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The Return of the Native (Modern Library Classics)

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"Gloomy fatalism" influenced by Schopenhauer is how critics described this novel when it was first published. Thomas Hardy's (1840-1928) sixth novel is about doomed love and chance, and when it is measured against his masterpieces, TESS OF THE D'URBERVILLES (1891) and JUDE THE OBSCURE (1895), THE RETURN OF THE NATIVE (1878) succeeds as one of the Victorian novelist's most powerful works. It tells the story of an idealistic and intellectual young man, Clym Yeobright, who abandons the ambitious goals set for him by his strong-minded mother, after becoming infatuated with a free-spirited, sensuous woman, Eustacia Vye, in a wild and lonely place. The plot unfolds on Hardy's "partly real and partly dream country," Egdon Heath, a dark Wessex moor associated with tragic possibilities. As Alexander Theroux observes in his Introduction to this edition of Hardy's novel, Hardy was committed to the deep expression of nature's ironic chaos and strange apathy, even hostility toward man (p. x), and in this respect, Egdon Heath could be described as a major protagonist in the novel. It has been said that Hardy viewed life as something to put up with.

When Clym Yeobright (the "native") returns to Egdon Heath from his studies in Paris, he decides to reject his chosen profession and marry Eustacia Vye instead. Eustacia is a darkly complicated young woman (and one of Hardy's most fascinating characters), who hopes to escape her dreary existence on the Heath for a more cosmopolitan life in Paris. (In a heart-wrenching subplot, Clym's passion for Eustacia leads to his estrangement from his mother, Mrs. Yeobright, who disapproves of the union.) Prior to Clym's return, Eustacia loved Damon Wildeve; that is, until he proposed marriage to Clym's cousin, Thomasin Yeobright. To further complicate things, Diggory Venn, a reddleman, secretly admires Thomasin. For his self-destructive characters, the course of love is never happy in in Hardy's cruel universe. "Black chaos comes," he writes, "and the fettered gods of the earth say, Let there be light" (p. 15).

Reading Victorian fiction does not get any better than reading Thomas Hardy. Returning to Hardy's brooding, melancholy novels after first reading them more than twenty five years ago, I am re-discovering Hardy's brilliant ability to convey familiar, primordial truths through his fiction, making him worth reading again and again.

G. Merritt

There are two and a half sets of lovers in Thomas Hardy's "The Return of the Native," which, if your math is correct and your idea of the number of lovers in a set concurs with mine, makes five people. Romance, deceit, misunderstanding, and misfortune affect their destinies, and those to whom the novel is cruelest come to tragic ends because they refuse to forgive themselves or others for mistakes.

The central tragic figure is Eustacia Vye, a young woman who has come to live on Egdon Heath with her cantankerous grandfather. Despising the dreariness of the heath and generally secluding herself from the local populace, she is somewhat of an outsider and not well liked by some in the community. She was in love with Damon Wildeve, a former engineer who now owns an inn and is not too happy about it; but their affair has since cooled and Wildeve has turned his attention to a girl named Thomasin Yeobright. Wildeve and Thomasin's wedding is aborted when the marriage license turns out to be invalid, and Thomasin, running home to her aunt in shame and anger, is caught on the rebound by Diggory Venn, her long-time admirer. A word about Venn's profession is in order: He is a "reddleman," who, not unlike the ice cream man in the summertime, rides around the heath in a van selling a strange product that shades its vendor most memorably.

Completing the quintet is Thomasin's cousin Clym Yeobright, an Egdon Heath native who is returning permanently after living for some time in Paris as a diamond merchant. Destiny eventually unites Clym and Eustacia in love, but Clym's mother does not approve of the union; she doesn't like Eustacia, and she fears their being married would prevent or discourage Clym from returning to his lucrative career in Paris. They get married anyway, as do Wildeve and Thomasin on a second try, leaving Venn as the fifth wheel but still not out of the running.

The catalyst for the tragedy of the novel involves an attempted reconciliation between Clym's mother and Eustacia, which results in the kind of ugly situation that could be cleared up by simple explanations and apologies but instead is exacerbated by normal circumstances. On top of this, Wildeve realizes he still loves Eustacia and is willing to help her in any course of action, no matter how lacking in judgment, that she thinks is an appropriate response to her plight.

This novel swells with Hardy's typical narrative genius, but no less impressive than the plot, the characters, the dialogue, and the prose, is the barren but hauntingly beautiful setting of Egdon Heath. Like the famous Casterbridge of his later novel, it is a world unto itself, defined by its own peculiar topography and populated by denizens who, with their own special jargon, customs, and folklore, act as a sort of Greek chorus towards the drama of the principal characters, commenting on events with humor and gravity. The heathmen and women don't much mind the hardships of life; they're the kind of people that will joyfully dance around their bonfires on the barrows even without musical accompaniment.

