I read this book from cover to cover as if it were a detective novel, or maybe a Dostoevsky novel that would help me resolve how idealistic characters can actually come to terms with the world they live in and yet try to resist how the world of morality kills the life in us and brings us down. The author leaves the reader in suspense about how Hardy will eventually resolve the man-woman, flesh-spirit love tragedy. It is, in the final analysis, a defense of Hardy's female characters as well.So anyone who is perplexed and yet fascinated by Hardy's novels can not help but be spell-bound by this book. The reader will learn along the way that many intelligent critics have been lured into permanent self-deception about love and sexuality and they have ignored Hardy's working out his own evasions. At the same time the reader will learn that Hardy's evasions are his or her own and that there is another, third way, to resolve the struggle between flesh and spirit, reading and living, thinking and feeling.In order to solve the riddle of "flesh and spirit" the reader must follow the clues left by Hardy and the author until the end of the book.

Serious critical study of Thomas Hardy, that is still an excellent
book for the non-expert. An unusual interpretation which should spur discussions. An extremely well written book by a man who knows
his subject

A "PANZAIC" READING OF HARDY'S NOVELS

On the back cover of this book there is a descriptive publisher's blurb:

Wayne Burns' critical approach to Hardy's fiction has enabled him to present significantly new interpretations and evaluations of Hardy's novels. While some Hardy lovers may find Burns' criticism irreverent, or even outrageous, it is solidly grounded in the texts of the novels themselves, and will bear the closest critical scrutiny. Yet the book is so clearly written that it can be read and understood by anyone interested in Hardy's novels.

While these may seem like extravagant claims, they really are not. The book more than lives up to them. The one point that the publisher has not stressed is the radical nature of Burns' critical approach, which he identifies as Panzaic Contextualist. Although not a weakness, but a strength, ths approach may prove difficult for many readers to accept. Even after Burns' eleven-page Foreword and four-page Introduction, some readers may find Panzaic Contextualism unacceptable: it may seem too Lawrentian, or too Freudian, or too stark, or too much of a departure from accepted critical norms and practices.
But if these readers can put aside their theoretical objections they will discover (in Burns' first introductory chapter, entitled "Dulcinea as the Immaculate Sister) that he is presenting a verifiable scholarly interpretation of the ways in which the Victorians went about living and loving. As Burns explains:
For the Victorians, or at least for nearly all middle- and upper-class Victorians, the war between the flesh and the spirit was by way of being a holy war that had as its ultimate aim the elimination of the flesh from man-woman love relationships [...]. The conflict between the higher and lower forms of man-woman love is everywhere present in the writings of the Victorians. Indeed for many of them the higher form was not merely a moral or literary ideal: it was the love that, in their own lives, they often chose to place above, or apart from, the lower forms of love that they felt for their husbands or wives.

This general statement Burns develops in an extended analysis of the immaculate loves of Dickens and Mary Hogarth, Thackeray and Mrs. Brookfield, Mill and Harriet Taylor, along with, in fiction, the immaculate loves of the hero and heroine of Charles Reade's The Cloister and the Hearth, finally to conclude:
Hardy [...] believed in the higher and lower forms of love. But not in the way his fellow Victorians believed in them-in part because of his growing up the son of a Bockhampton stone mason, in part because of his being as sensitive, and tormented, and courageous as Michael Millgate and his other biographers have shown him to be. As a beginning novelist, however, Hardy's greatest virtue may have been his ability to recognize the realities of his situation. He knew that, whatever he himself felt or believed, he had to comply with the demands of publishers and editors and readers-if he were to become "a good hand at a serial" and make a living by writing novels. And he did comply, though not without difficulties, as the following discussions of his individual novels will reveal. He presented the war between the flesh and the spirit on the farms and on the heath and in the woods of his mythical Wessex, always keeping within the prescribed moral boundaries, until, in writing Tess of the d'Urbervilles and Jude the Obscure, he threw caution to the wind-to write two of the greatest novels of the nineteenth century.

