Effort rating: 8/10
Overall enjoyment rating: 5/10 (but at least 2 of those are for the way in which this book relates so ridiculously specifically to a current in-joke of mine, so possibly more like 3)
The blurb:
'This age-old tale of the maid who goes to the greenwood and returns a maiden no more becomes in Hardy's hands an indictment of all the crimes and hypocrisies of nineteenth-century England....Hardy was never more masterly than here in evoking a vanished rural way of life; and even this most tragic of his books is lightened by his delightful and clear-eyed humour."
Summary: An undeniably village-y yet irritatingly charming girl (Tess) finds out her family are related to the aristocracy in some obscure way. They send her off to stay with their newfound relations (the D'Urbervilles) under the pretence of a) getting money for a new horse to replace the one she accidentally killed and b) looking after a blind old lady's chickens. However, being a stereotypical nineteenth-century novel family, they secretly hope that she'll be married off there and become a lady. So she goes, and sure enough she comes across an annoying yet hot cousin, Alec, who pretty much just tries to get a cheeky bit of tonsil hockey with her all the time (this often occurs whilst riding a horse, which judging by the amount of almost-deaths seems to be the period equivalent of talking on a mobile phone whilst driving). He also saves her from un-maiden-friendly situations quite a bit, so he's semi-redeemed for a while. And semi-something else actually, it would appear, for the first ten or so chapters of the novel. [This is how far I got, by the way, the rest is courtesy of Wikipedia]. So they end up in the woods alone together, and he rapes/seduces her - apparently this is ambiguous. They then have a 'confused dalliance' (thankyou Wiki, this is a phrase that will come in so very useful in describing my own life), but Tess has a moment of realisation regarding Alec's abject tosserdom and runs back home to her family. Only she's pregnant. In an action that puts the current trend for ridiculous celebrity child names into perspective, she names it 'Sorrow'. Living up to said name, Sorrow then dies.
Tess gets a job as a milkmaid in another village, and runs into Angel, this bloke she thought was hot and exchanged a steamy glance with in the beginning of the story. Clearly Tess doesn't mess about where these things are concerned, and they fall in love. Angel's Dad is a Reverend (still doesn't quite excuse the name though, does it?) in the habit of preaching to people, and is a bit pissed at the fact that he couldn't tame Alec D'Urberville, who basically has the reputation of some kind of nineteenth-century lad. Angel asks Tess to marry him, and she agrees, but she's worried because she's no longer a virgin. She gets her knickers in a typically hyperbolic novel-heroine twist over this, but when he confesses to her on their wedding night that he once had a cheeky little liaison with a woman in London (way to kill the mood, Angel), she finally admits what happened between her and Alec. Angel isn't really down with that, and runs off to Brazil.
Tess is pretty depressed, in what I can only assume to be a long and very irritating kind of a way. And then one day Alec rears his ugly possible-rapist head again. Only Angel's Dad has finally worked his magic, and he has now converted to Christianity. He decides that he wants to marry her, but obviously she's still married to Angel. Anyway, this is all dissolved when she has to go back home to care for her sick parents. Her father dies, and her family become homeless. In line with his newfound bible basher-dom, Alec offers to put them up, but Tess isn't really feeling the mysterious did he/didn't he rape me charm, and she declines. For some reason, the family then move in to a church.
A while later, Angel swings back into town feeling a bit guilty about ditching Tess, and he goes to her Mum to try and find her. But by this time Tess is living it large in a hotel somewhere. How? Why? What? That's right, Tess has become Alec's mistress. Angel finds her, and she basically tells him to do one. She then goes a bit off the rails, and blames Alec for losing Angel. She decides it's probably best for everyone if she just stabs him. Deed done, she runs back to Angel, and they wander aimlessly around fields for a few days generally being in love and having quite a good time of it. Then she gets caught and executed. Gutted.
Tess being annoyingly wistful in the BBC adaptation
Verdict: A bit like Austen, if Austen had had major Daddy issues. A fairly abysmal performance in terms of pages, but I didn't hate this novel, especially not plot-wise. I actually wish I'd read further, because I really expected her to end up with Alec. Obviously she did end up with him, but I mean in a conventional way, less of the homicide. I do think it's a bit too slow-moving; if Hardy would have jumped on the peril train about 10 pages earlier I probably would have hung in there. From the first 100 pages (and that is a quarter of the book after all) you could definitely be forgiven for thinking it was a standard period romance. I can't help but feel that my giving up on poor Tess so quickly is some kind of symptom of the internet generation; wanting quick fixes and cheap thrills and all that, but it's likely that I've just been spending too much time around the middle-aged. Hardy does take the piss with his descriptions though. I'd been warned about this by a friend, but carried on regardless like the complete and utter renegade that I am. Let's just say that I'm not quite convinced that I recieved the 'delightful and clear-eyed humour' the blurb promised me. Perhaps it got lost in the post. And by the post I mean circa 1910. But I suppose I can't really blame Hardy for the fact that I wasn't born in the nineteenth century, so maybe I'll let that one slide.
I was pleased to discover that Tess kicked arse in the end, because her maidenhood was really pretty sickening at the beginning. I mean, the girl went from being on the brink of suicide after accidentally killing a horse to doing away with her lover and casually strolling off with her estranged husband for what was essentially a dirty weekend of frolicking in a meadow. Speaking of meadows, I may also have been soured slightly by the overwhelming rurality of the novel - the country, as you may know, is not my friend. I did pick up on some hints of a darker undertone, but I was convinced that this was a respectable Victorian affair and that I was merely being vulgar. It's comforting to know that Hardy was of just as filthy a mind, although I'm not sure he'd be considering a pun surrounding his name at this point as I ashamedly am. I very much like the sound of this book's ending, and at some point I will have another stab at it (hello, plot-related pun), but it isn't easy to get through stylistically. Perhaps, I fear, this is just my literary immune system kicking in and rejecting the first alien antibody I try and force into my brain. By which I of course mean something which can't be bought at a train station and doesn't come with a free Benefit eye pencil.
Best quote:
'He asked her if she liked strawberries.
"Yes" said Tess, "when they come"
"They are already here." D'Urberville began gathering specimens of the fruit for her, handing them back to her as he stooped; and, presently, selecting a specially fine product of the 'British Queen' variety, he stood up and held it by the stem to her mouth.
"No - no!" she said quickly, putting her fingers between his hand and her lips. "I would rather take it in my own hand."
"Nonsense!" he insisted; and in a slight distress she parted her lips and took it in'
(Chapter 5)
If that isn't evidence of repressed Victorian sexuality, I don't know what is. Brings to mind Rossetti's Goblin Market especially.
I feel I should also commend the author on his sporadic use of the word 'banteringly'.
Read it if: You're big on loss of maidenhood, esp. with subsequent peril.
Better than TV?: Possibly, once you got to the good bit. Actually, I'd quite like to see a film adaptation of this book - is that cheating? I feel like a three-hour time limit would be good for Hardy; it might force him to cut the crap.
Oh, and Google tells me there is one. Excellent. So, end of the first week and I'm considering a film adaptation. Not quite the fits of literary passion I'd hoped for, but surely a step in the right direction...
NEXT WEEK: It's a surprise. Which means the order is out the window and I'll be reading whichever book I can get my hands on without paying for it.
