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Gone to Earth
The daughter of a Welsh gypsy and a crazy bee-keeper, Hazel Woodus is happiest living in her forest cottage in the remote Shropshire hills, at one with the winds and seasons, protector and friend of the wild animals she loves. But Hazel's beauty and innocence prove irresistible to the men in her orbit. Both Jack Reddin, the local squire and Edward Marston, the gentle minister, offer her human love. Hazel's fate unfolds as simply and relentlessly as a Greek tragedy, as a child of nature is drawn into a world of mortal passion in which she must eternally be a stranger.
246 pages, Paperback
First published September 1, 1917
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About the author
Mary Webb
88 books95 followersMary Webb (1881-1927) was an English romantic novelist of the early 20th century, whose novels were set chiefly in the Shropshire countryside and among Shropshire characters and people which she knew and loved well. Although she was acclaimed by John Buchan and by Rebecca West, who hailed her as a genius, and won the Prix Femina of La Vie Heureuse for Precious Bane (1924), she won little respect from the general public. It was only after her death that the Prime Minister, Stanley Baldwin, earned her posthumous success through his approbation, referring to her as a neglected genius at a Literary Fund dinner in 1928.
Her writing is notable for its descriptions of nature, and of the human heart. She had a deep sympathy for all her characters and was able to see good and truth in all of them. Among her most famous works are: The Golden Arrow (1916), Gone to Earth (1917), and Seven for a Secret (1922).
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Displaying 1 - 30 of 147 reviews
October 5, 2015
This is the first Mary Webb novel that I have read and I am left wondering how I have never heard of her before. The writing was so good, and such a strong cast of characters as you could hope to find in a novel, especially the main character, Hazel Woodus. Hazel is innocence personified, an innocence so pure it is bound to be abused by the cruelty of the world, especially by men with no thought beyond their own gratification. Mary Webb's plot makes a stinging criticism of this senseless abuse through the trials of this wonderful character, Hazel. I am definitely looking forward to reading more of Mary Webb's work.
June 25, 2022
WOW-this you must not miss!
Free download at Lbrivox, here: https://librivox.org/gone-to-earth-by...
Gone to Earth was first published in 1917, at the tail end of the Romanticism era of writing. Its author, Mary Webb, is my favorite writer of the period. Don’t confuse works of Romanticism with love stories.
Here is nature writing at its best.
The story’s characters wonderfully epitomize the simple, rural people of England's Shropshire countryside.
“Gone to Earth" is the cry of fox hunters as the fox takes to its den. Th huntsmen and their dogs are then called in to flush out the fox to kill it.
How men and women interact is the central theme of the tale. Hazel is the central protagonist. She is a woman more comfortable out in nature than in the company of human beings. She has a half-tamed fox, a rabbit and a bird. Bees are as close friends to her. Two men, Squire Jack Reddin and Pastor Edward Marston, fall for her. Both are determined to make Hazel their own. The two men have very different temperaments. Whom is Hazel attracted to? She is attracted to different attributes in each.
Love is complete only when both a physical attraction and how one thinks and reasons come together. A couple must meet in both soul and body.
Often an individual has bottom-line principles that cannot be trespassed. Hazel has a deep affinity for the living, free, wild creatures of nature. If they should be hurt, if they need her protection, all else must be pushed aside. Their needs always come before her own!
This is a story of “two thrushes with one worm.”
Emotions and feelings, individualism and an affinity for nature and solitude are important elements of the story. Motivations are laid bare. Events can be interpreted on both a literal and symbolic level.
The prose is wonderful. There is a heavy use of dialect. The dialect makes the characters’ world resonate with authenticity. There is strength and an elemental quality to the prose that stands out above the ordinary. Words of wisdom and humor fill the pages. How ideas are expressed strikes a chord within me. Sample a few lines:
“She had so deep a kinship with the trees, so intuitive a sympathy with leaf and flower, that it seemed as if the blood in her veins was not slow-moving human blood, but volatile sap.”
“You wasn't made like watch-dogs and house-cats and cows. You was made a fox, and you be a fox, and it’s queer-like to me, Foxy, as folk canna see that. They expect you to be what you wanna made to be. You'm made to be a fox; and when you'm busy being a fox they say you'm a sinner!”
