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A Laodicean (Penguin Classics)

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Thomas Hardy's 1881 novel, "A Laodicean" is often overlooked among his more noted works, like "Tess" or "Jude". While "A Laodicean" is not the most subtly developing Victorian novel in terms of romance, it is sophisticated and worth reading in other aspects. Subtitled "A Story of To-day," Hardy's novel effectively explores the relationship between the coming age of technology and the death of the aristocracy in pre-20th century Britain.

The novel begins with George Somerset, a flighty and intelligent young man who has tinkered with several pursuits, but is finally settling into architecture. Wandering about the vicinity of Markton village, he comes upon a rustic baptism. Paula Power, a young heiress whose late father was a railroad tycoon, refuses to be baptized, raising Pastor Woodwell's charge against her that she is a "Laodicean," a lukewarm believer. George is engaged to work on the restoration of Paula's new residence, Castle De Stancy. Somerset's fascination with Power is born and the action of the novel begins in earnest.

Some of the themes of interest include technological advance - the telegraph's intrusion into the most ancient spaces - the gothic castle and photography. With the image of the crumbling gothic Castle De Stancy, Hardy questions the relevance of hereditary aristocracy and religious fervor to the cosmopolitan modern age. With Paula, Hardy's lifelong interest in the independent heroine is complicated and subtly nuanced. With the fascinating Mr. Dare, Hardy plays with his gothic and colonial subtexts, prefiguring Bram Stoker's late 1890's "Dracula."

"A Laodicean" is worth reading because it is itself lukewarm - unsure whether progress is always positive and uncomfortable with the flippancy of both the aristocracy and new wealth. It is a book whose very instabilities and insecurities make it engaging.

One of the interesting aspects of writing a thesis on imagery in Hardy's novels was getting to read some of the lesser known of his writings, this one included. While there is good reason for many of them to be little considered, "A Laodicean" is still worth a read if you are a Hardy fan. It was largely written while he was bedridden after a mystery illness in 1880-1881. In the novel. Hardy tries to capture the changing world in the England of his day. Aristocracy and family names had dominated, but new wealth in the form of industry and technology were beginning to assert themselves. Thus, his heroine Paula Powers can't make up her mind which of her two suitors, an aristocrat and an architect, she really wants. Even when she makes her choice, there is still doubt in her mind right to the end of the novel, hence the description of her as a `Laodicean', (from Revelation 3:14-22) someone who is neither hot nor cold. Many of the images and themes which we associate with Hardy's better known novels are here, but it never quite hits the heights. Still, it is interesting to see this take on the changes on England's society near the end of the 19th century.

Webster's Dictionary defines a "Laodicean" as a `lukewarm, unenthusiastic Christian." By extension, people have used the term to mean anyone who is hestitant to make significant commitments. It was probably a more familiar adjective to the still Latin-conscious reading public of Victorian England than it is to anyone today except the most "enthusiastic" millennarian Christians who comb the Book of Revelations for news. That's where the pejorative sense of "Laodicean" comes from. In the 3rd chapter of Revelations, in red letters, a rebuke is addressed to the congregation of the Phrygian city of Laodicea: "I know thy works, that thou are neither cold nor hot: I would thou wert cold or hot. So then because thou art luewarm...I will spue thee out of my mouth..."

Mr. Woodwell, an enthusiatic `dissenting' minister, rebukes the heroine of this fascinating novel, Paula Power, with precisely that passage of scripture. The occasion is the young woman's refusal to undergo baptism by immersion, even though her father's dying wish was that she should. Most of the commentaries on the novel have assumed that Ms. Power is the "Laodicean" of the title, and focused on her ambiguous attitude toward `love and marriage' and her reluctance to be wooed. I think this is a seriously short-sighted interpretation of author Thomas Hardy's intentions. Except Mr. Woodwell, all the principal characters of the novel are Laodiceans to some degree, unsettled in their religious commitments, fond of the old trappings and the old moralities but unenthusiastic about doctrines. The very church buildings - and there are lovely descriptions of many - are Laodicean, once again with the exception of the ugly squat brick chapel of Mr. Woodwell's Baptist sect. The glories of Gothic architecture are appreciated, but on aesthetic rather than spiritual principles. These churches are halfway to becoming museums for tourists rather than centers of living worship.