Egdon Heath is the wild and hostile environment in which Hardy's tale of love and loss takes place. The setting of the novel is inescapable and its influence so strong that the heath is almost a character in itself. The action of the novel focusses around three men and three women; Clym Yeobright, Diggory Venn and Damon Wildeve and Mrs Yeobright (Clym's mother), her niece Thomasin whom she has adopted and Eustacia Vye. The other charcters in the novel are the heath people who form a greek chorus to the novel and are occasionally used as instigators of the action. The main theme of the novel is doomed love and the way in which the characters are unable to escape their destiny. It is also interesting to note that the ending to the novel was not the one Hardy inteneded, he had intended to end it after the scene by Shadwater weir. However, his publishers demanded a more positive ending and one which I feel slightly undermines the power of the novel. Most editions have a footnote at the point where Hardy had intended to finish, allowing readers to choose which ever ending they prefer.
Hardy's characterisation is highly realistic in that the boundaries between 'good' and 'bad' characters are somewhat fluid. He also explores the idea of the 'fatal flaw' and how people inevitably destroy themselves and those they hold most dear. If you're looking for a 'feel-good' novel this is not the one to go for but if you enjoy enjoy novels like Wuthering Heights and Tess of the Durbervilles then place your order now...

I didn't pay attention to much in high school but this book, and the tools by which to grasp it, has stayed with me through a lifetime. The heath and the people who were more of it than of the world, has remained vivid and powerfully romantic to keep me coming back to Hardy and other English authors of the 19th and early 20th centuries. The result has been part of the greatest joys in a life of reading.

Eustacia Vye is a magnificent heroine, and her power, ardor and ultimate destiny as perhaps in excess of the more common neighbors is intense and pagan and unforgettable. The heath is a pre-christian place, remote not only from civilization but from all that is ordinary. In a small country, with massive social rules, the heath is alive and in posession of a soul. They keep the ancient traditions of festivals and bonfires, the people even speak their own language. The book has enhanced battles with the elements that seem to be offended and punishing ill-fated love. No one who reads this book will forget the red man, seeming to be a favorite of those pagan gods.
This is a romance that is eternal. Read it again, or read it with an inner openness and it will repay your time and soul.

The Return of the Native is one of the finest English novels ever written and one of the "Big 5" written by the great Thomas Hardy (1840-1928). The Big 5, the best novels by Thomas Hardy are Far From the Madding Crowd (1874), The Return of the Native (1878), The Mayor of Casterbridge (1886), Tess of the d'Urbervilles (1891), and Jude the Obscure (1895).

The Return of the Native is set in Hardy's "playground" Wessex. It takes place in Egdon Heath, which is in South Wessex. The rural setting really gives great character to this tragic love story, adding a bleak desolate feel to it. Most say that Egdon Heath could be considered one of the characters since it is the witness to the tale.

It features the "love triangle" like in Far From the Madding Crowd. The main characters are Eustacia Vye, the depressed and complicated woman who hates Egdon Heath and wishes to find a lover who will take her to France or anywhere from Egdon Heath, Damon Wildeve, one of Eustacia's lovers who is kind of a pimp and cheats on Eustacia, only to regret it, Thomasin Yeobright, Damon's other lover, who is a naive woman, and Clement "Clym" Yeobright, the "Native," who returns from Paris and falls in love with Eustacia.

That's about all I can tell you without revealing too much. This novel is one of the greatest ever written and really proves why they called Thomas Hardy the "Shakespeare of the English novel.

Hardy's timeless classic about a romantic pentagon is set on England's Egdon Heath in the mid 19th century. Those raised on the heath view it comfortably as homespun landscape, but newcomers consider it desolate, bleak and even hostile. For this heath with its mysterious rainbarrow is a curious juxtaposition of ancient ways and relics with more "modern" lifestyle. Romance blooms and fades, then erupts in relentless waves--resulting in inevitable tragedy.

The tenuous emotional stasis of two men and two women is thrown out of balance by the arrival home of its native son, Clym Yeobright. Returning after several successful years in the diamond business in Paris this philanthropic young man cherishes a dream of opening a school for the folks in the port of Budmouth or even locally for the common heath dwellers.

But other strong-willed and tender-hearted young residents of the Heath have their own private agendas: Wildeve, engineer reduced to innkeeper, is fatally attracted to Eustacia Vye; Diggory Venn, the quietly observant reddleman, harbors hopeless devotion to Thomasin Yeobright. Lastly there shines the dark-haired wild beauty, Eustacia, who longs to depart the Heath for cosmopolitan world centers where she will be appreciated and sought after. Meanwhile Clym's mother secretly hopes for an alliance between the cousins. Clym's homecoming proves the catalyst which ignites deeply emotional events, maternal anguish, and spousal grief. Would it have been better for all the main characters if he had remained longer abroad, instead of providing fodder for local gossip?

