#poor mr. boldwood
Explore tagged Tumblr posts
Text
The fact that Michael improvised this line makes me very happy…
#more… more ✨things✨#poor mr. boldwood#he was such a sad cinnamon roll#I wanna give him all the cuddles#far from the madding crowd#michael sheen
34 notes
·
View notes
Text
Far From the Madding Crowd
I have a hot take about classical lit that will have academics everywhere coming for my head, but Thomas Hardy wrote Far From the Madding Crowd from the wrong perspective. Gabriel Oak is fine, but he is predominantly an onlooker on Bathsheba's life, meaning that we miss a lot of narrative insight. Why would she send the letter to Mr Boldwood? According to Gabriel, she thinks it would be a good joke, which is fair enough reasoning, but for all that happens after, I feel like we would gain a lot from knowing her own thoughts during and after. When Elizabeth Bennet rejects Mr Collins's proposal, despite being a sensible choice of marriage, we have it from her perspective, so even though she turned down a good match, we understand completely why she would. Again, with Mr Darcy's first proposal, it is an advantageous match, but we see it all from her perspective, so turning him down makes sense to the reader. With Mr. Boldwood, however, we only really get a retroactive explanation, with his later actions proving her decision right, but almost feels like Hardy is trying to justify it to the reader because marrying Boldwood was very much the sensible choice. I know comparing any novel to Jane Austen is unfair, but at the same time, there is a lot that can be compared to Pride and Prejudice.
To compare, if P&P was told from Mr. Darcy's perspective, I think we would miss a lot of the development, so when Elizabeth accepts his second proposal, it might come across to the reader as if she is accepting as a way of thanking him for saving her family. If we were told the story of Pride and Prejudice from Darcy's perspective, we get a lot of consistency because his feelings for Elizabeth don't change much from the first rejection. If the story was told from his perspective, we would get a lot of insight into his character development from the brash "your family are poor and trash, so marry me" to the final proposal. But the main development comes from Elizabeth's side, especially regarding Darcy, and realizing that she was hanging on to her prejudice against him. Both characters learn a lot, yes, but from a narrative perspective, seeing someone challenge their own prejudice is much more engaging and rewarding than someone shedding their pride. Because we are told the story from Elizabeth's POV, we are certain that she is marrying Darcy because she loves him, not because he saved her family or the fact that he's rich.
I think that's why Far From the Madding Crowd is told from the wrong perspective. Gabriel Oak is consistent (as is shown in his name) in much of his character and his feelings towards Bathsheba. Miss Everdeen, on the other hand (read that in the voice of Donald Sutherland), goes through the most change. In a way, her marrying Gabriel blurs the lines between her realizing that who she wanted was in front of her the whole time and settling for the last man standing because we don't get that internal monologue. When you only see development from the outside, through the perspective of a character who is unchanging, you lose a lot of nuance and don't fully grasp the extent of that change. Because of this, it feels almost as if Bathsheba is settling at the end by marrying Gabriel Oak.
#far from the madding crowd#pride and prejudice#classic literature#mr darcy#elizabeth bennet#Bathsheba Everdeen#Gabriel Oak#rambeling#i should be studying#but instead I'm writing this
2 notes
·
View notes
Text
The one who was all to me
She married William Boldwood. Not because he had a splendid house and acres of parkland, the windows cleverly placed to make the most of the vista and the sunsets, though he did. Not because he was a fine gentleman with a library full of books and a harp, his knotted cravat silk, his riding boots polished to a mirror’s sheen, though he was. Not because it was expected and not because she admired him, though it was and she did.
Bathsheba married William Boldwood because he sang with her at the feast, his baritone clear and true, though she heard in its tone that he would have kept singing even if his voice trembled. Because he knew every word and she could tell he knew what they meant and how he was asking her a question the whole time. Because he watched her as she sang with a longing she understood she could gratify—and found, suddenly as a match was struck, she wanted to. She knew she would not need to say very much and that he would pick up her hand in his when she spoke; she had not known he would bring her palm to his lips to kiss her there or that she would close her hand around to caress to keep it. She had not known how sweet his smile would be when he saw.
They had three years. She asked to plant more barley and fewer oats and he agreed. She asked to start a school for the village girls, a proper school, for the twelve most likely to begin with, and he agreed, nodding but not laughing. She did not give him a son and apologized for it; he refused to accept it, saying she was young and there was time, that she was all in all to him. When a poor girl was found on the brink of death with a newborn child, Bathsheba asked for the apothecary to be called and William gave her to coins to pay from his own pocket. He let her send the maid to Bathsheba’s dowry farm, let her name the baby Will Robin.