On the whole, except for her hesitance about romantic involvement, Ms. Power is less obviously `lukewarm' and uncommitted than her male co-star, George Somerset, a young man threatened with the cutting of support from his father because of his inability to settle into a career. Somerset, to put it bluntly, is a dilettante, once a poet, once a theologian, now proposing to launch an architectural practice `next year.' He is "so totally" a revelation from Hardy: a perfect prophetic depiction of the twenty-something college grad of 2009, jobless and taking up residence in the family garage! His future as a dilettante, never fear, is quite rosy once the novel concludes; he will never need to be entirely serious about any one thing except Love.

Metaphorically, the book itself is a "Laodicean," structurally a novel-of-marriage-and-manners, with significant complications of social class, in the tradition of Jane Austen and Anthony Trollope, but affectively a post-Victorian novel of `ideas,' an existential novel of psychological insecurity. On one hand, it has all the improbable coincidences and chance meetings of the former, even including a shady vampire-like Gothic villain named Will Dare. Notice also the Dickensesque `appropriateness' of each charcater's name: Power, Woodwell, Dare, etc. On the other, it's permeated with modernity; the plot depends on the presence of the telegraph intruding into bucolic, archaic settings. The story proceeds at two paces, the antique pace of a walker or a horse-drawn carriage, and the modernist pace of railroad travel. The timeless beauties of the old life - the castle, the florid stonework of the churches, the stable social forms - are clearly being ousted by the freedoms and convenience of the modern, but the emotional tension of the story centers on the "Laodicean" attitudes of the characters toward modernization.

Possibly the biggest Laodicean of all was Thomas Hardy himself, a reluctant prophet of a future he couldn't love half as much as he loved the dying past. This novel is said to be his most autobiographical, especially the portions concerning architecture since Hardy was trained as an architect. (By the way, the many allusions to architectural matters in the book might possibly be "off-putting" for some readers. Don't let that happen! Don't bother with the footnotes! You don't need to understand columns and pediments any more than you understand the chatter about ship rigging in a Patrick O'Brian novel.) My guess is that Hardy consciously intended the stylistic double-nature of this book. He meant the reader to be comfortably swept along by the familiar convetions of the Victorian novel, and then to be jarred by the highly unconventional implications of the events. It is not accidental that the book ends `happily' yet with a scene of awful destruction. I don't want to spoil the suspense, but I'll tell you that the very last sentence of the book is the most Laodicean sentiment of all.

I picked this novel up expecting it to be `interesting' to someone like me, with a bent for social history. I'm pleased to say that it is better than merely interesting. It's fun! It has humor, suspense, picturesque descriptions, a heroine worth peeking at through the peephole of her exercise studio. It's masterfully constructed, once you get the drift of Hardy's purpose. It's a book you can read heedlessly for diversion, but once you finish it, you'll want to stop and discover just what a complex and foresightful vision of modern life it offers.

I have read all of Hardy many times over. But this book has a special magic to it--the declining aristocracy, the emerging middle class, and religious dissenters. The formulas are all here. The plot is ludicrous towards the end; but the start, the germ, is fascinating.

For me, what this novel leaves out as it were is more important than what's here. By this I mean, I'd love for Hardy to have explored a theme that, apparently, hasn't really gotten explored and this novel would have been be a perfect opportunity for elaboration: that is, the persistence of reactionary Gothic in the midst of Victorian progress. Hardy does explore the nostalgia after a fashion: Paula Power in the end wishes she were an aristocrat and her castle intact. Well taken.

But what Hardy could have explored and didn't (he's hardly to blame) is the more global persistence of the gothic as a thoroughly middle-class hallmark of respectability, and even sensibility, given the fact that the gothic began life as a thoroughly ant-modern phenomenon. We think of all the grizzly "shilling shockers" of earlier decades. How is it psychologically, psychiatrically, that Victorians clung so to the past--a past with deep and obvious ant-progressive, anti-technological, commitments; even as they saw themselves as forging a new world? There a great Freudian "backward glance" here. Nostalgia, religious piety in the midst of the "ache of modernism", obsessions with death? Is this all there is to it? It sounds as if it's rich material for a soul doctor.

