Oops, I Ruined My Life!!
Well, Michael Henchard is dead at long last. In order to properly discuss the themes of this novel, I think it's necessary to provide a summary that is not necessarily extremely short. (To motivate you to actually read it, see if you can pick up on any similarities in Henchard's life and death and a discussion we had in class on Thursday....)
Things really turned up in this last quarter of reading. For one, Donald's wife, Lucetta (the one Michael had a semi-scandalous romantic past with), ends up dying from shame when her secret past with Henchard is revealed by a sort of public exhibition of a woman's infidelity (past or present, apparently) involving effigies, affectionately called by the locals a "skimmity ride."
You'll notice the accuracy of my prediction in my last blog post. Donald did indeed face some sort of reckoning (the public shaming and death of his wife). He also overcame it pretty fast, as I predicted, because soon after Lucetta's death, he begins courting Elizabeth-Jane again. Hardy makes it clear, though, that despite Farfrae's high social position, and Elizabeth's relatively low one, that it is she that is stooping to his level; not the other way around. After all, Farfrae is "a widow man - whose first wife was no credit to him - what is it for a young pursuing woman that's her own mistress and well-liked?" (326). This is true, for Elizabeth-Jane does, by the end of the novel, discover some of her own agency, and for me, becomes the hero of the story.
Henchard ends up feeling rather down in the dumps about Elizabeth-Jane's new romantic situation, feeling that his life is no longer an "arena" in which he can act, but simply "a painted scene" for him to look at. He leaves town, feeling that Elizabeth and Donald will be better off without him, and also fearing the return of Newson, the sailor he sold his wife to in the first chapter (surprise, surprise, the guy's not dead; he just went to America and decided not to come back... until now). If I can toot my own horn, I might as well point out that in a comment on my first blog post, I compared Henchard to Jean Valjean in Les Mis. Valjean makes much the same choice as Henchard - to leave his adopted daughter to marry a young man because he believes they'll be happier without him.
Henchard afraid has good reason to fear Newon's return, too, because Newson comes back immediately after he leaves, and the sailor immediately tells his daughter that it is he that is her biological father, not Henchard. Elizabeth hold Henchard's lies against him, and when he returns with the intention of congratulating Donald and Elizabeth on their nuptials, she is kind of rude to him, and tells him to leave. Michael leaves the bird that he bought as a wedding gift under a bush, too embarassed to give it to the bride and groom.
They find the bird a few days later, starved to death in his cage (I wonder if that's a symbol for anything...), and Elizabeth immediately regrets her harsh words. She and Donald set out to find Michael, but they're too late, for he has died alone in a little cottage. He's left behind a will that basically said he didn't want Elizabeth-Jane to know that he died, and didn't want anyone to care about his death at all. I definitely did NOT cry at this part.
After this death, Elizabeth-Jane finds herself not tortured by the fact that she did not spend more time with this man, but respectful of him and of the pain he suffered. She lives her life serenely, not obsessed with her status, and by "making limited opportunities endurable" (353). To be fair, he opportunities are not so limited any more (as the mayor's wife), but she still is aware that "neither she or any other human being deserved less than was given, [although] there were others receiving less who deserved much more" (354).
In short, Elizabeth-Jane is good in every way that Henchard was bad.
To bring this back to my previous post again, I'd like to discuss the meaning of the work as a whole now that I'm finally through the whole of the book. In my last post, I felt that one of the major themes of the novel was that decisions you make in your youth can have a powerful impact on the rest of your life. I'll stay true to this prediction, for pretty obvious reasons. Henchard made one really big mistake in his youth, and because of that mistake, was never able to live his life in the way he wanted to. In fact, that mistake just led him to more and more lies and sadness. In Hardy's words, this book was a "general drama of pain" (345), and I think most of that pain can be chalked up to Henchard's one mistake (or perhaps it's a tragic flaw in his character...).
