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The Return of the Native (Modern Library Classics)

Description

One of Thomas Hardy's most powerful works, The Return of the Native centers famously on Egdon Heath, the wild, haunted Wessex moor that D. H. Lawrence called "the real stuff of tragedy." The heath's changing face mirrors the fortunes of the farmers, inn-keepers, sons, mothers, and lovers who populate the novel. The "native" is Clym Yeobright, who comes home from a cosmopolitan life in Paris. He; his cousin Thomasin; her fiancé, Damon Wildeve; and the willful Eustacia Vye are the protagonists in a tale of doomed love, passion, alienation, and melancholy as Hardy brilliantly explores that theme so familiar throughout his fiction: the diabolical role of chance in determining the course of a life.

As Alexander Theroux asserts in his Introduction, Hardy was "committed to the deep expression of [nature's] ironic chaos and strange apathy, even hostility, toward man."

Reviews

Rating: 1 / 5
Date: 2010-08-27
Summary: "Really people?? I wish I could give it less than a star..."

This book is overwrought and painful to read. The first page or so is spent just describing the horizon, really, who cares?? The plot of the story would have been somewhat interesting if it had not been written by Thomas Hardy. Like The Scarlet Letter, the story is good but the delivery of the writing is dreadful. I'm glad Eustacia Vye dies, she's an ungratful, moneygrubbing, hoe. And people actually like this book? Whyyyyy??

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Rating: 2 / 5
Date: 2010-04-23
Summary: "Should have been a comedy. Seriously."

This is the fifth Thomas Hardy novel I have read and I hope I don't offend anyone when I say this, but honestly, I do not think that people would still read it today if it were Hardy's only novel. It is, so to speak, riding on Tess's coattails. I say this for two reasons, one minor and one quite significant.

The minor issue is that there are places, especially toward the beginning, where Hardy writes like a critical theory literature professor who's decided to finally take a stab at writing fiction. Their ability to convey their story is limited because their writing style is so cluttered with ugly words. There are passages that convey information without any attempt at being beautiful, or at least invisible: Latinate nouns stumble over each other like they've all had too much to drink. If someone didn't know that this was a hazard that goes with reading Victorian fiction, they would within a few pages, but this clumsily complicated vocabulary falls to the wayside when Hardy gets down to actually telling the tale. (Perhaps Hardy should have only been allowed to write the second half of novels. . .)

The big issue, however, is the sheer improbability of it all. Hardy had a fascination with Fate and the indifference of the universe, and indeed, our lives are profoundly influenced by chance events, like driving through an intersection at just the moment some idiot decides to run a red light. But this novel lays it on thick. First, there are these conversations out on the heath that are overheard because they need to be for the plot to advance. (And the way that it is possible for someone to overhear one of these conversations on such open ground is unintentionally funny.) This is combined with a tendency for characters to follow each other around the heath and in one particularly improbable situation, a lone person who doesn't know that they are being followed says out loud something, mainly for the unknown benefit of the person stalking them. There's also a tendency for people to stumble across just the right person out on the heath. Then there are eyebrow raising one-off events, like a sequence of gambling in which a good chunk of money improbably lands in one character's hands. By the time the gambling started I was already becoming seriously distracted by unlikeliness -- and convenience for the plot -- of so many of these actions, but then there was the sequence of events that leads up to the main event. Two people had to come to one house that they've both been avoiding for months within minutes of each other (in a particular order) under certain weather conditions and be seen by someone else who for no apparent reason partially walks home with one of them and leaves them just before they get bitten by a poisonous snake and then are found by. . . It had me checking the cover to make sure that it was really by Thomas Hardy. He can be such a good writer -- the characterization is quite strong even here, particularly of the women and of a boy named Charley, who is quite endearing despite the brevity of his appearances -- so how could he have written this? I keep thinking that on his other novels there was some steadying hand, someone saying, "Tom, this is getting silly." The only thing that really feels like a Hardy novel is the brilliant descriptions of rural life, like the quasi-pagan rituals and the subtle impacts of a particular hot dry day.

There's a basic lesson of fiction that is being missed here: one improbability is a tragedy; a series is a comedy. And indeed, being able to string together so many unlikely events in a domino effect is what gets us doubled over in laughter. This novel has that. The letter on the mantel, the sudden inheritance, the announcing of the naming of the baby -- in a happier context they'd be the genius of comic timing. Here, however, it feels like Eeyore tried to write a sit-com.

In the end, by the time a character stumbling around on the heath at midnight runs into a character who is in love with them and who happened to be dressed because the person that the first person is looking for walked by five minutes earlier -- I was emotionally disengaged. I'm not scared off of reading anymore Hardy novels (and I hope to reread at least two of the ones I've already read), but my view of him as a novelist has taken some damage.

