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When lovely woman stoops to folly, And finds too late that men betray, What charm can sooth her melancholy, What art can wash her guilt away? The only art her guilt to cover, To hide her shame from every eye, To give repentance to her lover, And wring his bosom- is to die.
Olivia's Song, The Waste Land, p. 57
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"On the divan are piled (at night her bed)
Stockings, slippers, camisoles, and stays.
The Waste Land,III. The Fire Sermon, p. 12
“the typist” is never given a name. Instead, she is simply known by her undergarments set to dry on the divan, and her deeds done in the violet hour
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"The typist home for teatime", The Waste Land
  posted by diskoblack, Thursday, November 26, 2009
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T.S. Eliot- excerpt from Part III. The Fire Sermon (The Waste Land)
At the violet hour, when the eyes and back 
Turn upward from the desk, when the human engine waits
Like a taxi throbbing waiting, 
I Tiresias, though blind, throbbing between two lives, 
Old man with wrinkled female breasts, can see 
At the violet hour, the evening hour that strives 
Homeward, and brings the sailor home from sea, 
The typist home at teatime, clears her breakfast, lights 
Her stove, and lays out food in tins. 
Out of the window perilously spread 
Her drying combinations touched by the sun’s last rays, 
On the divan are piled (at night her bed)
Stockings, slippers, camisoles, and stays. 
I Tiresias, old man with wrinkled dugs 
Perceived the scene, and foretold the rest—
I too awaited the expected guest. 
He, the young man carbuncular, arrives, 
A small house agent’s clerk, with one bold stare, 
One of the low on whom assurance sits 
As a silk hat on a Bradford millionaire, 
The time is now propitious, as he guesses, 
The meal is ended, she is bored and tired, 
Endeavours to engage her in caresses 
Which still are unreproved, if undesired. 
Flushed and decided, he assaults at once; 
Exploring hands encounter no defence; 
His vanity requires no response, 
And makes a welcome of indifference. 
(And I Tiresias have foresuffered all 
Enacted on this same divan or bed; 
I who have sat by Thebes below the wall 
And walked among the lowest of the dead.) 
Bestows one final patronising kiss, 
And gropes his way, finding the stairs unlit…
   She turns and looks a moment in the glass, 
Hardly aware of her departed lover; 
Her brain allows one half-formed thought to pass: 
“Well now that’s done: and I’m glad it’s over.” 
When lovely woman stoops to folly and 
Paces about her room again, alone,
She smoothes her hair with automatic hand, 
And puts a record on the gramophone.
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from The Sorrow of War, Bao Ninh
“You’re afraid, aren’t you?” Phuong said, suddenly breaking the silence between them. “Me too. But just realizing it makes me more keen.” “I just think we shouldn’t,” he blethered. “I’ll be going off to war. I’ll be going away soon,” he said unconvincingly. “Better not.” “Okay,” she sighed. “But...
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Phoe·nix
noun /ˈfēniks/  phoenixes, plural
(in classical mythology) A unique bird that lived for five or six centuries in the Arabian desert, after this time burning itself on a funeral pyre and rising from the ashes with renewed youth to live through another cycle
A person or thing regarded as uniquely remarkable in some respect
Google Dictionary
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Phuong plays the role of physical warmth. There are many passages describing the relationship between the two, which includes the physical, human touch. Examples of this: 170: “Phuong and Kien, hand in hand…” 170: “…in their embrace…” 118: “Phuong’s beautiful face and her hair waving… her shoulders… her lovely long legs…” 132: “They lay side by side… hand in hand…” 137: “He moved gently and began suckling her.” Even when Phuong left Kien, “physical words” were chosen: “She had left him, that early winter evening, brushing past him” (142). During the night at the lake, Kien dared not sleep with Phuong, yet there was still a sense of completion and fulfillment of just laying there with her. I think that Kien desired and absolutely needed a certain degree of maternal human contact, because he had been denied it as a little boy.
Here, eBlogger Tiffany makes a connection between Phuong and warmth. "Phuong" means "phoenix," a bird of fire....and inevitably, warmth!
Tiffany Golfo, eBlogger, May 23, 2008 at 1:31 PM
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a painting by Steve Goad. How I imagine Phuong to look, beautiful and sad and rising from the ashes of war.
Phuong: In Vietnamese, this name means ‘phoenix.’
Meaning-of-Names.com
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War was a world without real men, without real women, without feeling.
Sorrow of War, Bao Ninh, p. 31
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Phuong's burning, sensuous, and conspicuous beauty had infuriated the authorities and her peers. She bore herself confidently, even rashly, paying little heed to the demands of the prudes.
The Sorrow of War, p. 131
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The lake became a symbol of Phuong in her beautiful youth, symbol of the marvels and grief of youth, of love and lost opportunities.
The Sorrow of War, p. 133
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She seemed to be welcoming her new lifestyle, embracing it with a calm, carefree approach. From being a pure, sweet and simple girl she was now a hardened experienced woman, indifferent to vulnerable emotions. to Kien she seemed to be walking away from his life, from herself, from her past and her country, without the slightest regret.
The Sorrow of War, p. 225
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Lola: In Spanish, the name Lola means sorrowful. 
Meaning-of-Names.com
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Lola?
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...I was bone-dry, bereft, with no visions whatsoever. I started to think that maybe it was like in the books; as soon as I lost my virginity I lost my power.
Lola from Oscar Wao by Junot Diaz, p. 65
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So much has changed these past months, in my head, my heart. Rosio has me dressing up like a “real Dominican girl”…When I see myself in mirrors I don’t even know who I am anymore. Not that I’m unhappy or anything.
Lola from Oscar Wao by Junot Diaz, p. 71
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Lola swore she would never return to that terrible country
Yunio , Oscar Wao, p. 324
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Antoinette: In French, the name Antoinette means flourishing, praiseworthy. 
Meaning-of-Names.com
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