Another theme that showed up in this book, right at the end, came about because of Elizabeth-Jane, and it was not one that I predicted. Hardy doesn't really redeem Henchard, unless you count the way Elizabeth-Jane has clearly learned (consciously or subconsciously) from the mistakes of her father. She doesn't attempt to raise her status because she sees no difference in the value of her life based on what others think of her. She's thankful for the ways in which she is lucky, and knows that there are others who are far less fortunate than she. Where Henchard had ambition and a fiery temper that got in the way of his actual success at life, Hardy says Elizabeth lives serenely and comfortably in her own shoes (despite all the hardships she was forced to face earlier in her life). What Hardy is trying to tell us here, I think, is that we should take from life what it gives us, and do the best we can with what we have.
Both of these, I think, are relevant themes for people today. Though much time has passed since Hardy wrote the novel, the fact that the ideas he presents in it remain relatable prove that his work has truly stood the test of time, and deserves to be encountered by others for many years to come.
If I may (in a style frequently used by Hardy) make and allusion, I'd like to say that in comparison to other book's we've read so far in this course, this novel is less complex, yet far complex-er.
What I mean to say is that the density of the writing in this book is far less straightforward than that of, say, The Handmaid's Tale. There are words we might consider to be archaic, countless allusions, phrases that are gibberish to a modern American reader (I thought a skimmity ride was a cross between a hay ride and a boat race before I finally looked it up), and highly important plot details that occur in an off-handed sentence which could be overlooked if a person isn't paying close enough attention. It's definitely a lot of work to read, and is very different from the more contemporary reading we've been doing in this course. Because of this, I think the book has a lot of merit as a book for an AP course, because it would challenge students to comprehend text from a different time period.
The book is also less complex than other books we've read in the way it's structured and in the way thematic elements and symbolism are presented. The book moves forward very linearly (unlike either of the two books we've read in class this year), and despite the occasional Victorian-era-style plot twist, is pretty easy to follow. Themes and symbols are presented in a very straight-forward way; Hardy often goes so far as to tell the reader what he wants them to know on various occasions. Despite this semi-simplicity, I still think that Hardy's writing style, the fact that the book is from a different era entirely (and therefore has many things to teach us about change and continuity in human history), and the actual messages of his themes (which are unique from the ones authors have presented us so far) makes the book of significant literary merit, and makes Hardy an author worth considering for future classes.
Goodbye!!
Things really turned up in this last quarter of reading. For one, Donald's wife, Lucetta (the one Michael had a semi-scandalous romantic past with), ends up dying from shame when her secret past with Henchard is revealed by a sort of public exhibition of a woman's infidelity (past or present, apparently) involving effigies, affectionately called by the locals a "skimmity ride."
You'll notice the accuracy of my prediction in my last blog post. Donald did indeed face some sort of reckoning (the public shaming and death of his wife). He also overcame it pretty fast, as I predicted, because soon after Lucetta's death, he begins courting Elizabeth-Jane again. Hardy makes it clear, though, that despite Farfrae's high social position, and Elizabeth's relatively low one, that it is she that is stooping to his level; not the other way around. After all, Farfrae is "a widow man - whose first wife was no credit to him - what is it for a young pursuing woman that's her own mistress and well-liked?" (326). This is true, for Elizabeth-Jane does, by the end of the novel, discover some of her own agency, and for me, becomes the hero of the story.
Henchard ends up feeling rather down in the dumps about Elizabeth-Jane's new romantic situation, feeling that his life is no longer an "arena" in which he can act, but simply "a painted scene" for him to look at. He leaves town, feeling that Elizabeth and Donald will be better off without him, and also fearing the return of Newson, the sailor he sold his wife to in the first chapter (surprise, surprise, the guy's not dead; he just went to America and decided not to come back... until now). If I can toot my own horn, I might as well point out that in a comment on my first blog post, I compared Henchard to Jean Valjean in Les Mis. Valjean makes much the same choice as Henchard - to leave his adopted daughter to marry a young man because he believes they'll be happier without him.
