Jude the Obscure

Done because we are too menny.

Were there ever sadder words in a novel? They're not only sad, they're devastating at the same time, for they strike the reader like a body blow, one from which recovery can only be incomplete. I first read them in my early teens, and never forgot them, finding them just as powerful on the third reading as on the first and second.

[Jude the Obscure] is a difficult book, one full of unrelenting misery from which there is no escape. Hardy's aim in writing it was ...to tell without a mincing of words, of a deadly war waged between flesh and spirit; and to point the tragedy of unfulfilled aims. Jude Fawley did aim - his target a classical education. He studied and dreamed, walking miles just to gaze at the show more spire of Christminster (Oxford), his ultimate goal. Jude was a working man though, and Christminster didn't aim for such as he.

Hardy focusses on that deadly war and those unfulfilled aims, speaking of "the hell of conscious failure" and "the grind of stern reality", territory later explored by [[Arthur Morrison]] in [A Child of the Jago] (1896) and [[Robert Tressell]] in [The Ragged Trousered Philanthropists] (1914).

Jude's downfall began with a wretched marriage to Arabella Donn, "a mere female animal", which ended in separation when Arabella left. Jude then fell in love with Sue Bridehead. While Arabella's early appearances fit a common enough story, it is the saga with Sue that allows Hardy to question whether marriage is a contract or a religious union. Marxist theory had said that there were basically three reasons for marriage: the inheritance of property, the inheritance of title, and religious belief. Property and title didn't apply to Jude; did religion?

Sue was Jude's cousin, someone his aunt had warned him against strongly. Jude was captivated by Sue though, even after she revealed she was married. Sue eventually left this unconsummated marriage for Jude. She tried to convince him through long discussions on religion that theirs should be a platonic union too. That only worked for so long. Children followed; the family slid further down into the morass with each child. Then came the devastating message quoted above, one that for many readers was unfathomable.

Sue moved on to another. Jude was left alone despite the reappearance of Arabella.

Hardy does not spare the feelings or the sensibilities of his readers. This is a brilliant picture of the conditions of the time. However, the book was received with such moral outrage that he never wrote another novel, saying ...the experience completely curing me of further interest in novel writing he could not write another. He wrote in a 1912 postscript to it ... that a marriage should be dissolvable as soon as it becomes a cruelty to either of the parties - being then essentially and morally no marriage. He also said that by then ...somebody discovered that Jude was a moral work, which "uncursed" the author.

This is how it should be read, as a moral work, as Terry Eagleton said, as a conflict between the ideal and reality, and an examination of the notions of duty and obligation.

_______________________

This book was my real life book club's book for April. We voted on a few titles for a classics selection and this one was chosen. Since I had suggested it, I was the one to lead the discussion. I was horrified to discover that many had stopped reading at that fateful quote at the top, with still about 100 pages to go. The idea that the impact had been so awful they could not continue reading filled me with guilt. Should you read it, and feel compelled to stop, don't. Continue on, for by losing that last section of the book, much of Hardy's message is lost.

For myself, once more I could see how rereads over time always offer new perspectives. Where once I had had some sympathy for the aptly named Sue Bridehead, as a sort of "new woman", trying to lead an independent life, she had never seemed the dominant character Hardy intended her to be. This reading, she did stand out as such, a foil to Jude. My attitude toward her changed completely. I now dislike her probably more than any other Victorian character. Even the loathsome Arabella's actions at least made some sense.

What hasn't changed, is my belief that this will always be on my top ten novels' list. show less

I might have liked this book. There's honestly no way to tell for sure, since my first encounter has been thoroughly overwhelmed by the audiobook's dreadful narration. Frederick Davidson (aka, David Case) reads his way through every bit of narrative with an inflectionless sing-song that lands on important words in a whisper as often as it lands on irrelevant ones with emphatic volume. He sobs his way through tearful dialogue instead of reading it with pathos; changes his rough-voiced characters to simpering whiners whenever they're having an emotional moment; and imbues every female character with the least attractive vocal qualities of their sex---limpid die-away airs or hard-voiced whorish manipulation, with no in between.

