their horses and held life between the grips of their knees. They harness their horses at the wagon, and with hand on the bridal rings drew the heaving of the horse after their will. In autumn, the partridges word up birds and flocks blue like spray across the fallow. Rooks appeared on the gray watery heavens and flew calling into the winter. the men sat by the fire in the house where the women moved about with surety,

and the limbs in the body of the men were impregnated with the day.

Cattle and earth and vegetation and the sky.

The men sat by the fire and their brains were inert as their blood flowed heavy with the accumulation from the living day. The women were different. On them too was the drows of blood intimacy. Caves sucking and hens running together in droves, and young geese palpitating in the hand, while the food was pushed down their throttle. But the women looked out from the heated blind intercourse of farm life to the spoken world beyond.

They were aware of the lips and the mind of the world speaking and giving utterance.

They heard the sound in the distance

and they strained to listen.

It was enough for the men that the earth heaved and opened its furrow to them, that the wind blew to dry the wet wheat and set the young ears of corn, wheeling freshly round about. It was enough that they held the cow in labor, or ferreted the rats from under the barn. So much warmth and generating and pain did they know. Earth and sky and beast and green plants. so much exchange and interchange they had with these, that they lived full and surcharge. Their senses full-fed, their faces always turned to the heat, staring into the sun, raised with looking towards the source of generation.

Unable to turn around. But the woman wanted another form of life than this. Her house faced out from the farm buildings and fields. Looked out to the road in the village with church and hall and the world beyond. She stood to see the far off world of cities and governments and the active scope of man, the magic land to her, where secrets were made known and desires fulfilled. She faced outwards to where men moved dominant and creative, having turned their back on the pulsing heat of creation. with this behind them were set out to discover what was beyond, to enlarge their own scope and range and freedom, whereas the Bronwyn men faced inwards to the teeming life of creation, which poured unresolved into their veins. Looking out, as she must, from the front of her house towards the activity of man in the world at large, whilst her husband looked out to the back at the sky and harvest, and beast in land, she strained her eyes to see what man had done in fighting out words to knowledge. She strained to hear how he uttered himself in his conquest. Her deepest desire hung on the battle that she heard, far off off being waged on the edge of the unknown. She also wanted to know and to be of the fighting host. At home was the vicar who spoke the other magic language and had the other finer bearing, both of which she could perceive but could never attain to. The Vicar moved beyond worlds in which her own menfolk existed. Did she not know her own menfolk? Fresh, slow, masterful enough but easy native to the earth, lacking outwardness and range of motion? Whereas the vicar, dark and dry and small beside her husband had yet a quickness and a range of being that made Bronwyn in his large genealogy seemed dull and local. She knew her husband, but in the vicar's nature was that which passed beyond her knowledge. His Bronwyn had power over the cattle, so the vicar had power over her husband. What was it in the vicar that raised him among the common man, as man is raised above the beast. She craved to know, she craved to achieve this higher being, if not in herself than in our children. That which makes a man strong even if he be little and frail in the body, just as any man is little and frail beside a bull. And yet stronger than the bull, what was it? It was not money, nor power, nor position. What power had the vicar over Tom Bronwyn? None. He had stripped them and set them on a desert island. And the vicar was the master. And Why? Why? She decided it was a question of knowledge. The curate was born of, not very officious as a man either. Yet he took rank with those others, the superior. She watched his children being born. She saw them running beside their mother. And already they were separate from her own children. Distinct. Why were her own children marked below the others? Why should the Courage children inevitably take precedence over her children? Why should dominance be given them from the start? It was not money, nor even class. It was education and experience she decided. It was this, this education, this higher form of being that the mother wished to give to her children, so that they too could live the supreme life on earth. For her children, at least the children of her heart, had the complete nature that should take place in equality with the living. Vital people in the land, not be left behind obscure among the laborers. Why must they remain obscured and stifled all their lives? Why should they suffer from lack of freedom to move? How should they learn the entry into the finer, more vivid circle of life? Her imagination was fired by the Squires Lady at Shelley Hall, who came to church.

...