Henchard afraid has good reason to fear Newon's return, too, because Newson comes back immediately after he leaves, and the sailor immediately tells his daughter that it is he that is her biological father, not Henchard. Elizabeth hold Henchard's lies against him, and when he returns with the intention of congratulating Donald and Elizabeth on their nuptials, she is kind of rude to him, and tells him to leave. Michael leaves the bird that he bought as a wedding gift under a bush, too embarassed to give it to the bride and groom.
They find the bird a few days later, starved to death in his cage (I wonder if that's a symbol for anything...), and Elizabeth immediately regrets her harsh words. She and Donald set out to find Michael, but they're too late, for he has died alone in a little cottage. He's left behind a will that basically said he didn't want Elizabeth-Jane to know that he died, and didn't want anyone to care about his death at all. I definitely did NOT cry at this part.
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| Unlike Cossette in Les Mis, Elizabeth-Jane does not make it back to her father in time to see him before he dies. :( |
After this death, Elizabeth-Jane finds herself not tortured by the fact that she did not spend more time with this man, but respectful of him and of the pain he suffered. She lives her life serenely, not obsessed with her status, and by "making limited opportunities endurable" (353). To be fair, he opportunities are not so limited any more (as the mayor's wife), but she still is aware that "neither she or any other human being deserved less than was given, [although] there were others receiving less who deserved much more" (354).
In short, Elizabeth-Jane is good in every way that Henchard was bad.
To bring this back to my previous post again, I'd like to discuss the meaning of the work as a whole now that I'm finally through the whole of the book. In my last post, I felt that one of the major themes of the novel was that decisions you make in your youth can have a powerful impact on the rest of your life. I'll stay true to this prediction, for pretty obvious reasons. Henchard made one really big mistake in his youth, and because of that mistake, was never able to live his life in the way he wanted to. In fact, that mistake just led him to more and more lies and sadness. In Hardy's words, this book was a "general drama of pain" (345), and I think most of that pain can be chalked up to Henchard's one mistake (or perhaps it's a tragic flaw in his character...).
Another theme that showed up in this book, right at the end, came about because of Elizabeth-Jane, and it was not one that I predicted. Hardy doesn't really redeem Henchard, unless you count the way Elizabeth-Jane has clearly learned (consciously or subconsciously) from the mistakes of her father. She doesn't attempt to raise her status because she sees no difference in the value of her life based on what others think of her. She's thankful for the ways in which she is lucky, and knows that there are others who are far less fortunate than she. Where Henchard had ambition and a fiery temper that got in the way of his actual success at life, Hardy says Elizabeth lives serenely and comfortably in her own shoes (despite all the hardships she was forced to face earlier in her life). What Hardy is trying to tell us here, I think, is that we should take from life what it gives us, and do the best we can with what we have.
Both of these, I think, are relevant themes for people today. Though much time has passed since Hardy wrote the novel, the fact that the ideas he presents in it remain relatable prove that his work has truly stood the test of time, and deserves to be encountered by others for many years to come.
If you happen to be wondering whether I think this would be a good choice for future AP classes, read further! If not, I don't really blame you, and thanks for reading!!
If I may (in a style frequently used by Hardy) make and allusion, I'd like to say that in comparison to other book's we've read so far in this course, this novel is less complex, yet far complex-er.
What I mean to say is that the density of the writing in this book is far less straightforward than that of, say, The Handmaid's Tale. There are words we might consider to be archaic, countless allusions, phrases that are gibberish to a modern American reader (I thought a skimmity ride was a cross between a hay ride and a boat race before I finally looked it up), and highly important plot details that occur in an off-handed sentence which could be overlooked if a person isn't paying close enough attention. It's definitely a lot of work to read, and is very different from the more contemporary reading we've been doing in this course. Because of this, I think the book has a lot of merit as a book for an AP course, because it would challenge students to comprehend text from a different time period.