Here, in outline, is the critical argument that Burns carries through to Jude the Obscure. The early novels, including even those which have come to be considered classics (Far From the Madding Crowd and The Return of the Native) Burns treats rather severely, primarily because they do not measure up to his Panzaic Contextualist standards. He recognizes the Hardyean virtues in these early novels-the interesting and charming heroines, the beautiful and sometimes powerful settings, the wonderful rustics. But he finds these aspects and qualities insufficient to overcome Hardy's melodramatic moralizing.
Burns is equally severe in his treatment of The Woodlanders. It is not until Tess, Burns demonstrates, that Hardy escapes from his moral chains-"choosing a forbidden subject, and treating it Panzaically. The differences between the ending of The Return of the Native, in which Clym is lecturing only on 'unimpeachable subjects,' and the beginning of Tess are so great as to seem inexplicable. It is as if Hardy has become a different novelist. As indeed he has." But it is not until Jude the Obscure, Burns maintains, that Hardy manages to give full artistic expression to his chosen subject-the never-ending war between the flesh and the spirit.
In Jude Hardy finally solved his immortal puzzle ["Given the man and the woman, how to find a basis for their sexual relation"] and in doing so created a great novel-only to discover that it was opening him up to criticism and abuse even more virulent than he had experienced following the publication of Tess. For Jude was attacked not only for its sexuality but for the views it expressed on women and marriage and society and the church. In the words of Patricia Ingham, "Contemporary society recognized a revolutionary when it saw one."But that was not what Hardy wanted to be. After The Well-Beloved he wrote no more novels and devoted himself to his poetry.

It is one of the finest critical studies of Hardy's novels that I have read; indeed Burns' chapter on Jude the Obscure may well be the first critical study to do full justice to that novel.
__Barry Tharaud, Editor, NINETEENTH-CENTURY PROSE

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.

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.

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...

Dylan Thomas, in spite of all the hype and misinformation and gossip, still looms larger than almost any other Twentieth Century poet (only Sylvia Plath and e.e. cummings, perhaps, are comparable). And this is all the more amazing when one considers how actually small the total of his output was. To listen to him read his poetry, though, is a profound experience. His reading of "Lament", one of his greatest poems (in my opinion), is riveting. The cadence of his rich voice, with his Welsh accent and sonorous vowels, reveling in the sheer sounds and the multifarious allusions in the meaning, is unforgettable. Now if they can remaster and issue it on CD---! But it's worth suffering the technical crudities of the recording to hear this great poet and equally great reciter.

Listening to Dylan Thomas gives you some idea what he must have been like - on those late nights at the White Horse Tavern. These tapes of Thomas are brilliant.

Just the commentary by Nobelist Brodsky (died 1997,God rest his untimely soul) justifies reading this book multiple times. His insight on the poet Hardy as well as monumental poems like
'Darkling Thrush' and 'Convergence of the Twain' are illuminating,
penetrating and vividly insightful. Brodsky's prose itself at times soars into poetry in motion and emotion as his genuine delight in Hardy's craftsmanship constantly bubbles to the surface of his introductory essay.

It's clear Brodsky and his hero Hardy have much in common: earthy;master noticers;poets of the suffering human condition;
a keen appreciation of what most eyes miss combined with a gift
of expressing that vision in ways that stick in mind and heart
for the duration;an understanding of 'cunning irregularity' in their mostly formal prosody, that is, not being too sing-songy or
doggerelish in rhyme/rhythm of their lines, but utilizing built-in 'speed bumps' to vary the tone and texture of their poems.

A tour de force that belongs on every poetry-lover's shelf next to their volumes of Hardy,Frost,Yeats,Housman,Masefield,Auden,
C.S.Lewis,Betjeman,Wilbur,Hecht and younger poets Timothy Steele,Dana Gioia,A.E.Stallings. Should be must-reading material
for English Lit. courses worldwide.