“She preferred a man’s roughness to a woman’s velvet slaps.”
“Both men saw her as they wanted her to be, not as she was.”
“But Edward was not thinking; he was doing a much more strenuous thing—feeling!”
A woman is all too often “the servant of the china and the electric plate.”
“Seems as if the world is naught but a snare.”
The audio narration at Librivox by Rachel Lintern is much better than most readers at the site. She handles the dialect with flair. Due to the heavy dialect, I think it might be easier to listen to the book than to read it. The narration is better than good; it is worthy of four stars.
The story holds together well. It kept my attention all the way through. It gripped me both emotionally and mentally. The ending is devastating and yet oh so right. It ends as it should.
************************
*Gone to Earth 5 stars
*Precious Bane 4 stars
Free download at Lbrivox, here: https://librivox.org/gone-to-earth-by...
Gone to Earth was first published in 1917, at the tail end of the Romanticism era of writing. Its author, Mary Webb, is my favorite writer of the period. Don’t confuse works of Romanticism with love stories.
Here is nature writing at its best.
The story’s characters wonderfully epitomize the simple, rural people of England's Shropshire countryside.
“Gone to Earth" is the cry of fox hunters as the fox takes to its den. Th huntsmen and their dogs are then called in to flush out the fox to kill it.
How men and women interact is the central theme of the tale. Hazel is the central protagonist. She is a woman more comfortable out in nature than in the company of human beings. She has a half-tamed fox, a rabbit and a bird. Bees are as close friends to her. Two men, Squire Jack Reddin and Pastor Edward Marston, fall for her. Both are determined to make Hazel their own. The two men have very different temperaments. Whom is Hazel attracted to? She is attracted to different attributes in each.
Love is complete only when both a physical attraction and how one thinks and reasons come together. A couple must meet in both soul and body.
Often an individual has bottom-line principles that cannot be trespassed. Hazel has a deep affinity for the living, free, wild creatures of nature. If they should be hurt, if they need her protection, all else must be pushed aside. Their needs always come before her own!
This is a story of “two thrushes with one worm.”
Emotions and feelings, individualism and an affinity for nature and solitude are important elements of the story. Motivations are laid bare. Events can be interpreted on both a literal and symbolic level.
The prose is wonderful. There is a heavy use of dialect. The dialect makes the characters’ world resonate with authenticity. There is strength and an elemental quality to the prose that stands out above the ordinary. Words of wisdom and humor fill the pages. How ideas are expressed strikes a chord within me. Sample a few lines:
“She had so deep a kinship with the trees, so intuitive a sympathy with leaf and flower, that it seemed as if the blood in her veins was not slow-moving human blood, but volatile sap.”
“You wasn't made like watch-dogs and house-cats and cows. You was made a fox, and you be a fox, and it’s queer-like to me, Foxy, as folk canna see that. They expect you to be what you wanna made to be. You'm made to be a fox; and when you'm busy being a fox they say you'm a sinner!”
“She preferred a man’s roughness to a woman’s velvet slaps.”
“Both men saw her as they wanted her to be, not as she was.”
“But Edward was not thinking; he was doing a much more strenuous thing—feeling!”
A woman is all too often “the servant of the china and the electric plate.”
“Seems as if the world is naught but a snare.”
The audio narration at Librivox by Rachel Lintern is much better than most readers at the site. She handles the dialect with flair. Due to the heavy dialect, I think it might be easier to listen to the book than to read it. The narration is better than good; it is worthy of four stars.
The story holds together well. It kept my attention all the way through. It gripped me both emotionally and mentally. The ending is devastating and yet oh so right. It ends as it should.
************************
*Gone to Earth 5 stars
*Precious Bane 4 stars
January 2, 2016
How has Mary Webb flown under the radar for so many years? Is she the literary world's best-kept secret? Her writing displays a discerning eye and a sensitive spirit. She sees the big picture; she describes the finest details. There are no wasted words. In my opinion, Mary Webb should be ranked right up there with "the best of them"!