The book is also less complex than other books we've read in the way it's structured and in the way thematic elements and symbolism are presented. The book moves forward very linearly (unlike either of the two books we've read in class this year), and despite the occasional Victorian-era-style plot twist, is pretty easy to follow. Themes and symbols are presented in a very straight-forward way; Hardy often goes so far as to tell the reader what he wants them to know on various occasions. Despite this semi-simplicity, I still think that Hardy's writing style, the fact that the book is from a different era entirely (and therefore has many things to teach us about change and continuity in human history), and the actual messages of his themes (which are unique from the ones authors have presented us so far) makes the book of significant literary merit, and makes Hardy an author worth considering for future classes.
Goodbye!!
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Hello for the final time, Fiona!
ReplyDeleteHenchard certainly fits the definition of a tragic character, as you mentioned a few times in your post; yet I am interested to know your thoughts on the scope of Hardy's usage of this. You say that Henchard is not fully redeemed at the end, a view that I wholeheartedly agree with. The reader, however, is inspired to feel pity towards him on several counts. His pride has been squashed, his temper beaten down, and the image he has built as a moral mayor has been destroyed. So which of these do you feel are his fatal flaw? Or is his flaw some sort of combination-- something greater (or worse I guess) than the sum of his sins? Finally, why has Hardy employed tragedy as the definition of Henchard?
Very well done on all of your blogs, by the way. They are always a pleasure to read.
I definitely definitely pity Henchard. I feel that, especially toward the end, he regrets a lot of his mistakes, and just wants to live a life that isn't so completely terrible. If I had to pick one specific aspect of his character that I feel is the root of his flaws, I think I'd go with pride. That's why he has such a temper, and that's why he continuously lies to the people around him- so he won't feel less-than. Maybe that's even why he sells Susan in the first place... to me, that scene seems, at first, like he isn't really planning on following through with the sale, but his pride forces him to. (This also works out nicely if we treat Elizabeth and Henchard as foils, which I think they are, because if there is one thing that Elizabeth-Jane lacks, it's hubris.)
DeleteFiona, I'm loving the GIFs. I'm not sure if this is a regular thing or not since I have never visited your blog before, however I am really enjoying their comedic bits nonetheless. I find it very interesting that you decided to paint Elizabeth-Jean as the hero and have her replace our resident anti-hero, Henchard (except he's not exactly an anti-hero since we never liked him/wanted to like him). I like the fact that you have a very distinct writing style, so much so that I can almost hear you saying the words. Your sarcasm and overall supercilious attitude make learning about this novel rather entertaining. I'm now considering picking up a copy of The Mayer of Casterbridge after reading your brief summary at the end of the post.
ReplyDeleteI see what you did there with tragic heroes...
ReplyDeleteCan you clarify one thing that's confused me. If Henchard isn't Elizabeth-Jane's father, does that mean her mother cheated on him before she was sold away? And then is the selling of his wife and daughter (she was already born, right), not supposed to be viewed as as bad of a thing, since he was selling them to the father and lover? Darn those Victorians for their complicated plots.
The real Elizabeth-Jane (the one who was ACTUALLY Henchard's daughter, the one that he sold) died a few months after she and her mother were sold and went to live with Newson. The Elizabeth-Jane who is a major character in this novel was born after the original's death, and was conceived after he mother's sale, which means she's Newson's daughter, not Henchard's. As you can imagine, this was a pretty major plot twist when we were reading, reminiscent of some of the wild times I had while reading Villette.
DeleteIf it had been as you put it above, that would add a whole other layer to the story, which would change everything, I think. It would give Susan a sort of agency she never had, and would probably eliminate a lot of Henchard's internal conflicts. It is interesting to think how small changes could alter the entire course and meaning of the novel, and makes me really have a lot of respect for these authors who can plan everything out so they tell a story they want to while simultaneously getting the message across that they wanted to.