There are certain novels. Poems, and songs that I've read or listened to in my life that cause me to see love, as an attainable goal, to be absolutely futile. The Return of the Native by Thomas Hardy is one such book.

There are more messed up, self-serving relationships in this book than in twelve weeks worth of soap operas. For example, some novels have love triangles; this novel has pentagrams. I would have to say that the role of seductress in the novel would have to go to one Eustacia Vye, a raven-haired Goddess with "Pagan Eyes" whose parallels to the character Scarlett O'hara from the Margaret Mitchell novel Gone With the Wind are legion. Both are nice to look at, with strong wills and a penchant for getting themselves into trouble. I find Eustacia a little less devious though, because Scarlett can be more shrewd and merciless than a southern lawyer who sells used cars on the side.

Eustacia's gallery of suitors is a varied lot. The first one, Charley, cannot really be called a suitor because he doesn't actually have a snowballs chance in--Florida, but he falls victim to her spell nonetheless. Charley works for Eustacia's grandfather, Captain Vye. We first see Charley's feelings for her after the rehearsals of the Mummers, a sort of raggedy drama team that perform medieval plays around Christmas time. The Mummers are rehearsing in the Vye barn with Charley playing the role of the Turkish Knight. Eustacia sees the opportunity of taking Charley's role in order to meet Clym Yeobright. After a bit of horse trading, Charley agrees to relinquish his role to her for the sum of fifteen minutes worth of holding her "buck nekkid" hand. Nineteenth century innocuous prostitution at its best, I suppose. He tries to ration it out, not wanting to use it all at once, but alas, like a heroin addict he uses it all up at once and she, like a heroin dealer, is sure to let him know when his time is up and gives him no more than he bargained for. So alas, all young Charley gets for his dog-like devotion is a broken heart and a sweaty palm. To me, this "relationship" is the most life-like. Finally a book where everyone doesn't live happily ever after.

The second victim, er, uhm, suitor is Wildeve. Wildeve and Eustacia share a love affair, but obviously Wildeve is a dual-minded man who wants Thomasin Yeobright as his wife and Eustacia on the side as his concubine. Can't blame a guy for trying; polygyny does sound rather neat. But, fickle man that he is, once he is engaged and the nuptials are ominously before him, he decides to ask Eustacia to run off with him. This plan is eventually followed through with dire consequences.

Finally, there is Clym Yeobright. After ignoring young Charley, and being perched somewhere between accepting and rejecting Wildeve, Eustacia hears of Clym. He seems to be "the one." He's supposedly handsome, with a promising future as a diamond merchant, and most importantly he is from Paris, far away from this God-forsaken heath. Cha-ching! Sounds like a ticket on the gravy train to Eustacia. I have a feeling that Clym could have looked like Boris Yeltsin after a ball bat fight and it would've made no difference. This is another way in which Eustacia reminds me of Scarlett O'hara. On three occasions Scarlett marries to better her position. First to her rivals brother out of pride after being rejected by the amazingly Clym-like Ashley Wilkes. Then out of a desire to leave mourning from her first husbands death, she marries her sister's long-time "beau." Finally, she marries the rich Rhett Butler, a swarthy scoundrel you can't help but love, because she's tired of eating trashy vegetables left over from those damn Yankee conquerors.

Like Scarlett, Eustacia finds that her ideal relationship with Clym is not what she expected. Not only did he decide that he didn't want to return to Paris and his trade, opting instead to teach farmer's kids, but he is struck blind by the pen of Thomas Hardy and decides to chop weeds for a living out on the heath. It makes me wonder if the author had a rival in real life who was a diamond dealer in Paris.

After a few months of married life, and the tragic death of Clym's mother, Eustacia and Clym call it quits. After contemplating suicide, Eustacia, because Prozacâ was still many years away from invention, decided on the geographical cure by running off with the newly rich Wildeve. In a strange plot twist, and continued sadistic streak by the author, both Wildeve and Eustacia drown. Jeez, talk about happy endings.

This book is a good example of the futility of love. While I'll admit that it does exist, and actually is of the storybook variety on occasion, I think that monogamy is overrated. In the book, for example, I think it would've been much better if Clym, Eustacia, Wildeve, and Thomasin had formed a polyandrous relationship. of course, any relationship would have its problems, but without teachings of a very unnatural monogamy as the desired norm, perhaps jealous possession wouldn't be so rampant. But, I don't see our society changing to poly-amourousness any time soon. I guess I have a couple of options though. I can move to an island and start my own society (and still end up alone, old, and insanely talking to a tree stump) or I can go the Thomas Hardy route and write a novel, taking out my frustrations on defenseless characters. Sounds like fun.