4.75 Stars
Far from the Madding Crowd was Thomas Hardy's first major success and remains one of his most popular works. Though many disagree, in this dedicated fan's view it is not in his absolute top tier as later novels' grand tragic sweep, greater philosophical and psychological depth, and increased sociopolitical relevance somewhat outclass it. However, it is truly great in itself and would be nearly anyone else's masterpiece. Fans will appreciate that it in many ways laid greater works' foundation, and its relative lack of the tragic pessimism that dominated later work makes it more palatable for many and a great place to start for all. The fact that it recently ranked tenth on a poll of the greatest love stories shows its continuing mass appeal, and I unhesitatingly recommend it to all.
The story itself is immediately notable - engrossing and deftly executed. When Hardy's first novel was rejected, he was told to write one with more plot, and the result - Desperate Remedies - was something of a technical mess. His next two publications greatly refined his technique but this, his fourth, is tight by any standard. It is well-plotted and so tightly controlled that it unfolds with near-inevitability. Hardy later - and indeed before - wrote more complex plots, but the leanness works very well here. Some indeed criticize him for overplotting, meaning Far will perhaps appeal in this regard to some unsatisfied by later novels.
Far more important, though, are the characters. Characterization was always a Hardy strength, and this has some of his most vivid creations: the beautiful, intelligent, and strong-willed but harmfully impulsive Bathsheba; the sturdy and faithful Gabriel Oak; the conventionally appealing but selfish Troy; the well-meaning but hapless Boldwood; and the lively rustics who act as a sort of chorus and add much local color. Hardy is well-known for his heroines, and Bathsheba, still a mainstay, was the first to get wide attention. Hardy's views on women were very advanced, affecting all his novels in various ways. Though displaying some conventional characteristics like vanity, capriciousness, and coquetry, the generally strong and sympathetic Bathsheba is anything but a Victorian stereotype. Even those who decry her self-absorption cannot deny her general charm; she is one of Victorian fiction's first fully realized and nuanced female characters and nothing less than fascinating in her own right. The depiction was indeed somewhat daring, anticipating the furor caused by later Hardy heroines. Particularly notable is how Hardy uses her to subtly explore several important women's issues. Primarily, she shows just how tragically limited ambitious and capable women's opportunities were. Determination to run her own farm brings shock and derision, and she is very unwilling so seek help even when anyone would need to because she knows she will not get a fair assessment. Delaying marriage and motherhood also provokes much criticism and sniping, powerfully showing the great pressures under which even the most independent women lived. All this provokes great sympathy and gives much of the novel's lasting value in both character and sociopolitical terms. It would be too much to call this a proto-feminist text, but it was remarkably sympathetic to women and their plight at a time when very few works were, especially by men, and in many ways planted seeds Hardy later harvested explicitly.
Speaking of harvesting, perhaps the main factor in the book's initial popularity was its vibrantly picturesque rural England depiction. It gives a very vivid idea of what early nineteenth-century life was like in the area, going into considerable detail about various aspects of farm life and the general rustic world. Everything from landscape to speech and manners to actual labor details is given in lush description with memorable verisimilitude. This world was rapidly disappearing even before Hardy's 1840 birth and was nearly gone by Far's 1874 publication. He saw its death throes growing up and became intimately familiar with it via extensive reading and conversations with those who lived it, imbuing his work with its spirit. Coincidentally, Far came out just at the right time to ride a nostalgic wave, and this aspect remains one of its key attractions. Its world of course long ago vanished fully, making the book among other things a sort of historical novel - a bygone era's paean. Hardy clearly had not only great knowledge of but great respect - and even love - for the way of life, portraying it with sympathy and, in its strictly neutral sense at least, essentially light-heartedly.
This would come to be a major aspect of his work. Most Hardy novels and many of his poems are set in what he called Wessex - a part-real, part-dream country, based on his native Southwest England, which he made world famous. Far is significant in having his first use of the term and in many ways set the tone for later works. All Hardy's fiction is notable for a profound sense of place; perhaps no one equals him for describing landscapes and all other aspects with such detail and believability that they become an integral part of the story. Setting is never mere backdrop with him. This is certainly true here; Far's world comes alive with a near-magical sense of wonder. Hardy soon came to worry that this factor's popularity would box him in as a writer, and his next novel - the far lesser Hand of Ethelberta - moved away greatly, but he soon accepted it as an essential part of his artistry. It is mesmerizing to read its early peak here.