Despite the apparent disparity in the external circumstances of Hardy's characters and modern readers, we are gradully drawn in by his deft maneuvering of the simple, direct plotline. Helplessly we are ensnared into the complex interactions of his main characters. Sometimes indifferent, sometimes reflecting the moods of humankind, Nature provides an everpresent back drop for the mummers of life to perform their eternal roles of misguided love. One of my all-time favorite novels, this classic will haunt readers because of the stark honesty of its passion. Like the heath moths drawn irresistably to Eustacia's flame, the characters must act out their pretermined roles, while casual humanity (Greek chorus-like) can but look on with awe, as they--like us--contemplate the mysterious forces of the human heart.

I read this novel when I was living in Japan. There were no English books avaliable where I was living but a motley collection of classics in the local library.

I found the book somewhat long and slow but loved the language and character desciptions, for example Hardy decribes the main female character Eustacia Vye as "Queen of the night whose passions and instincts would make a model goddess but not quite a model woman" with "pagan eyes, full of noctural mysteries. It is a opera of a book, long and slow but with moments of great beauty

Yes, the Heath is the centerpiece, but no more than Eustacia, for they are mirrors of one another, by turns cold and aloof, brooding, mysterious, somewhat wild, tempestuous, and a place where at times man must tread carefully. Some are inexorably drawn to the contours, shades and subtleties of Egdon Heath (Mother Earth) while others seek shelter from its periodic wrath. So, too, the people of the Heath seem divided about their Earth Mother, Eustacia - reading the worst into her or - in the case of many of its men - hoping against hope that the vagaries of nature will look favorably upon them.

This is the most descriptive portrayal of both woman and nature that I have ever read.

"Just a small town girl, livi'n in a lonely world. She took the midnight train goi'n anywhere..."
Yep, Journey and Thomas Hardy DO have something in common: They both understand a woman's intense yearnings for something beyond small town life.

The best advice I can give to any would-be readers of Return of the Native is to stay with this tale; it gets better and better. In all honesty, one could probably skip the first 3 chapters (roughly 40 pages) and not miss much . I love Hardy's imagery and descriptive flights of fancy, but 40 pages of country customs and heath descriptions are too much even for the most dedicated reader.

This is quite a love triangle, and even beyond that Hardy lets very few get out alive or unscathed. This is a book to be read in autumn or winter nights, preferably with some bourbon in hand. (Though if you've read Jude the Obscure, this is a notch below that on the Hardy Tragedy Scale) Eustacia Vye, the beautiful protagonist, seems more complex and human than Tess Durbyfield or Jude or just about any character from previous Hardy works --- she is instantly recognizable to any woman who is or has been trapped in a small town and dreams of glamour and a dazzling world beyond the horizon. She is, like most real people, somewhere in the middle of good and evil, with occasional dalliances at the extremes. Naturally, it is with her dalliances at the more sinister extremes that set the tragedy wheels a rolli'n.

Most of the plot revolves around her machinations to leave Egdon Heath behind for the city, and she spends her days wandering the moors and dreaming of city life and charming men (well really only one) who can give her the chance to escape. When she hears that Clym Yeobright, a native of Egdon Heath who has been a jeweler in Paris for several years, is visiting his mother for Christmas ,well, you can surely imagine what happens next. The ideological clash that then ensues between Clym and Eustacia forms the central tension of the novel and is one of the best in 20th century literature. Eustacia wants city life and a modicum of gentility and status, while Clym has noble (if a bit patronizing) notions of staying in Egdon Heath and educating the mean working class. Due to one of Hardy's convenient coincidences (and there are multitudes of these highly suspect plot devices strewn about, but somehow they don't diminish the beauty of this novel), Clym must !gasp! use his hands and join the awful working class. Problem is, he likes an honest day's work and even takes to !the horror! singing while working. Well, Eustacia's had it up to there with Clym's man-of-the-people noble savage gig, and takes matters into her own hands.

There's also, if you need more enticements, Diggory Venn, the reddleman (a traveling salesman of red dye used for marking herds of sheep. His skin consequently turns red.) He's a garish image but unequivocally moral and good (although a bit precious and a deus ex machina). Apparently, as the narrator tells us, seeing a reddleman was a horrifying ordeal for a child and marked "an epoch in [his] life." Can you imagine seeing a man who so thoroughly resembled the christian devil just walking into a bar or gambling?

Read this because Hardy is one of the most atmospheric writers in the English language and creates such indelible images. I was so taken with the heaths that I had to google them and see them outside of my own mind. Like Dickens, Hardy wrote mostly in serials for magazines, and relied on suspense and sensationalism to keep readers wanting more. I don't know how Hardy got such a reputation among adults as a scary old timey writer --- his is the stuff of yellow journalism and true crime novels today, except that he writes so beautifully and skillfully. Once you become accustomed to the parlay of the day and the rambling sentence structure, he's better than just about anything on tv. I like to imagine dainty Victorian ladies reading this with their ankles all covered and mouths agape, scandalized but secretly titillated by Hardy.

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.