If I've failed to convince you that your time is better spent elsewhere, I'd do two things before reading this book. First, if your edition doesn't have the map that went with the original -- and most don't -- I'd find it online. Second, I'd look up online about a plant/flower called `furze' (gorse) if you aren't familiar with it. This plant plays a recurrent and increasingly significant role in the descriptions of the heath and then one of the occupations of a main character.

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Rating: 5 / 5
Date: 2010-03-03
Summary: "Masterpiece of the Highest Order"

The Return of the Native is not as famous as Tess of the D'Urbervilles or Jude the Obscure but is, in this long-time Hardy fan's view, superior - second only to The Mayor of Casterbridge for the vaunted status of Thomas Hardy's best novel. It lacks the better-known works' great sociopolitical relevance but more than atones with superb characterization, a deftly executed story, unparalleled setting description, dramatization of contemporary and universal issues, and spellbinding tragic vision. It is essential not only for fans but for anyone even remotely alive to artistic greatness.

The novel has a unique fusion of three seemingly disparate elements: classical tragedy, a rural English focus that only Hardy could write, and substantial contemporary relevance. Ancient Greek drama was the model for all major Hardy novels, especially the tragic ones, but The Return differs in strictly adhering to the Aristotelian time, place, and action unities. This has historically been done almost entirely in drama; novels very rarely have unity of place, much less all three. The technical accomplishment alone would be highly notable, and Hardy pulls it off brilliantly, but what is truly impressive is how well he makes it serve the story; it seems fully natural rather than obligatory or tacked on. There are many other classical tragedy elements also, such as Clym's many similarities to Oedipus (blindness, mother obsession, etc.) and the rustic chorus; Hardy clearly went all out. Above all, of course, is the overwhelming sense of tragedy; outside of Hardy's own The Mayor and Oedipus Rex itself, nothing - artistic or otherwise - has given me such an overwhelming sense of life's essential tragedy, much less so powerfully and affectingly. The ending in particular is so shot through with tragedy as to be almost unbearable - so finely drawn and precisely phrased that I will never forget its wording, so indelible an impression did it make. The story is moving in the extreme - one of the most emotional and pathos-drenched books in existence. Our hearts are stirred time and time again as Hardy moves us through a gamut of thoughts and feelings.

A large part of this is due to the characters, who are drawn so vividly and sympathetically that we cannot help feeling with and for them, sucking us in to the engrossing story with profound power. Characterization was always a Hardy strong point, but this has some of his most unforgettable personages: the intelligent, capable, but in some ways parochial Clymn; the alluringly mysterious but haunted Eustacia; the innocent and naïve Thomasin; the hedonistic and impulsive Wildeve; and the fascinatingly strange, almost surreal Diggory Venn, who is probably Hardy's most intriguing character. Hardy was never one to put characters on a pedestal, and all these have faults, some of them fatal, and a few characters are at least partly despicable. However, they are all fully and thus frailly human; we see ourselves in both their strengths and weaknesses - mostly in the latter, which gets to the heart of Hardy's unflinching look at the human condition's vast dark side. Whatever the characters' faults, very few - perhaps none - would say they deserve what they get; their sufferings are great, and several end bleakly. We feel for them, as they are far more sinned against than sinning - not by each other but by a harshly indifferent universe.

This gets to a perennial Hardy theme and another classical connection - fatalism, which pervades every aspect of the book. One of Hardy's earliest journal entries, made before he wrote fiction, was "The world does not despise us; it only neglects us," and his work illustrates this over and over again. He was profoundly aware of humanity's microscopic cosmic significance and had long ceased to believe that things are directed or overseen by any kind of force benevolent or sympathetic to people. His work also dramatizes a phenomenon that he seems to have believed or at least thought plausible - the Imminent Will, a blind force governing human affairs. He did not describe it in detail until his epic poem The Dynasts, but The Return is in many ways imbued with it; as in Greek tragedy, the characters seem unable to escape black situations that they somehow got caught up in despite - or perhaps even because of - contrary will. Many find Hardy simply too pessimistic, and he certainly focuses on life and love's dark areas, but this to him was simply realism, and it is very hard to deny his compelling vision's force and plausibility, whatever we think of it otherwise. The Return is a consummate example, seeming to show that the chances for requited love are almost nil and depicting very little faith in human interaction generally; people seem stuck in unwanted lives in a meaningless universe. Hardy is rightly thought of as belonging mostly to the naturalist school, but this shows that he also anticipated much of existentialism, which is a large part of the reason he is so much more popular and acclaimed than nearly all his contemporaries. His work is by no means dated - is in many ways at least as relevant as ever. This is of course in part because he writes of elemental thoughts and emotions but also because he was so far ahead of his time in many ways.