There is a small volume of Hardy verse collected by Russian/American poet (and, Nobel laureate), Joseph Brodsky. It is part of a series published by Ecco press -- "The Essential Poets." "The Essential Hardy," the last in the series, is a small anthology of about 100 poems. The really interesting thing about this edition is an extensive introduction (66 pages), in which the poet Brodsky analyzes in considerable depth, five of Hardy's poems. His discussion is, I think, quite brilliant and provocative. He views Hardy as a "poet's poet," and one that will, after the millennium, win a huge following. What I enjoyed the most was his gleanings of Hardy's craft -- matters of meter, imagery, and tone that might, I think, elude traditional scholars but appeal to professional poets. From subtle pictorialism in "Convergence of the Twain," to social commentary in "In the Moonlight," I found myself sensitized to Hardy's poetry in new, refreshing ways. His exuberance and insight are noteworthy, especially coming from a non-native-English writer. Brodsky's prose is lively and compelling throughout.

Sadly, though, this volume was written a year before Brodsky's untimely death. One would have wanted more from him.

F. Scott Fitzgerald may be remembered most often as the author of "The Great Gatsby", but during his lifetime, he earned most of his income by writing short stories for magazines. This compilation includes many of his earlier classics, all dealing with the same wealthy class of people that appear in his novels. "Bernice Bobs Her Hair" is a delightful tale about the lengths (literally) that girls will go to in order to fit in socially. "The Offshore Pirate" is a compelling and romantic story with an exciting and climactic ending. In addition, "The Diamond as Big as the Ritz", a longer and quite famous story has a brilliant plot; a boy visits his wealthy friend's home, and while he enjoys himself immensely and even falls in love, he finds out that the visit may come at a hefty price. "The Curious Case of Benjamin Button" is a hilarious story about a man born looking like he is 70 years old, and looking progressively younger as he "ages", so that he eventually seems younger than his grandson. All in all, you cannot miss with any of his stories, and they make great evening reads - one a day will surely keep the doctor away!

Nostalgia has an inevitable foreshortening effect upon reputation. For most of us, Fitzgerald is the perenially young, perenially arch chronicler of the 1920s Jazz Age -- of bathtub gin, flappers, rumrunners and boats born ceaselessly back.

This collection of short stories does much to restore an unappreciated side of Fitzgerald the writer, most notably his willingness to experiment with technique, his almost existential grasp of human absurdity and his articulation of unease and pessimism about the possibilities of the American Dream.

The stories range widely in quality from precious parodies from his Princeton years ("Jemina") to profoundly moving glimpses of the human condition ("The Lees of Happiness"). Even the most insubstantial of the stories printed here are worth the read for, if nothing else, they show that even at his youngest and roughest, Fitzgerald had a keen grasp of voice and description and how to use it to breath life into wispy plot lines.

I take issue with some of the critical recommendations contained in Patrick O'Donnell's fine introduction to the collection. I did not, for instance, find "The Diamond as Big as the Ritz" particularly impressive. I think the best stories are those that hew to a psychological theme prevalent in Fitzgerald's fiction and his adult life -- the dread of what comes after youth and a nostalgic fixation on youth as the best time in a person's life. The stories I liked most -- "The Lees of Happiness," "The Ice Palace," "The Cut Glass Bowl," "Benediction," "The Four Fists," "'O Russet Witch!'" -- all tackle this theme.

Many of the stories in this volume aren't profound, but are just a delightful read. I defy you, for instance, to read "The Camel's Back" without bursting out loud in laughter over its protagonist's gyrations and setbacks in quest of his true love.

There is a wistfulness at the center of Fitzgerald's prose and his life story that seems to have faded from our collective remembrance of him as a Great American Author. This volume does much to remind us of that winsome note and to remind us that Fitzgerald paid dearly for it in his personal life as it lit up his writing at the same time.

Jude wants to get ahead in the world. Starting at a young age he studies the Classics; learns Latin and Greek, and opens his mind wide to knowledge in general. He is preparing himself for Oxford, but Oxford won't have him, nor undoubtedly will any other university. You see he is poor, and poor people aren't admitted to college in Victorian times.

After exiting a short-lived dismal marriage Jude then meets and falls in love with his cousin who ultimately leaves her husband and moves in with him. There is no "happily ever after" in this novel. Sue, his lover, has sexual problems that need the ministrations of Dr. Ruth, who unfortunately was not available at the time. Sex is repellent to her, and so she and Jude live fairly platonic lives; lives that are not made easier by society's negative reaction to their living in "sin".