Read the novel. It's good.

This is one of Tom Hardy's early novels. I think one would do well to read a biography of Tom Hardy before reading this novel; Hardy, himself, said this novel is the most autobiographical of his novels. It is an easy-to-read Victorian novel, and perhaps a good start to Tom Hardy before moving to his better-known novels ("Madding Crowd" and "Tess").

Hardy was extremely ill during much of the year when he wrote the installments and he dictated most of it to his wife Emma. It is interesting: I did get a feeling for a difference between the middle section (probably the largest section dictated to Emma) and the beginning (before he was ill) and the ending chapters when he was probably convalescing.

It is a fairly straightforward romance novel, and early on, most readers will feel intimately associated with the protagonist, George Somerset. It's a great weekend read, but it is nowhere near the quality of great literature, such as Bronte's "Wuthering Heights" or Eliot's "Middlemarch." But then again, it was one of his early novels, and perhaps should not be compared to the great books of literature.

If you have read a biography of Tom Hardy, you might agree that this novel rates five stars. Otherwise you might be a bit disappointed. Knowing Hardy's life is critical to fully enjoying "A Laodicean."

(I would recommend Seymour-Smith's biography of Hardy. I am curious if other reviewers suggest a different biography; it appears the Millgate biography is the "gold standard.")

A Laodicean may be Thomas Hardy's weakest novel, but his mastery was such that it is more than worthy and quite respectable. Fans should read nearly everything he wrote before coming here but should definitely stop eventually, while those who have read a book or two and not found Hardy to their liking might consider skipping to it. Hardy put it with his "Novels of Ingenuity," and it not only differs markedly from most of his work but is also experimental to a large degree. This will likely disappoint those who like his other novels, though there are other attractions, while those not usually keen on Hardy may well be pleasantly surprised.

These differences are the book's most immediately striking aspect. Hardy had made himself known for rural settings, specifically in Wessex - the part-real, part-dream country, based on his native Southwest England, that he made world famous. This initially seems another entry - and indeed is in part, though not considered a Wessex novel -, but quickly expands to cover much of Europe, while events in various other parts of the world loom large in the background. Some initial readers were disappointed, as some current ones may well be, but this is notable as an overlooked example of Hardy's diversity. A master of place, he brings European resorts and casinos as fully and stirringly alive as rural England. That said, this is not so much unusual per se as unusual for him; such jaunts were near-obligatory in Victorian fiction, especially among Europeans, and this does not particularly stand out. One critic indeed commented that it must be the dullest European trip ever detailed in fiction, and it is easy to agree. Hardy made good use of his own vacation in describing the scenes, but the action is prolonged and strained - a problem to a lesser extent with the plot generally; he sometimes seems to lose focus and continue from obligation only.

The time is also noticeably more recent than usual. A Laodicean was published in 1881 and seemingly set not long before, while most of his fiction is set around 1830 or earlier. As such, we see technology - telegraphs, photographs - usually not present in Hardy. His work has generally been noted for showing modernity's ache - how modern technology's intrusion drastically changed a rural agricultural society that had been virtually the same for a thousand years. This novel does so in a different and perhaps more overt - if not more interesting - way than most, especially as symbolized in the great early scene where Somerset follows a lone telegraph wire through the middle of proverbial nowhere. Perhaps even more surprising is how Hardy uses such elements to advance fantastic plot devices - fake telegram and photo, etc. - of the kind seemingly abandoned in Desperate Remedies, an entry in the then popular sensation genre and his first published novel. An even stronger development in this way is the character of Dare, an embodiment of pure self-serving malice even more highly-wrought than Desperate's Manston. The portrayal is so melodramatic that it almost has supernatural overtones and clashes oddly with the general realism. Hardy was always unusual among Victorian writers in mixing high seriousness with what might anachronistically be called pulp elements; this made him as readable as he was important and was key to his success as well as one of the major reasons he is still so widely read. However, some may think this goes too far, sacrificing literary value for entertainment. The showdown between Dare and Mr. Power is the height - or nadir, depending on one's view - of this, almost proto-James Bond. The scene where de Stancy stands with his ancestors' portraits, which is so implausible that it borders on farcical, is another case in point. Such things will disappoint those who admire more typical Hardy and can hardly win over those who do not but are fairly well done as far as they go. Less excusable as experiments are contrived digressions about tangential topics like infant baptism and gambling. Hardy usually excelled at working commentary into storyline, but here he seemed to hardly try.