A fever came and few died. A grandmother, two nursing babies, a young boy already ill with consumption. And William Boldwood, who came home from riding and said,
“My head aches, I fear I’m unwell.”
He did not die in a day or a day and a night. Bathsheba nursed him herself, fed him broth from a silver spoon with his crest on the handle, lifted his head for him to sip from a cup of water. She gave him medicine the physician left after shaking his head with a mixture of sagacity and resignation, a particular sorrow that a gentleman of long acquaintance would shortly be departing. When nothing worked, she brewed her own teas from herbs she remembered were supposed to help, peppermint and chamomile, boneset and lemon balm, and he choked them down. She read to him and she sang every song she could every recall he’d smiled to hear and she prayed, not well but nothing to lose. She saw how he tried to rally and what it cost him; she saw when he decided it cost too much.
“Gabriel Oak,” he said, his voice halfway ruined with catarrh.
“What? Mr. Oak is fine, he’s managing the farm perfectly well, the flock is thriving. You needn’t worry about that,” Bathsheba said, dipping a soft cloth in water with a handful of lavender buds thrown in. The lavender did nothing for the fever; William still burned to the touch but the scent was pleasant, the reminder of happier days, of summer mornings when the fragrance came in through open windows like laughter.
“When I’m gone, marry him. He’ll help you,” William said.
“But he’s not a gentleman!” Bathsheba exclaimed.
“I’ve a sense that doesn’t make much difference, facing eternity,” he said, beginning to smile before he coughed. When he finished, she wiped his face with the cloth but he reached up to take her hand, to hold her still. “He’s a good man, steady, and he loves you. Has loved you all this time. I know.”
“How do you know?” she asked, not arguing that he would live. She saw in his dark eyes he noticed, that it was a relief and a disappointment. She saw that he loved her and meant to leave her.
“I have seen his expression in my own looking-glass these three years. And the year before, before you married me. I’ve seen how he turns away. And how he cannot help turning back.”
“I don’t need anyone,” Bathsheba said. William still held her hand in his and there was some strength left in him. Just not enough for this world.
“You mayn’t. You’re the most independent woman I’ve ever met. The most self-reliant soul. But it is still a good thing to be loved by someone worthy,” he said, squeezing her hand. “It is till good to have someone’s hand to hold when it grows dark.”
“What if I don’t love him?”
“You’re not a liar, my dear. Not to me and not to yourself. I don’t think you’d lie to Gabriel. He won’t ask you, you’ll have to say something,” William said. He hadn’t spoken this much, this long, in days. He looked something beyond tired.
“I’ll do what’s right, you must know that,” she said softly. He wanted to shut his eyes, to turn his face towards the light from the window. “Rest now, William. It’s all right.”
She married Gabriel Oak. Not because he made every arrangement she couldn’t face, the coffin and the stone, telling the people who worked for her she grieved in her own way, though he did. Not because William had made it his dying wish or request or blessing, though he did. Not because he asked, because he didn’t and not because she couldn’t think of what else to do, because she could.
She married Gabriel Oak because he waited when she asked him into her grand parlor and in his rough clothes, he was all she wanted to look at. Because his eyes were grey and filled with the most patient longing, though she did not know what to say and could not have sung a note, her voice half-ruined with weeping. Because when she lifted a hand, he took it and he came to her instead of drawing her to him, because he murmured there now, sweetheartas he stroked her hair and only kissed her forehead though he held her close, so very close.
The baby came quickly, within the year; William had been right, she was young and there was time enough. Just enough for the midwife to attend to the delivery, instead of Gabriel, just enough time for him to brush the loose hair back from her flushed cheeks as the baby cried, indignant at the cool air, soothed only by her mother’s breast.
Gabriel said they might call the baby Wilhelmina, but Bathsheba shook her head.
“Her name is Ruth, because whither thou go, I shall go. He’d like that better, I think.”
“You’re all in all to me,” Gabriel said. She heard William saying it too, the memory like a charm. She closed her eyes and felt the swaddled baby in her arms, Gabriel’s hand on their daughter’s head. If someone else watched over them all, she couldn’t, didn’t mind it. She didn’t mind it at all.
#far from the madding crowd#au fanfic#team boldwood#team oak#bathsheba everdene/william boldwood#bathsheba everdene/gabriel oak#romance#michael sheen#everyone wins#sort of#fanny robin lives!#and check out#postcards to voters#gabriel oak#william boldwood#bathsheba everdene#kidfic#title from Hardy#poem to emma#the voice
33 notes
·
View notes
Note
Hi! I was gonna ask this on a comment while I reread force and fortitude, but I figure here works too. Based on how you write it, clearly you’re well versed in that era, and I was wondering if you have any book recommendations from that time period. I love reading Jane Austen, but haven’t ventured too far away from her work, so is there any other author or book you’d particularly recommend? Thanks!!!
