It started with Dune.
This is going to be a bit of a garden-path of a story, but bear with me.
I saw Denis Villeneuve’s 2021 (2019? 2020? It’s hard to account for dates in the years of The Plague) adaptation of Dune in theaters when it released. My experience with the story was limited – I watched David Lynch’s surrealist bacchanal of a film on a late summer night when I was nineteen. The original novel had been swimming in the depths of my TBR for ages. But on experiencing Villeneuve’s adaptation, I understood why the story had taken root in the minds and hearts of so many.
I am, to my annoyance, an academic first and foremost. So after seeing the film, I looked into the story’s background and influences. A few themes recurred in the sources I read – Frank Herbert’s interests in environmentalism and Islam, his time working as a journalist. A name also came up, in reference to the inspiration for Paul Atreides: Lawrence of Arabia. I had heard of the movie, and was vaguely aware of T.E. Lawrence the historical figure, but knew nothing about his life. What caught my interest, though, was that the movie was apparently Denis Villeneuve’s favorite film, and had apparently inspired his approach to Dune’s cinematography.
Well, I love a good cross-reference. And, several weeks later, I had an evening with nothing to do. So, I watched Lawrence of Arabia for the first time. I watched it in bed, on my fifteen inch laptop screen – definitely not the medium director David Lean had intended. And it still burned itself into my brain in a way I think is safe to say changed me. I watched it again a couple days later. And, a few days after that, I dragged my friend J.L. to a special screening of the film at a local theater.
Peter O’Toole, of course, captivated me every moment he was onscreen. J.L. later accused me of possessing a “twink addiction”, and I do not refute the charges (gender envy, alas, is a covetous beast). The slow descent into madness, bloodlust, and emptiness is precisely my flavor of melancholia. And the desert – the sweeping golden dunes and russet rocks, the endless blue of the sky. That first sunrise that takes up the whole screen, announcing the dawn of the rest of Lawrence’s life as he sets out with Tafas towards his unseen, inexorable doom.
Yes – my kind of movie.
On that first viewing, I paused every so often to open my search engine and check the facts behind a particular scene. As I said, I knew nothing whatsoever about the real T.E. Lawrence. I came across, first, the well known 1918 photo from his army file.
He had an interesting face, I thought – such clear eyes and a smile that seemed kind but a little sad. On to Wikipedia, that holy bastion of internet intelligentsia. The face, it turned out, was not the only interesting thing. I read through the article, comparing it to the film’s version of events. Many of the facts were translated quite accurately, with some changes to better suit the version of the story they were telling. That was something else that became apparent to me almost instantly – how many stories existed about Lawrence and his life. The article touched on other things that the movie didn’t – the many opinions on Lawrence’s sexuality, the doubts about the veracity of his memoirs, especially the incident in Dera’a. I was surprised at the sheer amount of scholarship that existed on Lawrence’s life, and the amount of disagreement on a man who, in the grand scheme of things, lived and died not that long ago. He seemed a kind of chimera, half man half legend.
Over the next few days, I found myself looking up odd things. Did Lawrence like animals? Who did he write letters to? What authors did he read? Something about him compelled me. And, the more I learned, the more I started to realize what it was. Archaeologist with a love of the desert? Check. Strait-laced Christian upbringing? Check. Sexually complicated? Check. A pedant with an odd sense of humor given to depression and daydreaming? Check, check, and check. The more I learned about Lawrence, the more he reminded me of myself.
I’m in my final year now of my graduate degree in archaeology. I’ve loved history for as long as I can remember. One of the reasons I chose this line of work, a reason I don’t often tell other people, is that I like the company of the dead. It tends to sound either melodramatic or morbid (usually both). It’s hard to explain the feeling of sitting in the ruins of a village over a thousand years old; or next to a grave of a couple centuries; and without speaking, knowing you and the spirits of the past understand each other. That, though separated by eons, you’ve shared the ineffable pains and glories of being human.
It is hard to explain these feelings. But, I think maybe they’re something Lawrence felt too. So many misfits long for things far away, hoping to find a place or a time where someone will understand them.
It’s been a hard couple of years since the coronavirus turned the world upside down. But really, every year is hard in its own way. New Year’s Eve came and went, and now 2022 is here to stay. We all hope for things to get better. Some will, some won’t. I’ll be graduating university soon, wandering out into the “real world”, whatever that is. I’ve spent more than five years digging in dirt and books for answers. I’m trying to decide what I’ll do with myself after graduation. I don’t have any answers for that yet. I think Lawrence is a friend I could use.
The idea behind this blog is to share my thoughts as I learn more about T.E. Lawrence and his life. A sort of research project and digital diary rolled into one. I’m not sure yet what this is going to look like, but you’re welcome to come along for the ride and find out with me. I hope there will be something in here of value for someone, even if that someone is just me.
Till next time,
T.G.