This story could very simply be enjoyed as a romantic triangle set in a beautiful and wild countryside -- and enjoyed immensely. But, for those with ears to hear, this story could also be viewed as a wake-up call to modern society. It is a warning about the danger of separating the physical and the spiritual, about the potentially destructive force which is unleashed when one is severed from the other.
Although intellectually challenged, Hazel Woodus is a delightfully whole and wholesome loving person. She, in her simple way, is able to recognize, accept, and rejoice in the pleasures of both physical and spiritual. Hazel celebrates the panoramic sounds and sights of the landscape, the tiny details of plant and animal life, and the spectrum of daily human experience as manifestations of the sacred.
Unfortunately for Hazel, she is not blessed with the presence in her life of a partner who can share both the physical and spiritual aspects of life with her. The minister, Edward Marston (whom Hazel marries) recognizes the depth of Hazel's spirituality and feels that it is necessary to suppress the physical expression of his love for her in order to respect her innocence and purity. He is unaware that he hereby abandons Hazel to the lusty, persuasive, and cruel Jack Reddin (who, having used many women but never loved one, tries to express his love for Hazel through domination and violence).
Hazel is torn. She wants the peaceful acceptance and the freedom that she has in Edward's home and she is also attracted (for reasons she does not understand) by Jack's rough and virile advances. After weeks of confusion and conflict, of going back and forth between the two men, she needs to make a choice. It seems like a good choice. The future appears to hold promise. The hope is short-lived. In the end, neither man can save Hazel from the fierce and all-consuming love which drives her spirit.
This story could very simply be enjoyed as a romantic triangle set in a beautiful and wild countryside -- and enjoyed immensely. But, for those with ears to hear, this story could also be viewed as a wake-up call to modern society. It is a warning about the danger of separating the physical and the spiritual, about the potentially destructive force which is unleashed when one is severed from the other.
Although intellectually challenged, Hazel Woodus is a delightfully whole and wholesome loving person. She, in her simple way, is able to recognize, accept, and rejoice in the pleasures of both physical and spiritual. Hazel celebrates the panoramic sounds and sights of the landscape, the tiny details of plant and animal life, and the spectrum of daily human experience as manifestations of the sacred.
Unfortunately for Hazel, she is not blessed with the presence in her life of a partner who can share both the physical and spiritual aspects of life with her. The minister, Edward Marston (whom Hazel marries) recognizes the depth of Hazel's spirituality and feels that it is necessary to suppress the physical expression of his love for her in order to respect her innocence and purity. He is unaware that he hereby abandons Hazel to the lusty, persuasive, and cruel Jack Reddin (who, having used many women but never loved one, tries to express his love for Hazel through domination and violence).
Hazel is torn. She wants the peaceful acceptance and the freedom that she has in Edward's home and she is also attracted (for reasons she does not understand) by Jack's rough and virile advances. After weeks of confusion and conflict, of going back and forth between the two men, she needs to make a choice. It seems like a good choice. The future appears to hold promise. The hope is short-lived. In the end, neither man can save Hazel from the fierce and all-consuming love which drives her spirit.
June 11, 2025
Ooh this was so difficult to read - as in I had to keep jumping up, to pace the room, to calm my agitation before I could sit and proceed. And at the same time it was such a pleasure. It was also high comedy - and the most heart-wrenching tragedy. And worst of all, I only know the name - Mary Webb, because I'm a member of the group, Virago Modern Classics. That's an awkward statement - the book was available through Internet Archive and so through fortuitous chance and numerous byways I am now familiar with the wonderful Mary Webb. Let me add - a huge, immense thank you to Mela for reviving the group and for keeping it in perfect running order.
Let's begin by saying Gone to Earth, first published 1917, is all about sex. I was shocked. Here's one of those racy, shocking scenes, but really it's more funny than anything else and it is intended to be read as comedy. Hazel is in church, listening to her husband, Edward's, Sunday service, when Reddin arrives. He is the local squire from the big estate close by, Undern. He sits behind Hazel and she feels so disturbed by his presence that she blushes. Mrs Marston, Edward's mother, notices something is amiss and takes Hazel outside and thence to the parsonage to administer some raspberry cordial.