While there show more might have been something redeemable in these characters if I'd read their story, myself, I've been left with the indelible impression that, no, in fact, these characters are nothing more than mincing ninnies or greedy narcissists or self-deluding fools. And that while, yes, their story is framed by the devouring juggernaut of the English educational system and marriage laws, they would've determinedly ruined their lives even in the absence of these things.

My philosophy teacher in college told me I desperately needed to read this book, that if I did, I would see a British author's compassionate treatment of his characters (in contrast, according to her, to Jane Austen's contempt for them). But I didn't see Hardy's compassion for these people---and I've read Tolstoy, so I know what the compassionate expression of very flawed people looks like. What I saw, what I read, was a determined lambasting of a social system via sad, pathetic people who probably couldn't have made a go of life even under the best of circumstances. Hardy made it difficult for me to even care about these people, let alone have compassion for their circumstances.

I might laugh at Austen's characters, but she means me to. I don't think Hardy wants me laughing, let alone sneering, at his...but that's what I fought not to do through the entire book.

Poor Jude. Poor Sue. What unfortunate wretches you are. show less

The perfect romantic classic for anyone who ever married the wrong person. Full of angst, regret, and longing for the 'right one'. Marriages were not so easily undone a century ago, and falling in love with a distant cousin was more frowned upon while children out of wedlock was forbidden. Jude must cross all of these lines if he is to have any chance at happiness, and the consequences in his time and place will be dire. Skip the final section and imagine your own happily ever after, if you prefer.

I tried other works by Hardy in university - Tess, Casterbridge - and felt disgust with what I felt was a worldview centered on humanity's helplessness when bad luck is ready to strike. Add thirty years and some life experience, and now I can show more appreciate how even the most carefully laid plans really can be hurled into disarray. The romance between Jude and Sue is moving and sweetly expressed ("But I jumped out the window!"), the many obstacles and complications painful. I'm not completely convinced the social mores are their entire downfall. These could have been got around except that the bad luck I bemoaned is again a factor, and my other school years gripe is still true to a degree: their decisions are not always top shelf. I'm more willing now to accept those as plot devices rather than worldview and admit that they would not have been so set up for a fall without everyone's frowning upon them.

A better read with more likeable characters than I was braced for. A harsh finale and bitter message for anyone who has to face down a majority's opinion, and an admonishment for that majority to practice more tolerance. show less

Midway through this, I called my boyfriend, who has an English lit degree, and asked, "Um, besides all the spouse-swapping, is anything actually going to happen in this book?" He laughed and said, "Trust me. Something's going to happen."

Something did.

I finished the book at 3:00 a.m. and couldn't sleep all night. I staggered down to breakfast and sat in the cafeteria with such a traumatized expression that several friends asked me what had happened. Thomas Hardy happened, that's what. Little Father Time happened.

Not all classics are created equal. After scoffing at the Wuthering Heights haters who dismissed the novel because of the 'horrible characters' and lack of romance, I picked up Hardy's miserable marathon after being intrigued by the 'Done because we are too menny' line - and the damn thing nearly killed my reading mojo! In January!

To be clear, I didn't hate the book because of the depressing content, as I was expecting that, but the whole thing - narrative, characters, dialogue - is just so overwrought, in true Victorian melodrama style, that I absolutely couldn't care less about Jude, Sue (and how are you supposed to pronounce the name, if not 'Soo'?) or the myriad supporting cast. In fact, I loathed Jude, who is a mash-up of his show more namesake in A Little Life and the eponymous Stoner, blaming his failings on everybody else and dragging others down with him.

Jude wants to be a scholar at Oxford (Christminster) but he's an uncultured peasant and Oxford has always been for those who are able to buy an education ('Such places be not for such as you — only for them with plenty o’ money.') But instead of admitting that, he blames his failure in the big city on a brief fling with an ambitious country girl called Arabella, which leads to a short lived marriage. (Arabella is dragged through the mud by Hardy, and the Wikipedia plot summary - 'rather coarse, morally lax and superficial' - but she's one of the most entertaining figures in the book!) Then after Arabella dumps him and moves to the other side of the world, Jude decides he will join the church instead and devote his life to helping others, but meets his cousin - his COUSIN, note - Sue Brideshead, and falls hopelessly in - well, lust. But a man of the cloth can't be legally married and chase after a close relative, so he bins off that ambition too and becomes a stonemason.