Jude and Sue are nice, if not psychologically whole, individuals. You wish them well, but Thomas Hardy has decided to sacrifice them to his philosophical views. He burdens the poor couple with society's repressive attitudes toward women, the lower classes, and marital nonconformity. A novel that begins with the hope of springtime, ends in a winter of despair.

It is a pessimistic, depressing story that examines Victorian sexual and societal mores, and for this it was condemned by many critics. Hardy was so affected by this criticism that he never wrote another novel. Instead he successfully turned to poetry, although his pessimism was again apparent in some of his verses (Read for instance his elegant poem "God's Funeral"). Some of the novel is a bit melodramatic, but that is a common trait of many works of the period. My credulity is strained somewhat by the basically non-sexual relationship of Jude and Sue. Sue is described as an attractive, intelligent and even flirtatious woman. Put simply, I could not fall in love with such a lady, and live with her as brother and sister.

I enjoy many Victorian novels because they combine outstanding literature with an exposition of the society of the times. Hardy is one of England's best. Highly recommended, and I strongly suggest that you buy the Norton Critical Edition of this work. In addition to the novel text you are provided with interesting information about the author, and a collection of contemporary and current reviews of the novel.

For an author who considered his poetry to be greater than his prose, Thomas Hardy clearly demonstrates his unswerving ability to create a masterpiece. Characters from the ambitious Jude to the spineless Sue paint a poignant picture of 19th century Victorian society. For those who collect banned books, a must have. This critical example of Victorian England is a great thesis to expand one's ideas on. Overall, a magnificent book.

In North America, Thomas Hardy is better known for his novels than for his poems, but Hardy himself prized his verse more, and this recording demonstrates the breadth and depth of his achievement as a poet.

It features compelling performances of more than 70 of Hardy's poems by two distinguished British actors, Bruce Alexander and Janet Maw. Hardy wrote the earliest of these as a teenager and the last of them some seven decades later. Carefully-chosen excerpts from Hardy's autobiography and the writings of his first wife, Emma, help place trace the biographical sources of many of the poems.

What's most impressive is Hardy's versatility: of the 70-odd poems here, no two use the same form, and the subjects range from the joys of young love to the wistful resignation of the poet, in his eighties, musing on fate and change.

When the Academy of American Poets asked me to name ten poetry recordings that every library should have, for a feature on their web site, this was one of my choices.

In North America, Hardy is better known as a novelist than as a poet, but it was his poems that Hardy himself prized most, and they are highly regarded in Britain today.

This recording features performances of more than 70 of Hardy's poems by two distinguished British actors, Bruce Alexander and Janet Maw. The poems are accompanied by carefully-chosen excerpts from Hardy's autobiography and the writings of his first wife, Emma.

The result is a compelling program that makes an excellent introduction to newcomers to Hardy's work and will also delight those who have already discovered this wise and compassionate poet. What is most impressive is Hardy's versatility: of the 70-odd poems here, I don't think any two use the same form, and the content ranges from the joys of young love to the widtful resignation of the poet, in his eighties, musing on fate and change.

When the Academy of American Poets asked me to name ten poetry recordings that every library should have, this was one of my recommendations.

Cancelled Words.

I've received comments on the seeming high price of Cancelled Words, and it seemed a good idea to explain why this should be. I was the editor at Routledge responsible for publishing the book in 1992.

This is a ground-breaking work, about what can happen when an author gets into the hands of a determined editor. Thomas Hardy was then a virtual unknown, not recognized as one of the world's greatest writers. He had little choice but to allow his editor, the august and supremely self-confident, Leslie Stephen, to 'cancel' Hardy's own words in 'Far from the Madding Crowd'.

Stephen was worried that Hardy's very Un-Victorian presentation of human relationships and sexuality would offend the sensibilities of readers. So when he reacted badly to Hardy's improprieties, he just cut them out.

So we have always read a purged Far from the Madding Crowd, without seeing the book that Hardy first wanted us to have. Very few of Leslie Stephen's changes made it a better novel: Hardy's own first words and ideas are always immeasurably superior.

