Far from the Madding Crowd

I love Thomas Hardy. I love his deliciously depressing poetry. "Channel Firing" is on my top ten list, and I have it memorized forward and back. Hearing one of my profs recite it in an English class was one of the highlights of my undergraduate life. And "The Darkling Thrush" rates up pretty high as well. (I leant upon a coppice gate/when Frost was spectre grey/and Winter's dregs made desolate/the weakening eye of day) So when I read Hardy's novel Far from the Madding Crowd for a book group, I was surprised and a bit let down. I was expecting something more along the lines of Tess of the d'Urbervilles or Return of the Native--nice depressing fatalistic stuff--though I'm not a fatalist myself. The whole time I was reading, I kept expecting something dreadful to happen: Bathsheba's vanity to bring her to ruin, Gabriel's steadfastness to bring him to ruin, and Francis Troy's careless gallantry to be the probable catalyst of all the ruin. And while it is true that Boldwood did come to a somewhat tragic end, the reader didn't feel too tragically about it since that made way for the right man to get the beautiful heroine. (And Boldwood's love for her is the most anemic of all. Hardy might have fleshed out a little more of his personality to account for such foolishness--total oblivion to total infatuation.) All in all, and in respect for Hardy, I would give the book a "thumbs out" (not down, not up).

The development of the characters, as I already mentioned was not too impressive. Bathesheba is beautiful, which is, I suppose, a reason to find her sympathetic; at any rate that fact worked well for all of the suitors in the story. But we only get unfullfilling development of her character, and in several cases the details of her vanity and the early picture of her did not jive with her unusual drive--unusual for that time period–to run the farm herself.

Gabriel is somewhat better developed. His restraint, competence, long suffering, and faithfulness make him a sympathetic character. (Though I kept hoping he would meet up with Fanny Robin and run off with her.) And I suppose Francis Troy's character had to remain stagnant because we didn't want to feel too terribly sad when he was shot. And since he was still a cad, well, hmm, bye bye, nice knowing you. But I really didn't think Hardy should mind terribly if we mourned him, so why not make him a bit more interesting and repentant before the big bang at the end?

And Bathesheba, darling that she is, never gets over her infatuation with him. Yes, she recognizes Troy for what he is, but she is still enthralled by him, and would have let him back into her life, albeit to mostly suffer. Only after a lot of trauma and drama do we find her turning to Gabriel, when all the other choices are off the table. Really not all that impressive a heroine.

I almost wish I hadn't read the book because I've always loved the title–it's a good title to just repeat to yourself in poignant moments of life; even though no one is actually sure what it means in relation to the story, other than madding means insane or passionate, and it is taken from a line of poetry by Thomas Gray called "Elegy in a Country Churchyard." Now that I've read the book, the longing and romance of the title is somewhat lost. (But with a little time, I will regain it.)

Still despite my bit of dissillionment with it, the story did keep me turning pages, and I remember why I don't read novels much anymore: I just have to find out what happens! And nothing else much gets done in my life till I find out. Also on the plus side, there were some good Hardyesque poetic lines of description:

The sky was clear, and the twinkling of all the stars seemed to be but throbs of one body, timed by a common pulse. The North Star was directly in the wind's eye, and since evening the Bear had swung round it outwardly to the east, till he was now at a right angle with the meridian. A difference of colour in the stars--oftener read of than seen in England--was perceptible here. The sovereign brilliancy of Sirius pierced the eye with a steely glitter, the star called Capella was yellow, Aldebaran and Betelgueux shone with a fiery red.

To persons standing alone on a hill during a clear midnight such as this, the roll of the world eastward is almost a palpable movement.

This was only Hardy's second novel; it came out in serial form and no doubt was written more for the publication than for Hardy. I don't want to complain too much because later on in his life when Hardy became famous, people were always having fits about his novels. Which is why he turned to poetry and gave up novel writing. So all in all I have no hard feelings about the story and may still read more of his works--I hope they are not too depressing! :)