'Can I help?' he asked in his pleasantest manner. 'A doctor or anything?'
Mrs Marston laughed softly. She liked young men, and thought Reddin 'a nice lad,' for all his forty years. She liked his air of breeding, as he stood cap in hand awaiting orders. Above all, she was curious.
'No thank you,' she said, 'But come in all the same, it's very kind of you. And such a hot day! But it's very pleasant in the parlour. And you'll have a drink of something cool. Now what shall it be?'
'Sherry,' he said with his eyes on Hazel's.
'I misdoubt if there's any of the Christmas-pudding bottle left, but I'll go and see,' she said, all in a flutter. How tragic a thing for her, who prided herself on her housewifery, to have no Sherry when it was asked for.
Her steps died away down the cellar stairs.
'So you thought you'd outwitted me?' he said. 'Now you know I've not tamed horses all my life for nothing.'
'Leave me be.'
'You don't want me to.'
'Ah! I do.'
'After I've come all these miles and miles to see you, day after day?'
'I dunna care how many miles you've acome,' said Hazel passionately; 'what for do you do it? Go back to the dark house where you come from, and leave me be!'
Reddin dropped his pathos.
She was sitting on the horsehair sofa, he in an armchair at its head. He flung out one arm and pulled her back so that her head struck the mahogany frame of the sofa.
'None of that!' he said.
He kissed her wildly, and in the kisses repaid himself for all the waiting in the past few weeks. She was crying from the pain of the bump; his kisses hurt her; his shoulder was hard against her breast. She was shaken by strange tremors. She struck him with her clenched hand. He laughed.
A few more struggles on the sofa and then Mrs Marston re-enters.
'This is some of the sparkling gooseberry,' she said 'by Susan Waine's recipe, poor thing! Own cousin to my husband she was, and a good kind body. Never a thing awry in her house, and twelve children had Susan. I remember as clear as clear how the carpet (it was green jute, reversible) was rucked up at her funeral by the bearers' feet. (. . .) But I'm sure I'm quite put out at having no sherry, on account of Martha thinking to return the bottle and finishing the dregs. And there, you asked for sherry!'
'Did I! Oh, well, I like this just as much, thanks.'
He felt uncomfortable at this drinking of wine in Marston's house. It seemed unsportsmanlike to hoodwink this old lady. He had no qualms about Hazel.
If you're familiar with the story, you'll know that Hazel has golden eyes and auburn hair - in other words Hazel is the Sherry! And that response from Mrs Marston, completely oblivious to Reddin the wolf, or is she? Her comment about cousin Susan, "a good kind body." Hazel, however, will not fit into any conventional world. The reason why Mrs M has responded so quickly to Hazel's apparent faint, are her hopes for a pregnancy (lots preferably). Hazel, however, cannot fit into the role of minister's wife, or good housewife, maker of jams and wines etc or babies, and she cannot fulfil Reddin's designs either, that she be a 'good body' to his needs.
Many reviewers have commented on the beautiful nature of the nature writing, so I'll include another short piece:
Hazel stood as Eve might have stood, hands clasped, eyes full of ecstasy, utterly self-forgetful, enchanted with these living toys.
'Eh, yon's a proper bird!' she exclaimed, as a big silken cuckoo alighted on the mud with a gobble, drank with dignity, and took its vacillating flight to a far ash-tree. 'Foxy ought to see that,' she added.
Silver-crested peewits circled and cried with their melancholy cadences and a tawny pheasant led out her young. Now that the dew was gone, and cobwebs no longer canopied the field with silver, it was blue with germander speedwell - each flower painted with deepening colour, eyed with startling white and carrying on slender stamens the round pollen-balls - worlds of silently, lovely activity.
Words fail me in trying to describe this book. It is magical, and something both strange and unique and so funny and ultimately also painful. Most of my reading group wanted to disregard Hazel as 'unreal': 'not a proper character', is how some of them described her. Yes, I agreed with them, Hazel Woodus is not a person, or an individual; she is something so much more than any single person. I believe she is Eve, or a Goddess, or the Divine Feminine. While you are reading the book Hazel feels real, you understand her confusion; her sexual attraction to Reddin; her failure to understand Edward's reticence in matters regarding sex. Edward wants to win Hazel's love. He waits patiently for her to respond to him with her spirit, and by doing so loses her to Reddin.
