The Fox

The Fox (1971) – D. H. Lawrence
Sphere Books
ISBN: None, because it’s feral
Condition: Good, as slyly worn by Crappy Old Books.

If you’ve ever thought, “What my reading life really needs is a tense little triangle featuring two women, a farm, and a man who turns up like a walking plot complication,” then The Fox is exactly that—plus repressed desire, awkward power dynamics, and a literal fox for subtlety.

D. H. Lawrence, never knowingly under-supplied on sexual tension, gives you a short novel in which:

• Two women try to run a remote farm.

• A fox steals chickens and screen time.

• A young soldier appears and proceeds to complicate absolutely everything.

It’s rural domesticity with Lawrentian energy, which is to say: if you came here for wholesome countryside vibes, that’s adorable, but no.

What’s actually going on (besides poultry losses)

Inside this slender, deceptively calm-looking volume you’ll find:

• March and Banford, trying to make the farm work
  Practicalities, routines, companionship – and that quiet, ambiguous intimacy Lawrence is so good at: are they just friends? more than friends? definitely something, but we’re in 1918 so no one’s going to say it out loud.

• The Fox, who starts as an animal and ends as a metaphor with teeth
  A raider of chickens, yes—but also a symbol of intrusion, desire, danger, masculinity, and general narrative disruption. It’s doing a lot of work for one small predator.

• Henry, the man-shaped plot device
  A returning soldier who turns up, looks around, and appears to think, “Ah. Vulnerable farm. Emotional tension. Mine now.” He is young, intense, and inconveniently alluring in that slightly alarming Lawrence way.

• Psychological jousting in wellies
  Who’s in charge? Who’s dependent? Who gets to decide how this little world is arranged? The answers are not straightforward and not necessarily comfortable.

It’s all very quiet on the surface: a farm, a woodland, some chores. Underneath: possession, autonomy, gender roles, attraction, and the slow, stealthy rearrangement of lives.

About the condition (Good, like a calm surface over deep water)

This copy is graded Good, which at Crappy Old Books means:

• The cover is intact and respectable, with only light edge wear or a soft crease or two—nothing that screams “I was left in the rain on a bus stop bench.”

• The spine is sound, perhaps gently lined with reading marks that say, “Yes, someone actually finished this, not just pretended.”

• The pages are complete, clean, and firmly attached, with that faintly mellow tone you only get from a book that remembers the 1970s.

In other words, it’s not pristine, but it’s not tragic either. Think: “weathered country house,” not “condemned barn.”

Why you may be disturbingly into this

• You like your fiction short, sharp, and slightly uncomfortable, with more psychology than plot twists.

• You’re curious about Lawrence beyond the usual suspects (Sons and Lovers, Lady Chatterley, awkward A-level flashbacks).

• You’re a sucker for stories where the setting is basically a third character: the wood, the farmhouse, the winter, all quietly pushing the humans around.

• You enjoy triangulated tension: two people, one intruder, shifting loyalties, and fate hovering in the hedgerow.

This isn’t a cosy countryside read. It’s a quiet ambush.

Why a “Good” second-hand copy suits The Fox

Because:

• The book itself is about things sneaking in and changing the equilibrium. A slightly worn copy fits perfectly: it looks like it has already intruded on someone else’s bookshelf and is now prowling onto yours.

• You don’t have to treat it like a delicate relic. Toss it in a bag, read it on a train, leave it face-down on a table while you go stare moodily out of a window. Lawrence would approve of the emotional drama.

• Any light wear or softened corner only adds to that woods-and-weather vibe. This is a story that should feel like it’s been outside.

If there are faint pencil ticks or a tiny underline near a loaded sentence, that’s just the ghost of a past reader whispering, “Yeah, that bit. That’s where it all turns.”

The sales pitch disguised as a warning

The Fox looks like a simple country tale. It is not. It’s:

A compact study of power, desire, intrusion,
with feathers, frost, and a faint sense of doom.

You’ll start thinking it’s about farming and wildlife and end realising it’s about control, gender, and what happens when someone decides your life is now their project.

So here it is:

The Fox (1971) – D. H. Lawrence, Sphere.
Lean, unsettling, quietly predatory.
Condition: Good – structurally sound, emotionally treacherous.

Proudly offered by Crappy Old Books.

Buy it. Read it. And maybe keep one eye on the tree line while you do.

Keep browsing: See more Fiction books Other books by DH Lawrence