Yet the novel is also highly notable for being distinctly of its time, at least in regard to veiled sociopolitical relevance. Later works took this up far more overtly, but it is here in a subtler form, primarily in another classic Hardy theme - women's issues. Hardy had very advanced views on the subject, which all his novels variously feature. As usual, it is essentially done via the female lead; Hardy is well-known for heroines, and Eustacia largely resembles many, symbolizing similar issues, but also has unique features and significations. She is most immediately notable as a generally strong female character; intelligent, well-educated, ambitious, and strong-willed, she is anything but a Victorian stereotype. This would be remarkable in itself, but she is further important for showing the negative - nay, often fatal - effects of an unapologetically sexist culture. She is repressed to the point that it not only makes life a bore and a chore but ends up taking it altogether; women had few options other than marriage - and anyone at all familiar with Hardy knows what he thought of that. Her particular tragedy is ostensibly because she lives in an extremely rural and otherwise parochial place, but the discerning will see that society at large was detrimental enough. These issues are also explored to a lesser extent through Thomasin; she initially seems like an archetypal Victorian Angel in the House, but a closer look shows that Hardy meant her to stand for more. She is basically Eustacia's opposite; society has preyed on her at least as much but succeeded so thoroughly that she is not even aware. Though innocent in the conventionally admirable sense, she is also ignorant and naïve, and the novel does much to show just how dangerous this combination could be in a world full of lustful men, cynically mercenary matchmakers, and others all too ready to take advantage.

Implied criticisms of religion, marriage, and overall Victorian optimism aside, The Return also powerfully explores the damaging effects of xenophobia, prejudice, and related issues. Egdon Heath, the setting, is a small, close-knit community and, like most such places, has extremely strict morals and other beliefs plus consequent rigid enforcement, gossip, etc. Thomasin is an example of someone perfectly adapted to such an environment and ostensibly thriving, but her sad fate shows how such an atmosphere can drag one down unawares. Clym is a more interesting case, seemingly able to fit perfectly while also capable of moving in the larger world, but his wretched end shows that fatal consequences can result when the two conflict. Eustacia is an extreme example of such areas' oppressiveness; she refuses to conform and is not only ostracized but positively loathed and treated with scornful unfairness verbally and even physically. There is much to admire in how she stays true to herself so long amid such intense pressure, but even she is unable to cope in the end. However, as elsewhere, Venn is perhaps the most interesting example; though not openly non-conformist, he is far from fully accepted. A true outcast, he skates society's edge but is not part of it or anything else - a mysterious, haunting, and in many ways dark figure though highly compelling and capable of eliciting sympathy. He is valuable aside from all else in showing that such cultures often have more variety than is almost ever acknowledged.

It is tempting to say that Hardy mocks the self-satisfied insularity that leads to all this, and it seems near-impossible to deny a satirical element to his depictions of nineteenth century English people ignorantly clinging to belief in witchcraft and other elements distinctly out of place in the modern world. However, the portrait is far subtler. First, Hardy had a great love for the Southwest England area here depicted and its culture; he was born and raised there and lived there most of his long life, soaking up every aspect to the extent that it is impossible to exaggerate its importance to his life and work. Elements he seems to bash are thus there in part because he knew their unusualness and associated dramatic vitality but also because he was simply realistic. We must after all remember that what is conventionally considered modern thought and technology had been slowly entering the area for only a few decades. Hardy's work is of great historical and sociological value for showing how such changes drastically, if slowly, changed a culture that had essentially been the same for a thousand years and for vibrantly and memorably portraying how people lived and thought in this time and place generally. Other novels focus more on technology and economic aspects, but this shows better than any other how it affected society and culture. The area's mores had been in place for a very long time and were not easily or quickly changed regardless of empiricism and enlightenment.