Here is the little scene when Hazel leaves The Mountain, her home with Marston, and slips away to meet with Reddin:
Edward had gone with his sermon to the back of the house where the tombstones were fewer and it was easier to walk while he read. Hazel ran up to her room, and put on her white dress, which was considered by Mrs Marston 'too flighty' for chapel. She leant out of her window and looked away up the purple hill. Then she gathered a bunch of the tea-roses that encircled it. They were deep cream flushed with rose. She pinned them into her breast, and they matched her flushed face. She was becoming almost dainty in her ways; this enormously increased her attraction for both men. She put on her broad white wedding-hat, and slipped downstairs and out by the kitchen door, while Martha was in the parlour. She shut the door behind her like a vanished life. She felt, she did not know why, a sense of excitement, of some great happening, something impending, in her appointment with Reddin.
Let's begin by saying Gone to Earth, first published 1917, is all about sex. I was shocked. Here's one of those racy, shocking scenes, but really it's more funny than anything else and it is intended to be read as comedy. Hazel is in church, listening to her husband, Edward's, Sunday service, when Reddin arrives. He is the local squire from the big estate close by, Undern. He sits behind Hazel and she feels so disturbed by his presence that she blushes. Mrs Marston, Edward's mother, notices something is amiss and takes Hazel outside and thence to the parsonage to administer some raspberry cordial.
'Can I help?' he asked in his pleasantest manner. 'A doctor or anything?'
Mrs Marston laughed softly. She liked young men, and thought Reddin 'a nice lad,' for all his forty years. She liked his air of breeding, as he stood cap in hand awaiting orders. Above all, she was curious.
'No thank you,' she said, 'But come in all the same, it's very kind of you. And such a hot day! But it's very pleasant in the parlour. And you'll have a drink of something cool. Now what shall it be?'
'Sherry,' he said with his eyes on Hazel's.
'I misdoubt if there's any of the Christmas-pudding bottle left, but I'll go and see,' she said, all in a flutter. How tragic a thing for her, who prided herself on her housewifery, to have no Sherry when it was asked for.
Her steps died away down the cellar stairs.
'So you thought you'd outwitted me?' he said. 'Now you know I've not tamed horses all my life for nothing.'
'Leave me be.'
'You don't want me to.'
'Ah! I do.'
'After I've come all these miles and miles to see you, day after day?'
'I dunna care how many miles you've acome,' said Hazel passionately; 'what for do you do it? Go back to the dark house where you come from, and leave me be!'
Reddin dropped his pathos.
She was sitting on the horsehair sofa, he in an armchair at its head. He flung out one arm and pulled her back so that her head struck the mahogany frame of the sofa.
'None of that!' he said.
He kissed her wildly, and in the kisses repaid himself for all the waiting in the past few weeks. She was crying from the pain of the bump; his kisses hurt her; his shoulder was hard against her breast. She was shaken by strange tremors. She struck him with her clenched hand. He laughed.
A few more struggles on the sofa and then Mrs Marston re-enters.
'This is some of the sparkling gooseberry,' she said 'by Susan Waine's recipe, poor thing! Own cousin to my husband she was, and a good kind body. Never a thing awry in her house, and twelve children had Susan. I remember as clear as clear how the carpet (it was green jute, reversible) was rucked up at her funeral by the bearers' feet. (. . .) But I'm sure I'm quite put out at having no sherry, on account of Martha thinking to return the bottle and finishing the dregs. And there, you asked for sherry!'
'Did I! Oh, well, I like this just as much, thanks.'
He felt uncomfortable at this drinking of wine in Marston's house. It seemed unsportsmanlike to hoodwink this old lady. He had no qualms about Hazel.