AaaaahHHHHHH YES
My former English major heart LIVES for this. I’m going to publish this (normally I answer asks privately, but this seems like it could interest other people?? let me know if you’d rather I not and I’ll take it down and send it to you privately later
Okay, so if you love the elegant, collected prose of JA (aka novels that secretly mask an internal rage against a society hellbent on oppressing women economically) may I suggest:
Wuthering Heights, by Emily Bronte (1847): Boy and girl fall in love in the moors of England, but too bad they’re both too selfish and petty to do anything halfway-constructive about it. She’s beautiful and headstrong and passionate, and he’s beautiful and headstrong and poor, with a chip on his shoulder the size of the United Kingdom (Dark, twisted, Heathcliff’s like the anti-Darcy, honestly).
Jane Eyre, by Charlotte Bronte (1847): A plain but impassioned, spirited, and good-hearted governess comes to the imposing Thornfield to instruct a young girl who may or may not be the illegitimate child of a stormy and wealthy man, Mr. Rochester. Jane and Rochester embark on a turbulent love affair limited by her status, and his dark and terrible secret. (It’s incredible and Gothic and the happy ending is also tragic at the same time and it’s honestly one of the best novels ever written and while some people hate it, the recent adaptation with Fassbender (who yes, is monstrous in real life) as Rochester is incredible)
[Honestly, anything by any of the Brontes. Villete: slays me. The Tenant of Wildfell Hall (by the lesser known - odd, considering this is what I consider the objectively best written of the Bronte novels - Anne Bronte) – go ahead and bury me out back, kthnx.]
Far from the Madding Crowd, by Thomas Hardy (1874): A few decades too late to really be considered a contemporary of Jane Austen, Hardy’s fourth novel is electrifying in its analysis and development of Bathsheba Everdene (and yep, the familiar name to a certain YA dystopian heroine is no coincidence), a beautiful and fiercely independent woman who comes into unexpected wealth and must navigate between three men who are determined to win her hand - but only one truly wishes to win her heart. Bathsheba weighs the virtues and downfalls of Gabriel, devoted shepherd, Troy, a charming but rakish soldier, and Boldwood, a comfortably wealthy farmer. (Tragedy abounds, there’s a beautiful if slightly inconsequential/toothless movie version with Carey Mulligan as Bathsheba; and people always talk about Tess of the d’Urbervilles when it comes to Hardy, but hey, how about a heroine who doesn’t have to be completely and totally hurt/destroyed by the men around her? To be honest though, you can’t go wrong with any Hardy, although I’m partial to Madding Crowd and Jude the Obscure)
North and South, by Elizabeth Gaskell (1855): I hope you like misunderstandings and slow burn romance with this one. Margaret takes THE LONGEST TIME to realize she, a haughty gal from the South of England who’s suddenly moved to an impoverished place, actually does love the tough-as-nails manufacturer in her new town – a man who tries to propose to her but really insults her. This book’s got union strikes, building tensions between the classes, and scathing commentary on the treatment of laborers (Charles Dickens actually edited this book, fun fact, and Gaskell’s prose had a significant impact on his own novel, Hard Times). This is Pride and Prejudice in the face of the Industrial Revolution, and given that it’s forty years later, it’s a lot more apparent and enraged in its commentary on feminism and society. It’s a little intense, and a lot excellent, and there is a phenomenal adaptation starring Richard Armitage (yes, Thorin Oakenshield himself, y’all, in one of his earlier, steamingly stoic, roles). If you end up liking Gaskell, I also highly recommend Sylvia’s Lovers (it’s tragic, so so so so tragic, it’s probably 54% of the reason why i’m such a flaming trash can for angst).
The Woman of Colour (1808): This was written by an anonymous figure five years before P&P was published. It follows Olivia, the daughter of a slaveholder and an African woman. It’s a fascinating portrayal of a biracial woman’s movement around the stilted and prejudicial society of the Regency period. Olivia has multiple men interested in her, and she struggles with her sense of duty and what it means to love another. While there are certainly some themes and characterizations (particularly in Olivia’s maid, Dido) that could cause some modern discomfort, it’s a great novel in that it reads so much like an Austen novel, has a biracial heroine, and, many scholars believe it was actually written by a woman of color. And, it dismisses the conventional romance/love novels need to end in a marriage story line.
That’s probably a good starting place, but I’m always here for more recs
8 notes
·
View notes