To be fair, we must remember that Hardy fell desperately ill shortly after beginning the book and was bedridden for six months while financial and other considerations forced him to painfully and laboriously dictate the rest. There is a definite falling off where the illness began; the first few chapters are consistently superb, the rest hit and miss. The novel would certainly have been stronger had he been at full strength, but inherent limitations would probably have always kept it from his top tier.

It is easy to focus on eccentricities and faults, but A Laodicean also has many classic Hardy strengths. For example, the large rural England sections are on par with his usual excellence in regard to place, and his castle evocation is particularly noteworthy. Characterization is also very strong. Somerset is one of Hardy's most underrated heroes and quickly sympathetic, but the main interest is clearly heroine Paula Power. Hardy is well-known for his heroines, and she is one of the most overlooked. Like many of them, she is unusually well-educated, capable, and independent for a Victorian women in addition to being beautiful - a fascinating combination that makes highly engaging dramatization. The titular Biblical reference to a person neither cold nor hot applies to her in several ways, and the novel is perhaps above all a character study. However seemingly meandering and purposeless, the plot consistently shows this, and the unforgettable final sentence epitomizes it. Whatever the plot's shortcomings, it does vividly show the effects of pairing such a personality with contrary ones. She allures everyone she meets, but only the placidly easygoing Charlotte is never frustrated. Somerset and de Stancy love her to distraction but find her ambivalence exasperating, as do relatives to various extents. We are likely to feel the same - as, it is easy to think, Hardy did also -, admiring her independence and strength while sometimes shaking our heads at her indecisiveness. Capturing this type was surely Hardy's main intention - a seemingly obvious conclusion that critics have always missed. Though extremely well-done, it is of course not enough to hold a book, and most think it fails to atone for other weaknesses, but it is one of Hardy's unsung accomplishments and deserves more attention and praise. The nuanced de Stancy is also interesting; he is overshadowed but could have easily been the tragic hero of another Hardy novel. The same is true of Havill, who is sympathetic, even pitiable, despite - or, actually, because of - all-too-human faults. Hardy is also known for notable preacher characters, and this has one of the more distinguished - all the more so in being Baptist. The reverend's flaws are so obvious as to sometimes veer on laughable, but essential good-heartedness and the subtle depiction make a well-rounded and very remarkable character. As for Dare and Mr. Power, however over the top, they are certainly intriguing.

What really puts the novel below Hardy's best, aside from a relative dearth of the emotional profundity always at the core of his masterpieces, is a near lack of the meaningful themes for which he is known. It does not deal with fate, humanity's cosmic significance, or other large questions like most of his work; the book is essentially a very basic courtship story with a small hodgepodge of typical Hardy elements thrown in more or less haphazardly. Yet there are at least a few minor successes. Perhaps most obvious is the portrayal of the Baptist Church in rural Victorian England - a truly underground movement then gaining power. Anyone even remotely familiar with Hardy knows his many problems with religion, but this depiction of Baptists, though somewhat critical and even satirical, is highly nuanced and not without sympathy - another instance of unexpected diversity. Hardy also explores his perennial class concerns through the courtship of Paula by the impoverished aristocrat de Stancy and the upwardly mobile Somerset. As always with him, the class system and other Victorian standbys are harshly criticized, and the upper class as usual comes out badly. Along the way he touches on paternity and other familial issues in a way that is both moving and thought-provoking. His points are valid and well-made, but the surrounding story is significantly less absorbing than usual. As for the empathetic treatment of women's issues that have made him a feminist favorite, the book has few, but the voyeuristic scene where de Stancy becomes infatuated with Paula, which has a near-pornographic feel, is notable for pushing the era's sexual standards and also for showing what was a very unusual view of gender roles. Those interested in Hardy's life will be far more keen on the book's many autobiographical elements. Hardy said it has more of his own life than any of his other novels, which is easy to see. He was an architect for years, which shows up in all his novels to varying extents but never so thoroughly or integrally. Much of Somerset's work parallels Hardy's, and there is a wealth of other relevant architectural elements. Finally, Dare and Mr. Power show Hardy grappling with the problem of evil and how it affects human affairs. He usually let unavoidable chance and change - and, it soon became clear, fate - wreck lives but is content to let these villains do it here. This is yet another noteworthy difference and, however less successful or preferable, is at least comparable in execution to other writers' similar efforts.