If you're familiar with the story, you'll know that Hazel has golden eyes and auburn hair - in other words Hazel is the Sherry! And that response from Mrs Marston, completely oblivious to Reddin the wolf, or is she? Her comment about cousin Susan, "a good kind body." Hazel, however, will not fit into any conventional world. The reason why Mrs M has responded so quickly to Hazel's apparent faint, are her hopes for a pregnancy (lots preferably). Hazel, however, cannot fit into the role of minister's wife, or good housewife, maker of jams and wines etc or babies, and she cannot fulfil Reddin's designs either, that she be a 'good body' to his needs.
Many reviewers have commented on the beautiful nature of the nature writing, so I'll include another short piece:
Hazel stood as Eve might have stood, hands clasped, eyes full of ecstasy, utterly self-forgetful, enchanted with these living toys.
'Eh, yon's a proper bird!' she exclaimed, as a big silken cuckoo alighted on the mud with a gobble, drank with dignity, and took its vacillating flight to a far ash-tree. 'Foxy ought to see that,' she added.
Silver-crested peewits circled and cried with their melancholy cadences and a tawny pheasant led out her young. Now that the dew was gone, and cobwebs no longer canopied the field with silver, it was blue with germander speedwell - each flower painted with deepening colour, eyed with startling white and carrying on slender stamens the round pollen-balls - worlds of silently, lovely activity.
Words fail me in trying to describe this book. It is magical, and something both strange and unique and so funny and ultimately also painful. Most of my reading group wanted to disregard Hazel as 'unreal': 'not a proper character', is how some of them described her. Yes, I agreed with them, Hazel Woodus is not a person, or an individual; she is something so much more than any single person. I believe she is Eve, or a Goddess, or the Divine Feminine. While you are reading the book Hazel feels real, you understand her confusion; her sexual attraction to Reddin; her failure to understand Edward's reticence in matters regarding sex. Edward wants to win Hazel's love. He waits patiently for her to respond to him with her spirit, and by doing so loses her to Reddin.
Here is the little scene when Hazel leaves The Mountain, her home with Marston, and slips away to meet with Reddin:
Edward had gone with his sermon to the back of the house where the tombstones were fewer and it was easier to walk while he read. Hazel ran up to her room, and put on her white dress, which was considered by Mrs Marston 'too flighty' for chapel. She leant out of her window and looked away up the purple hill. Then she gathered a bunch of the tea-roses that encircled it. They were deep cream flushed with rose. She pinned them into her breast, and they matched her flushed face. She was becoming almost dainty in her ways; this enormously increased her attraction for both men. She put on her broad white wedding-hat, and slipped downstairs and out by the kitchen door, while Martha was in the parlour. She shut the door behind her like a vanished life. She felt, she did not know why, a sense of excitement, of some great happening, something impending, in her appointment with Reddin.
October 21, 2011
Not quite as magical and poetical a book as "Precious Bane" but still special and confirming Mary Webb as one of my newly discovered favourite authors. The story is very much a parallel to "Tess of the D'Urbervilles" - the innocent gypsy girl, Hazel, torn between the good and honourable parson who she marries and the rough, rugged squire, who is destined to bring her to ruin. However, reading Tess, it is difficult to get into the mindset of the characters and not to look at the story from a modern perspective, feeling frustrated at Angel Clare for being unable to accept Tess for who she is and at Tess for being such a pathetic drama queen. In Gone To Earth, the characters are far easier to comprehend. Their motives are clearly described; Edward, the parson, putting Hazel on a pedestal and fighting against his desires for fear of seeming to force himself on his young wife, when in truth, if he had been the one to awaken the sexual life of Hazel, she would have been his forever. Hazel, in her turn, it is clear, is an innocent, drawn to Squire Reddin by feelings she doesn't really understand herself. This is so vividly described that it is easy to relate back to your own first stirrings of sexuality, with the mixture of fear, confusion and excitement that it held in equal measure.
Again, the descriptive passages and the dialect dialogue lift the book from mere narrative to poetic spleandour. You don't just READ a Mary Webb book, you FEEL it!
Again, the descriptive passages and the dialect dialogue lift the book from mere narrative to poetic spleandour. You don't just READ a Mary Webb book, you FEEL it!