The most timeless attraction, though, is the love story at the book's heart. Far is generally called a love story, and though this sells it significantly short, there is no denying its greatness in this regard. It is not a conventional love story and was certainly far from the Victorian template, but this is precisely why so many find it profoundly moving. The book promises almost immediately to be a love story between Gabriel and Bathsheba but progresses in such an unexpected way that most will assume well before the end that it will never happen. Gabriel's selfless love withstands many strains, and it is easy to praise him as admirably constant beside Bathsheba's seemingly inexplicable precariousness, but the contrast is what makes the book so familiar to many. Hardy, who wrote a poem called "Love the Monopolist," would have been the first to affirm love's great power but also knew it was far from easy; even the happiest endings often come only after many detours, wrong turns, and dead ends. Bathsheba's uncertainty and confusion are very understandable given the era's social conditions but also speak to a hesitancy - perhaps even a perversity - fundamental to human nature and, Hardy perhaps would have argued, to women particularly. She certainly could have avoided much grief to her and others by just taking Gabriel immediately, but Hardy was well aware that life is very rarely so simple and neat. Far thus show's love's path with more realism and genuine empathy than nearly any other work, hence its lasting power in this regard; few works are less sentimentalized or more true to life, which is greatly to its credit.
This brings up the all-important issue of Hardy's struggle to make a living by writing without compromising his tragic vision. Not for the first and certainly not for the last time, he had to significantly alter the manuscript for serialization; much of it was reinserted for book publication, and he later made numerous significant changes. Elements like Troy's relationship with Fanny, particularly the scene with her dead child, were extremely controversial - early instances of what became firestorms in later books. Hardy managed to get in a lot of daring content despite all this and also used symbolism to suggest what he could not say overtly; for example, the famous fencing scene positively teems with Freudian implications. As for more philosophical matters, those familiar with his later work can easily get the impression that Far's essentially happy ending was a sort of compromise, especially as A Pair of Blue Eyes, his prior novel, had a very dark close. Hardy was fundamentally a tragedian, and the securing of what promises to be a happy marriage at Far's end - however hard won - is significantly brighter than he thought likely. It was possibly colored by hopes for his own ongoing courtship, which ended in marriage after the novel ensured his financial status - seemingly a self-fulfilling prophecy though it turned out very much otherwise. As someone deeply engrossed in Hardy's work, thought, and life, I feel safe in affirming Far as a genuine, if unrepresentative, instance of his vision. He usually treated love, marriage, and related issues far more darkly, but this can legitimately be seen as a sort of best case scenario from a deeply pessimistic artist who had no use for conventionally happy endings or other traditional sentimentality.
We must also be careful not to let the ending blind us to substantial tragic elements present elsewhere. Fanny, Troy, and Boldwood after all come to very bad ends, while Gabriel and Bathsheba avoid them only narrowly, the latter perhaps being unable to thank herself. Even the ending is significantly more muted than most would expect; what should have been a triumph made all the more glorious by being long-delayed is a very quiet affair with some satisfaction - especially on Gabriel's part - but no conventional celebration. They will surely be as happy as they can be, and we certainly hope so - especially for Gabriel -, but they have learned the hard way that this is far less than they once thought possible. One of the book's true lessons is to lower expectations in order to accommodate mediocrity or, if we are lucky, something slightly better, for however less than ideal, things could certainly be far worse. The rustic conversation that closes the book drives all this home, and Hardy reemphasized it again and again - usually by showing how much worse it could be - but chose here to show the admirably practical equilibrium he always strove for in art and life.