The setting makes the book stand out among Hardy's work in several other ways. Most of his novels and much of his poems are set in what he called Wessex, a part-real, part-dream location based on his native area, which he made world famous. Egdon Heath appears in several works and is many fans' favorite setting, including mine, but this is unique in being entirely set there. It is a mysteriously foreboding location looked on with fascination and often dread, replete with dark rumors and swelling with pre-Christian traditions and practices taken for granted by inhabitants but seen with great distrust by others. The real area on which Hardy based it is indeed swarming with heathen history and sensibilities; it had been inhabited by druids, Celts, Romans, and other pre-Saxon peoples, all of whom left physical - and, far more importantly, cultural - artifacts. Not least importantly, as Hardy's Preface points out, it was the likely location of the legendary King Lear himself. All of this comes across in various ways. Thus, though strongly fitting the realist/naturalist genre like other Hardy novels, this differs in having substantial supernatural overtones. Hardy had a lifelong fascination with such things that thorough skepticism and great science admiration did nothing to dim, and this is a prime example. As in his short story "The Withered Arm," which has similar elements and is partly set in Egdon, they are presented neutrally; the novel's essentially realist character makes us come close to dismissing them as ignorant superstitions, but we can never be quite sure. For example, it is easy to overlook the fact that Eustacia dies the same night that her neighbor, who believes the heroine is a witch, curses her with death via pagan means. It is almost certainly a coincidence - coincidences after all intentionally abounds in Hardy -, but we cannot dismiss the other possibility. Finally, again as ever, Venn is important here. Though in many ways the most truly good and sympathetic character, he is often described in Satanic terms, and everything from his appearance to his strange streak of near-superhuman luck to his seeming ubiquity and preternatural powers strongly suggest otherworldliness, if not evil. He is a character of immense power, dramatically affecting nearly everything that goes on, usually without anyone knowing; it is mesmerizing to watch him simply to see what he will do next. We never really learn his motives, and though he presumably acts for the good of all - even apparently with truly noble selflessness -, some have questioned his meddlesomeness and other aspects of his character. He is at any rate supremely entertaining and even gives some - admittedly very unconventional - humor, which is near non-existent in Hardy's fiction.

No discussion of the book is complete without mentioning the astonishing descriptions of the heath itself. Hardy's sense of place is perhaps unequalled; he writes of landscapes and other settings with such detail and verisimilitude that they become an integral part of the story. Setting is never mere backdrop with him, but this is his most outstanding example, which truly says much. Egdon is often called the novel's main character, and it certainly gets great attention; Hardy describes it not only painstakingly but anthropomorphically. Almost alive, even active, it is present in most scenes - it is worth noting that most of the book takes place outdoors, including nearly all the important parts - and seems to affect them. The heath is the physical embodiment of the area's ancient existence and a symbol of all that has passed and all that remains. Out of the hundreds or thousands of books I have read, this has the most important and memorable sense of place; it is indeed so strong that the book is worth reading for it alone. Anyone who thinks such things can never be truly important should read this. Hardy brings the setting to life in a way I have seen no other author do, and many fans treasure this aspect of the book above all others.

Many early reviewers predictably thought this overdone and also took issue with what were then explicit invocations of sexual issues plus some of the veiled social criticism. Time has of course proven all this foolish, but the fact calls into play another topic the novel cannot be discussed without - the epilogue, which considerably lightens the tone and softens the circumstances. Publishers insisted on a happier end, and Hardy, dependent on writing for bread, reluctantly agreed. He does a good job of not making it seem tacked on, but anyone even remotely familiar with his thought and work will see that his vision is compromised. The epilogue does not really do much to alleviate the deeply tragic underpinnings, and some of the events seem near-inevitable, e.g., Vinn finally marrying Thomasin. Clym also remains haunted, though he has achieved tolerable equilibrium and a meaning of sorts not hinted at in the proper close. However, it is a true shame to see the tragic end undermined at all, since it was so perfectly executed as to seem unavoidable and served as a great illustration of Hardy's vision. Other elements, notably Vinn's conformity, also disappoint. Hardy let the epilogue stand in later editions, but it is very important to remember that it was not his original intent. Though it has critical defenders, dedicated fans universally loathe it, often simply ignoring it but sometimes pushing for it to be removed. I also despise it, but a more moderate ideal would be to somehow make clear where the book was first supposed to end even to first-time readers who do not read Introductions or notes. Reading the epilogue without knowing this severely dilutes the book's quality and Hardy's general canvas. This paragraph aside, I wrote my review as if the epilogue did not exist, but it is important to be aware of it, and all must weigh it on their own scale as in the case of Charles Dickens' Great Expectations, which has a similar issue.

I simply cannot praise The Return highly enough; it was the first Hardy novel I read, drawing me into a world of artistic greatness that shows every sign of being a lifelong standby, and it will always have special significance for me. However, I unhesitatingly give it my highest recommendation to all. It is quite simply one of the greatest novels ever - more than that, one of art's foremost masterpieces - and will continue speaking powerfully as long as the deeply human chords it strikes so strongly remain even remotely alive.

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Rating: 4 / 5
Date: 2008-10-20
Summary: "Intrigue on Egdon Heath"

Hardy, poet and architect, paints a novel of evocative landscape and tormented characters set in southwest England's barren Egdon Heath where the prime good guy is a discolored Reddleman.

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Rating: 5 / 5
Date: 2008-06-30
Summary: "Great service!"

Return of the Native was received in perfect condition. I have not started reading this book yet. I have started The Good Earth which was ordered at the same time.