Books published by publisher Lawrence H Heath

"Women in Love" begins one blossoming spring day in England and ends with a terrible catastrophe in the snow of the Alps. Ursula and Gudrun are very different sisters who become entangled with two friends, Rupert and Gerald, who live in their hometown. The bonds between the couples quickly become intense and passionate, but whether this passion is creative or destructive is unclear. In this astonishing novel, widely considered to be D. H. Lawrence's best work, he explores what it means to be human in an age of conflict and confusion.

Women in Love is widely regarded as D. H. Lawrence’s greatest novel. The novel continues where ‘The Rainbow’ left off with the third generation of Brangwens: Ursula Brangwen, now a teacher at Beldover, a mining town in the Midlands, and her sister Gudrun, who has returned from art school in London. The focus of the novel is primarily on their relationships, Ursula’s with Rupert Birkin, a school inspector, and Gudrun’s with Gerald Crich, an industrialist.

This is the tale of the ghost in the machine. The ghost is the troubled spirit of Margaret that has haunted the drowned city of Wickwich for over 700 years; the machine is a computer. The ghost becomes attached to Jan when she discovers Margaret's ring. The computer belongs to Hal, Jan's cousin.According to ancient legend the drowned city rises up from beneath the waves in spectral form on the anniversary of its being washed away by a violent storm in 1286. When Jan and Hal embark upon realising this legend in the virtual world of computers they unwittingly trigger a chain of supernatural twists and turns that lead inexorably to the culmination of a 700-year-old curse – with fearful consequences.

I stood watching the shadowy fish slide through the gloom of the millpond. They were grey, descendants of the silvery things that had darted away from the monks, in the young days when the valley was lusty. The whole place was gathered in the musing of old age. The thick-piled trees on the far shore were too dark and sober to dally with the sun; the weeds stood crowded and motionless. Not even a little wind flickered the willows of the islets. The water lay softly, intensely still. Only the thin stream falling through the millrace murmured to itself of the tumult of life which had once quickened the valley. I was almost startled into the water from my perch on the alder roots by a voice saying: "Well, what is there to look at?" My friend was a young farmer, stoutly built, brown-eyed, with a naturally fair skin burned dark and freckled in patches. He laughed, seeing me start, and looked down at me with lazy curiosity.