Hardy's Preface suggests that the novel had "a predetermined cheerful ending" even before his illness, which is another standout feature from a writer famous for tragedies. The book has considerable darkness, and the ending's happy union is far more hard won than usual, but the close - and indeed the whole - is much gentler than was Hardy's wont. There is good reason to think Somerset and Paula will be happy, and we certainly hope so for the former's sake, but it is important to remember that, like Hardy's early novel Under the Greenwood Tree, the impression stands only because the plot stops almost immediately after marriage. Hardy once wrote that love thrives on propinquity but dies on contact and has many a work showing this, most of them highly critical of the marriage institution with little faith in his success. Again as with Under, he may well have stopped the story here because it was the only way he could maintain an even ostensibly happy end, but Paula's enigmatic last statement is somewhat worrying in any case. It hardly surprises - is indeed inevitable given her personality -, but probably startles the somewhat naïve Somerset and may well mean the marriage will not be as smooth as he envisioned. The ending first struck me as somewhat abrupt, but I have come to see that it is not only perfect but virtually unavoidable - the fullest and most representative expression of Paula's personality and thus of the book's main concern. It may not be the most satisfying conclusion for those expecting either a fully happy or tragic end but works quite well on its own ambivalent terms - much like the book as a whole.

The church is Laodicea was wishy-washy in its faith commitment to Christ. A Laodicean, therefore, is someone who is lukewarm. The lukewarm lady in this Victorian lady is Paula Power. Paula is the daughter of a later railroad tycoon Her very name "Power" is a symbol for the power of the industrialized world of railroads and progress. As the novel begins she stands in a Baptist chapel preparing to be baptized. At the last moment she refuses the sacrament.

This scene is the first sight the young architect George Somerset has of the woman he will work for and love. Somerset and his rival architect Havill engage in a contest to see who will get a lucrative commission to renovate ancient Castle De Stancy purchased by Paula's wealthy father. The DeStancy's represent the old aristocracy. Paula is friendly with Charlotte De Stancy and owns the castle.Paula is beautiful with a mind all her own. Not a shrinking lilly is she!

The novel has two love triangles. Paula is loved by Somerset and Captain William De Stancy the brother of Charlotte and father of his bastard son Will Dare 9 (who dare's to do dirty tricks with a will of his own!). De Stancy is stationed near the castle following years in India. Dare is a photographer who assists Somerset in his architectural drawings. He will steal the plans of the castle restoration giving them to the rival architect Havill. He will also claim that Somerset is a gambler and a drunk by forging a telegram and a photo of the young man. The novel is thus using a telegram and a photograph to advance the plot.

Photography and telegraphing are also symbols of the coming age of the modern world. Dare is a deceitful odious man whose plots for his Dad to wed the wealthy Paula are foiled in the end.

The second triangle involves George who is loved by Paula (her commitment to him is often lukewarm!) and the mousy Charlotee DeStancy.

The novel has many chapters set in the watering holes of France and Germany where the characters go for the waters and gaming. The book is well illustrated by the famed George DuMaurier who also wrote the novel

"Trilby."

Hardy was himself a trained architect. The novel has philsophical disucssions intermingled with the love story. The book has a relatively happy ending which is surprising.Tragedy is the usual end of most Hardy books. Hardy was a skeptic and an agnostic who finest work is in tragedy and not comedy.

This is a fine book with a story well told. It is not a major novel by Hardy but is still worth several hours of reading enjoyment.