Well, it turns out that he did write his autobiography after all, albeit without intending to. Lawrence, it seems, was the self-involved trans-activist let loose on TikTok of his day in terms of correspondence, firing off letters to anyone and everyone, left, right and center, and usually in such entertaining spirit that even those who thought he was a bit of a dick kept his missives for posterity. If it's any indication of the sheer word count we're talking here, I also have the second of the two volume set of collected letters, covering the years 1921 to 1930, a period during which the lad apparently wasn't making so much use of the postal system as had once been the case. It's six-hundred pages of small type, which is why I went for this one on this occasion, spanning as it does Lawrence's entire life in just under two-hundred pages; and it's rivetting. Just about any accusation you could pitch against the man and his work is either refuted or otherwise undermined in this selection of correspondence, which is lively, funny, insightful, touching, and explains why he could be such an awkward bugger when the mood took him. If you feel you have yet to truly get to grips with the man and his work, it's all here, and is as such a testament to the probability of his legitimately deserving the accolade of genius.
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