Then the ranting commences. I don't know how much of this is based on Hardy's life, but boy, has he got issues. After convincing Sue, who marries Jude's older childhood tutor but throws herself out of a window at the thought of consummating the union, to leave her husband and shack up with him, both decide they don't want to get married again (even after both are divorced from their first spouses, divorce being trendy in the late 1800s). Entire PAGES are dedicated, in dialogue, to the argument against bowing to tradition and societal pressure, and the guff the pair face for not tying the knot. I was like, 'Okay, so don't, but stop whinging!' And Sue, who I thought would be some kind of proto-asexual bluestocking - she's even described as a sort of honorary man, at one point, and dresses in Jude's best suit to hold a debate as equals - turns into the worst kind of delicate Victorian heroine, held up as a ideal woman by the author, I'm presuming, because she won't do let Jude do more than kiss her (until there's a bit of a skip in time and suddenly they have two kids and one more on the way because it's 'natural') but also refuses to 'trap' him in marriage ('Is it,' he said, 'that the women are to blame; or is it the artificial system of things, under which the normal sex-impulses are turned into devilish domestic gins and springs to noose and hold back those who want to progress?') And then when her weird stepson, 'Father Time', kills her two children and himself because he believes that their large family is driving them to poverty, she goes completely off the rails. Even before that point, she is far too shrill and contrary to be remotely likeable - the edition I read emphasised words with capitals instead of italics, which sort of fits her better: 'Oh don’t you UNDERSTAND my feeling! Why don’t you! Why are you so gross! I jumped out of the window!' Calm down, love.

Neither did I believe that the pair were star-cross'd lovers, or that 'they seem to be one person split in two!' More like blood relatives. Jude is pathetic, Sue is neurotic and in that way they deserve each other, but they are far from the perfect match, as Hardy tries to ram down our throats. Oh, he's so handsome, oh she's so pretty, how in love they are, blah blah. And the author can't even leave cheerfully wicked characters like Arabella alone - in a drawn out plot that Dickens must have applauded, Arabella returns to 'trick' Jude into marriage once again, after crazy Sue hooks up with her ex to atone for her 'sins' and the deaths of her children. I was so bored by that point. All completely unnecessary, unless you're being paid by the word.

Absolutely hateful, depressing text, but not because of the tragic plot, which is buried beneath the hysterical melodrama and tubthumping from the author. show less

Jude is definitely the most complex character Hardy puts into any of his novels (at least, any of his novels I've read to date). A smart, ambitious, hard-working man, Jude's virtues make him a hero you can't help admiring. This makes his long, slow decline to a tragic end all the more heartbreaking. But, each step in his path toward doom feels authentic. He falls in love with the wrong woman because he's young and foolish. He fails to get into college because he's poor and can't afford the tuition, and can't compete for a scholarship against wealthier young men who've had the advantage of tutors and guidance, in contrast to his self taught education. He's a man who stuffs his head with knowledge, but who makes his living as a show more stonecutter, and the contrast between all his beautiful knowledge and the grinding hardship of his daily labor increasingly becomes unbearable.

The book felt relevant and timely to me. We live in an era of seemingly equal opportunities, but wealth and poverty continue to have an overwhelming grip on people's abilities to take advantage of these opportunities. Hardy was aware--and angry--that an intelligent, hard-working, honest man would be barred by his poverty from rising in the world. Hardy is also plainly angry at the morality of his day, the fact that the world would judge so harshly people who fell in love but didn't choose to shackle that love in the chains of marriage.

I should say that, by the end of the book, I felt as if Hardy had stacked the deck a bit too much against Jude. It would have been too much to ask for a happy ending for the character, but Hardy seems to twist the knife by having Jude's wife leave him dead in his bed to go out and immediately start flirting with other men who might support her. Still, I put the book down feeling as if I'd read something important and truthful, and I can think of no better compliment to give this book. show less