But that was not the end of the story. Years afterwards the original manuscript was rediscovered by accident and preserved so we can now know what Thomas Hardy really wanted to say before he was censored. That manuscript is now in the Beinecke Library at Yale University and has been used to write 'Cancelled Words'.

Rosemarie Morgan believed that it is essential to see what were Thomas Hardy's own words as he wrote them. That was the essence of the book and we at Routledge took the decision that a quarter of it should be given up to Hardy's words, in his own handwriting, faithfully reproduced in facsimile with the cancellations and changes visible for all to see.

Of course, regrettably, this made the book more expensive, but I still think this was the right decision. And the publication of Cancelled Words contributed substantially to her groundbreaking new edition of Far from the Madding Crowd, published by Penguin Books, and giving back that original edition to the world.

I would hate to think that our decision should put off future readers from buying a book that takes you into the heart of one of the master works of English fiction.

Now here's an author who does her research. She is also a careful reader of the fiction she analyzes. I can't wait for her to write another book. When it comes out, I will be among the first to buy it.

I was reading this book for an assignment in English, and the images that it left in my mind will remain there for a long time. The story of Tess, a truly Pure woman, facing adversities that scare the soul out of me, is a thoughtful and saddening one.

The Norton Critical edition is particularily good, containing reviews and poems of and about Thomas Hardy, a major advantage when trying to understand the atmosphere that produced this novel.

Though the novel is heavy in description, the description is not out of place. In fact, it is essential to the storyline.

All in all, I enjoyed this book, and it made me think and reflect on the values that I believe are truly important.

Morality is subject to some rolling blackouts in this book. At the end, the law stepped in and made sure that the destruction was mutual. Law seems to be particularly inept in situations where a book is this hard on the reader, and those critics in the Norton Critical Edition who consider this novel almost a crime against literature have a point. If all the characters were being put on trial, instead of merely trying to live, the law would allow each of them to be tried separately because of the doctrine of mutually antagonistic defenses. There were parts of this book I enjoyed: Angel Clare sorting the cows for milking made a lovely theme. Hardy kept referring to the barnyard as a "barton," but I'm sure he wasn't directing that jibe at me, personally, because this book was written long before I was born. I've been to barnyards that were as full of "mulch" as the "barton" described in this book, and Hardy is putting things mildly. I liked the part when Alec had been reformed and Tess discovered him preaching to the Methodists without thinking that he was any better for all the things he was trying to say. Somehow Alec getting on the other side of things was still Alec, and he would have preferred to be happy than to preach all the time. For me, the plot revolved around Angel Clare's need to find a place where he could get money without shame. Alec had as much money as Tess would ever need, and he wanted to give it to her in his own way. There is an early baby problem that Tess didn't tell Alec about until they had more problems than any novelist could make disappear. D. H. Lawrence tried to understand this book in unfulfilled male and female principles, and aristocratic principles which isolated Tess and Alec d'Uberville. I'm glad this book has been appreciated so long that I finally read it. It was an involvement that went further than just feeling like a barnyard.

Thomas Hardy's novel makes a heroine out of a simple girl. Tess Durbeyfield, the daughter of a nearly extinct noble line, leads a life of heavy responsibility where her impoverished family is concerned. At the behest of her parents, she seeks assistance from the D'Urbervilles who are, supposedly, relatives. This assistance yields disastrous results and Tess feels compelled to find work as a milkmaid where she meets Angel Clare, the son of an evangelical pastor, who is gathering experience in order to become a farmer.

Hardy does a splendid job of illustrating Tess's strength as she goes from innocent girl to pure woman. Though she is not as educated as Angel, in terms of theory, her experience with Alec Stokes D'Urberville has given her a deeper knowledge of life and acceptance. Ironically, it is this experience which captivates and, predictably enough, repulses Angel.

Hardy's narrative is a powerful one in this particular tale. It is clear that this is Tess's story and we, as readers, witness her painful journey. Through his subtle and understated use of irony, we come to realize the hypocrisy of Angel and wonder about the diabolical nature of Alec.

What Hardy does emphasize in this novel is the unwavering hand of Justice which allows the novel to come to a bittersweet end and lets no one escape its strong, yet objective, sense of judgement.