Far thus in many ways has an exquisitely charming and artistically viable, if not subjectively perfect, balance of Hardy's thought, techniques, and features. Those turned off by darker manifestations can cling to it as to a life preserver in the middle of an ocean, and those to whom his bleaker works speak profoundly can find unexpected solace in these relatively placid waters. Other Hardy novels will appeal more or less to various readers, but this is perhaps alone in that all can enjoy it equally. It is a timeless classic and a major part of his legacy that anyone even remotely interested in him - or, indeed, classic literature of any kind - should read without reserve.
Heart Of The Country
Pastoral romance is more the stuff of poems than novels. In "Far From The Madding Crowd", the first of his celebrated Wessex novels published in 1874, Thomas Hardy devotes a full-scale narrative to the fancy of a shepherd's devotion to his love, with fitful success.
The shepherd is Gabriel Oak, abandoned by his fickle love object, Bathsheba Everdene, and then by kind Providence when he freakishly loses his flock. His search for work leads him back to Bathsheba, who takes him in to toil on her newly inherited farm but keeps him and another suitor, prosperous farmer William Boldwood, at arm's length. Bathsheba's capricious reserve melts away at the flashing slight of cocky Sargeant Troy.
"Far From The Madding Crowd" as a title fits its pastoral subject matter, the quiet farming village of Weathersbury whose nooks and steeples Hardy fleshes out with poetic grace and detail. But for Bathsheba, the madding crowd is at her front door, three suitors of varying temperament and one desperate "other woman", not to mention a welter of curious, somewhat judgmental rustics.
The problem with "Madding" is Hardy's enveloping descriptions and his flashes of Dickens-like humor doesn't compensate for sluggish plot development and somewhat unengaging characters. In this, I completely agree with Ronald Pompeo in his July 2005 review about Hardy "taking longer than necessary." Eyes flash, bosoms heave, sheep graze, over and over for over 300 pages. You could completely lose the opening part of Oak and Everdene's first meeting and pick up the story in Weathersbury six chapters in with no loss to the narrative.
But for those caught up in other Hardy novels, I would recommend "Madding Crowd". For one thing, after "Tess" and "Mayor of Casterbridge", you deserve a break. "Madding" is about as sunny and merry as Hardy got.
"Madding" is quintessential Hardy still, with people behaving badly while not being bad people in an environment not naturally disposed to their good or ill. Bathsheba is a vain flirt, but her conscience complicates matters with her most intense suitor, Boldwood. Even bounder Troy displays some redeeming qualities. "Half the pleasure of a feeling lies in being able to express it on the spur of the moment, and I let out mine," he asserts. If this was D.H. Lawrence, Troy would be our hero. Hardy instead makes him the bad guy, though not too black a character until the end, where the author's handle on Troy seems weakest.
As Oak regulates himself to the sidelines early on, Bathsheba emerges as "Madding Crowd's" chief character. She makes for an interesting center. Her independence and strength no doubt impresses feminists, while her caprice will be recognized by misogynists or anyone who has found himself the hands of a woman too wrapped up in herself to think how she inflicts pain on others. Yet I found her less blame-worthy than some other characters, particularly Boldwood, clearly in need of Freud or porn as he spirals out of control. Unrequited love hits everyone in "Madding Crowd" sooner or later. Only Oak, solid and dull as his name suggests, seems strong enough to handle his passions coolly.
"He wasn't quite good enough for me," was Bathsheba's early verdict on Oak, and he seems less interesting at the end of the story than at the beginning. But as the pastoral "man of the earth", he manages to sustain likeability and a rooting interest to the end, a dubious subject for a romance from an author not easily confused for a romantic. "Madding Crowd" is not engaging, but it is rewarding, especially if it inspires you to pick up another Hardy somewhere down the line.
A Classic to be Savored
Thomas Hardy weaves a rich pastoral tale that examines the foibles of humanity: pride, vanity, greed, passion...and gives us a touching love story with a realistic ending. Set in Hardy's Wessex country, the setting is as much a character as his cornucopia of delightful human characters. What I love best about Hardy is how his setting evokes (like a Greek god) story. Through beautiful description, imagery and evokative language, this is not the sort of book you want to race through to see what happens. But to read slowly and savored like sipping a dark, rich coffee. Let it linger.
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