Oh la, how to begin? Can I say I am ecstatic to be finished with Jude and Sue and their woeful lives? Can I also say I am so glad to get out of the cold rain of a story steeped in an uncomfortable blend of pragmatism, melodrama, farce and the dourest view indeed of most human endeavors? Jude Fawley (Folly) and Sue Bridehead (Hmmm) are cousins and when they meet they like one another, for Jude it is instant love both sacred and profane. He tumbles off of the path he set himself as a lad, to study and achieve a place and a degree at Oxford, the great university town that is the crown of Wessex. The melodrama comes in when Sue and Jude are both warned that marriage in their family always ends in tragedy and disaster. They don't marry one show more another, oh no, they stubbornly ignore their hearts and marry disastrously, but back to melodrama and plot twisting, those marriages fail, but wait the drama goes on and on . . . And in between all this Sue and Jude debate and discuss and, amazingly, convince me that they do love and understand one another but are such total ninnies that they will mess up their own chance of happiness.

But here's the thing, the novel is chock full of ideas--serious ones that, in the right book group or classroom could lead to endless discussion. Sue is something special and something new (although it did occur to me she would have gone to be a nun in the old days and would have perhaps been happy enough) a woman who wants to think and do for herself. That she cannot sustain her independence is one of the mysteries that haunts the core of the story. That she is terrified of sexual intercourse, and, even with Jude probably cannot enjoy herself,is a given. For all we like a strong fictional heroine and etc. the reality is that most of us, men and women, are weak and in the face of societal convention and disapproval most of us do wilt under scrutiny. Hardy gives us a real and heart-breaking person in Sue. Jude was slightly less real to me, his utter vulnerability to the machinations of Arabella, his first wife, stretched my credibility. He so readily and naively gives up his dreams for sex, although not having ever been a lustful young adult male, what do I know? And there is never any hint anywhere that any couple are conjugally loving--there is no sense with Arabella that sex is anything other than a transaction that gets her what she wants--a man for appearances. For all her moral appearance, she is far more immoral (and so is everyone else by implication) than poor Jude and Sue with their attempts to live up to their pure ideals.

Hardy puts intellectual striving and sexual desire at firm odds. Marriage, he sees as a social contract the purpose of which is utterly crass and damaging to both men and women, given how prone we are to making bad mistakes with our hearts. He also points out that men consider women something to possess, that marriage is a contract that ensures a form of possession, and that the contract of marriage does assume that the woman will do her duty (It is a given that any man who marries will be game.) In return the man will, supposedly, protect her and their children. There are some horrifying passages where the friend of Sue's first husband advises him to break her spirit if he gets the chance. In the end, this good man, Phillotson is just about convinced and it is left ambiguous just how stern he will be with her. Sue's aversion to getting married, which starts out seeming perverse, by the end seems like good sense, at least for her.

Of course I am not at all sorry to have read the novel. I don't know when I will tackle another Hardy, for this makes three, of which [The Return of the Native] was one I most enjoyed, but probably that was due to the brilliant reading of it by Alan Rickman. (the other was Tess) I have to give this book ****1/2 stars because of what it is, what Hardy presents us with and made me think about, however unwillingly. Rating this sort of book seems idiotic to me, by the way, but so be it.

Some quotes:
beautiful writing: "the fresh harrow-lines seemed to stretch like the channelings in a piece of new corduroy . . ."

On the architecture of Oxford: These were the ideas in modern prose which the lichened colleges presented in old poetry. Even some of those antiques might have been called prose when they were new. They had done nothing but wait, and had become poetical. How easy to the smallest building; how impossible to most men."

Here is a moment that illustrates the sometimes pedantic motion of Jude's thoughts: "Strange that his aspiration--towards academical proficiency--had been checked by a womn, and that his second aspiration--towards apostleship--had also been checked by a woman. 'Is it,' he said, 'that the women are to blame; or is it the artificial system of things, under which the normal sexual impulses are turned into devilish domestic gins and springes to noose and hold back those who want to progress?'

"Sue held that there was not much queer or exceptional in them: that all were so. 'Everybody is getting to feel as we do. We are a little beforehand, that's all in fifty, a hundred years these two {a bridal couple she and Jude are observing} will act and feel worse than we.' I think that rates as mildly prophetic.

As Sue disinegrates later in the novel Hardy has Jude ask, "Is it peculiar to you, or is it common to woman? Is a woman a thinking unit at all, or a fraction always wanting its integer?" Yowza. It's a perfect metaphor in that it is setting the logic of math against the illogic of art and emotion. show less