Two
letters
(Hardy’s The Return of the Native, pt. 1)
LitCrit General's Warning: This isn't going anywhere - any of it!*
Do you remember Trudy – Monae, is
that right? – that you fell in love with freshman year in college, then you
came home in the summer and did yard work for Mr. Dent and took Philosophy 101
at Tech, and she went to Mali I don’t remember why – her parents were
missionaries? – and you wrote back and forth like mad all summer: you were
reading Thomas Hardy novels (God knows why: I think she did because she wanted
to believe that coincidence drove history, and you did because she was; and somehow things fell apart, and she transferred I-don’t-know-where, and
you were heartbroken.
She was in a car crash – did you know that? I don’t know when (You know
I never know when.), but I didn’t see her until now. Anyway, she’s here, and I ran
into her, and I let slip that you were reading Hardy again, The Return of
the Native, and she said she was going to
write you. If she did and it got there – or if she does and it gets there – it wasn’t/isn’t
because I gave her your address – I want you to know that. I don’t think Mom
liked her when she visited spring break on her way to an aunt-or-something’s in
D.C., and I don’t think I do either though I don’t know why: Maybe because she
didn’t seem to be as nice to you as you were to her.
Love,
Moira**
I ran into your little sister the
other day, and she gave me your address. She also said you were reading The
Return of the Native. We read it that summer,
right? when I was in Mali and you were home and we were still in love before
unaccountably you were not. (What happened there?) I know we read Mayor of
Casterbridge and Tess and Far from the Madding Crowd. I don’t
think we read Jude, but I vaguely remember Return. (It’s
the one with Eustacia Vye, right?) And, as I said, I heard from your sister you
were reading it again.
I
have found a copy and thought I’d join you if you don’t mind. Actually, I will
read it whether you mind or not. But by “joining you” I meant we could write
back and forth about it as we did 40 some years ago; and maybe we could think
about then and now.
What do you think? Here’s a “start” in any
case, though I am about halfway through. ~~~ Clym Yeobright has returned to the
heath, having decided even before he did that he will stay; he is going to set
up as a schoolmaster. Frankly, it doesn’t look like it’s going to be a good decision,
even if it’s a well-considered one. He’s thought about it. He thinks it’s
right, but is it really? What Hardy captures about “us” is our self-indulgence.
However we think about ourselves, however idealistic we think we are being, we
are all Eustacia, selfish romantics who want what we think we should have whether it is
good for us or not – whether it is good for anyone else or not. If things “at
home” don’t go as we think they should, we wander (Diggory Venn, Clym). If the
wandering doesn’t give us what we’d hoped – even if we’re not sure quite what that
was we were hoping for – we come home. Also, like Eustacia, we are never quite
sure what we do want; or, we want it all – don’t ask us to separate the
wheat and the chaff.
You and I both ended up back in Virginia.
We came to McLean in 1973, left in 1975 – I went away to college –
and my parents went back to Africa. Both of us went away to college – but who thought
Minnesota was a good idea? God, it was cold. So to W&M for me. Anyway, eventually you ended up in the Valley
and so did I though we didn’t know it either of us. We went away for some
reason that seemed good at the time and we came back for reasons that seemed
good at the time. But, what were they?
I have my ideas, but you tell me yours.
Also tell me if I am right about the book, or if I am close anyway. I recognize that
the characters are different from one another. Wildeve is venal; Thomasin feels
hemmed in (and guilty about it); Clym is bright; and Eustacia is dark. (Diggory
is . . . red!) But don’t they all yearn for what they yearn for? And will any
of them – or any of us – be satisfied with what he or she gets?
So we invent “heaven,” where everything
falls into place. We are happy, content, etc. because there is nothing to strive
for. Like I won’t visit my mailbox twice a day looking for your reply to this
letter.
Please! Trudy
10.30.20
