In a fit of drunken anger, Michael Henchard sells his wife and baby daughter for five guineas at a country fair. Over the course of the following years, he manages to establish himself as a respected and prosperous pillar of the community of Casterbridge, but behind his success there always lurk the shameful secret of his past and a personality prone to self-destructive pride and temper. a powerful and sympathetic study of the heroic but deeply flawed Henchard is also an intensely dramatic work, tragically played out against the vivid backdrop of a close-knit Dorsetshire town.

Some think this is Hardy's best, but I don't think it comes near Jude or Tess. Of course, it's very good. ( )

The Mayor of Casterbridge opens with a shocking episode. Tired, bitter, and more than a little drunk, journeyman-laborer Michael Henchard puts his wife Susan and their daughter Elizabeth-Jane up for auction on the fairgrounds of Weydon-Priors. Unexpectedly, a sailor takes the offer, and as Susan is willing, Henchard parts with her for a mere five guineas. The next morning, realizing what he has done, he swears an oath before God to "avoid all strong liquors for the space of twenty-one years to come." Twenty years later, he has become not only the most wealthy and prominent man in the town of Casterbridge, but also its mayor. Yet shadows of his past as well as new acquaintances soon come into his life in the persons of the young Donald Farfrae, Susan and Elizabeth-Jane, and the cosmopolitan Lucetta Templeman.

This being my first Hardy novel, I must say that I was very impressed with him as a writer—a presumptuous remark, I know, but while some classics are famous for great stories rather than great craftsmanship, The Mayor of Casterbridge features both. Little touches struck me throughout, such as the fact that upon their reunion, Henchard gives Susan five guineas—almost as though he is atoning for his sale of her twenty years prior! Before he was a writer, he was an architect, which means that his descriptions of the structures in and about Casterbridge are both believable and fascinating. Indeed, one of the novel's most haunting passages occurs when Henchard, having learned a fearful secret, walks out by himself to the ruins of a Franciscan priory, with a mill attached to it and the gallows nearby. I would not be surprised to learn, moreover, that during that period of his life he was much around "common" folk, because his portrayal of them in this novel seems very convincing. And yet he was also extremely well-educated and -read, quoting Shakespeare, Greek mythology, scripture, and Sir Walter Scott (who may have been an influence, especially when it comes to the conversations among the working class) with ease.

Albert J. Guerard, who wrote the introduction to my edition, sees the Bible as primary literary parallel to Hardy's book, working off of Henchard's own comment "'Tis as simple as scripture history." There is a sense in which Henchard is a larger-than-life Old Testament figure, but nothing came to mind so much while I was reading as Victor Hugo's Les Misérables. At the beginning of both stories a man commits a terrible deed that will change the course of his life, then repents and tries to live a normal life (and also becomes a mayor!). And yet the outcomes are quite different, for while Valjean is able to overcome his obstacles and extend grace in turn, Henchard ultimately succumbs to the consequences of his "original sin," if you will.

There is a sense in which fate is against Henchard—he himself notes that everything he does, no matter how pure his motives, comes back to cause him some grief—but Hardy also quotes Novalis in saying that "Character is Fate," so Henchard does ruin himself as well. Part of his tragedy is that there are two sides of himself that he cannot reconcile. There is the passionate, arbitrary, almost animal Henchard that we meet at the beginning of the book. And then there is the persona he creates for himself by dint of hard work over twenty years, the "Man of Character" of the subtitle. The issue is that everything he does in this guise is characterized by duty, not grace or love (he marries Susan again because he feels beholden to her, and had planned to do the same for Lucetta when he thought Susan dead). For him, these two qualities can never merge and become one.

Despite Henchard's centrality to the tale, much of it is seen through Elizabeth-Jane's eyes, and it is she who dictates the central concepts of the novel. When she meets Farfrae she is attracted to him because "he seemed to feel exactly as she felt about life and its surroundings—that they were a tragical rather than a comical thing" and later she refrains from dressing too gaily because "it would be tempting Providence to hurl mother and me down, and afflict us again as He used to do." These are the sort of words one would expect to hear from Hardy, whose work has a reputation for bleakness, and yet by the conclusion Elizabeth-Jane has changed her mind a little about these things, as is evident from the novel's final words. It seems to me that Hardy is using her to say that despite the sins of our fathers, so powerfully encapsulated by Henchard, there is hope for the future.

In passing, I must commend Pocket Books for their Enriched Classics edition. Not only does it feature eye-catching and unconventional cover art, but the Reader's Supplement is a splendid companion to the text. As well as specific notes, it features a whole essay regarding the tale's backgrounds, and pictorial examples of some nineteenth-century fashions and architectural features that have since become obsolete.

Though (as my father says) one could not read Hardy back-to-back for the sake of one's good humor, I'm looking forward to trying more of his novels in the future, as well as the ITV adaptation of Mayor. ( )

I first read The Mayor of Casterbridge in my early teens, and I remember my shock at what happens in the opening chapters. It was interesting to revisit this novel as an older reader and see if what I remembered was accurate. For the most part it was, even down to the pennies that Susan Henchard lays by to weight her eyelids when she dies. This was rather heavy reading for a young teen, and it certainly made an impression on me.

The storyline is well-known. In a moment of drunken anger, Michael Henchard sells his wife Susan and daughter to a passing sailor at Weydon Fair. He then goes on to become a well-respected corn dealer in the nearby town of Casterbridge. Susan believes that the sale is binding and lives with the sailor as his wife. But when she learns the truth of the matter, she sets out to make things right with her husband, for the sake of her daughter. And thus begins a saga of deception, twisted relationships, and self-destruction.

Credit for the original comparison between The Mayor of Casterbridge (1886) and Victor Hugo's Les Misérables (1862) goes to my friend ncgraham, whose passing observation on that score gave me a new perspective as I read. The parallels in this story to Les Misérables are really stunning. Toward the end, I noticed that Hardy calls some of the impoverished Casterbridge people "misérables." Intentional allusion? Both stories follow the life of a man who suffers from a foolish act all his life. Somehow this man becomes the guardian of a young girl not his daughter, and that girl is the light of his life. And in both stories, her romantic relationship pulls her away from her adopted father and results in a separation between them.

But unlike Valjean, Henchard never is redeemed. Elizabeth-Jane does not appear in time to speak with him on his deathbed as Cosette does with Valjean. And Henchard's life is not particularly inspiring and beautiful like Valjean's — in fact, it's quite the opposite. I think the difference is because God is not a character in His own right in Casterbridge as He is in Les Misérables. Everything is determined by human passion, by chance and coincidence, and we're left feeling as if the floor could give way at any moment. Step on a rotten bit and you'll fall through — and there's no one there to catch you. It's grim.

I am unsure what Hardy is really trying to portray in this story. One line in particular stood out to me, about "Nature's jaunty readiness to support unorthodox social principles" (312). Is Hardy supporting these unsanctioned relationships because Elizabeth-Jane was produced by them? Or are the social issues just a backthought to the engrossing character of Henchard? I felt a sense of futility as I read; there were so many chances for Henchard to give up his destructive course, but he never can.

As with the other Hardy books I've read, this isn't a novel that I will ever really love. It's a good story, but ultimately it left me feeling frustrated. I suppose that means I cared about the characters, but I don't know that I really did. This novel never even comes close to the overarching greatness that is Les Misérables, but it's worth a read at least. ( )

The Mayor of Casterbridge is quintessentially Thomas Hardy. Although the main character rises high, he continues to be haunted by his past misdeeds. You'll trip over the story if you visit Dorchester, England.