August 14, 2017
How can I have lived 51 years without ever hearing of this marvelous writer? She is the missing link between Thomas Hardy and John Cowper Powys, a visionary turning her rapt attention on wild things, the human mind, and the numberless tendrils that connect them. Very much in the spirit of the Brontes, with all the gothic melodrama that goes with such a spirit, this novel is not remarkable for its plot, which is simply that time-honored tragic device, the love triangle, but for its rich sense of character and setting, which are portrayed as ultimately indivisible. Though some passages elicit groans for their naive sentimentality, many, many more draw gasps, even tears for their feeling wisdom. My new mission is to read everything this wonderful writer has written, and then start over again with this.
July 15, 2013
This was a poetically lyrical and intense novel.
In many ways the main characters are more like archetypes than the sort of individuals we would ever encounter in the everyday world. Hazel the heroine is a child of Nature - though not Nature in its less gentle aspect. Reddin the local squire who pursues her is all aggression and passion. Edward who marries Hazel but cannot keep Reddin away represents a spirituality that is too far removed from the natural world.
I particularly enjoyed the way the plot gathers pace towards the end. I had a horrible feeling that all would not end happily ever after, but was nonetheless surprised by the twists and turns of the narrative in the final section. (However these twists all seemed wholly credible.)
Some of the 'purple passages' in which the beauty of an idealised rural Shropshire is celebrated are stunningly beautiful. I was also very intrigued by the way in which - without commenting directly on contemporary events - the novel is a condemnation of just how much damage the unchecked destructive impulses of humanity can do. (Mary Webb was writing at the end of the First World War.) It's also interesting when viewed as a step forward from the 'Fallen Woman' novels of the Victorian Era.
I am inclined to think that if Mary Webb had been a man, she would be studied alongside Hardy and DH Lawrence. But because she's female she is - quite unjustly - only known as the person who inspired Stella Gibbon's satirical 'Cold Comfort Farm;
In many ways the main characters are more like archetypes than the sort of individuals we would ever encounter in the everyday world. Hazel the heroine is a child of Nature - though not Nature in its less gentle aspect. Reddin the local squire who pursues her is all aggression and passion. Edward who marries Hazel but cannot keep Reddin away represents a spirituality that is too far removed from the natural world.
I particularly enjoyed the way the plot gathers pace towards the end. I had a horrible feeling that all would not end happily ever after, but was nonetheless surprised by the twists and turns of the narrative in the final section. (However these twists all seemed wholly credible.)
Some of the 'purple passages' in which the beauty of an idealised rural Shropshire is celebrated are stunningly beautiful. I was also very intrigued by the way in which - without commenting directly on contemporary events - the novel is a condemnation of just how much damage the unchecked destructive impulses of humanity can do. (Mary Webb was writing at the end of the First World War.) It's also interesting when viewed as a step forward from the 'Fallen Woman' novels of the Victorian Era.
I am inclined to think that if Mary Webb had been a man, she would be studied alongside Hardy and DH Lawrence. But because she's female she is - quite unjustly - only known as the person who inspired Stella Gibbon's satirical 'Cold Comfort Farm;
September 26, 2025
Gorgeous read so wonderfully rural and so deep in nature. like a fairy tale with scary moments where the heroine is in trouble and gets rescued several times!.how strongly animals are present as companions as trusted family.threaded with music and flowers and weather and wild woods and foggy mountains.just beautiful far far from the modern world.Read under blankets with rains smacking the windows and lightening far away. with my dog tucked close to me.
June 12, 2025
To my mind this didn't have the depth of characterisation for the previously read Precious Bane. For this reader Hazel was "too" innocent, "too" naive to be truly believable. Much preferred the second half of the novel, it had more depth, poignancy.
August 1, 2024
Γιατί δε μου είχε μιλήσει κανείς μέχρι τώρα για τη Μαίρη Γουέμπ δεν μπορώ να καταλάβω! "Η αλεπουδίτσα" της μου έκλεισε το μάτι σε παλαιοβιβλιοπωλείο της Αθήνας και ενθουσιάστηκα που τη βρήκα γιατί λίγες μέρες πριν την κάθοδο είχα πέσει πάνω της ψάχνοντας ένα άλλο εξαντλημένο βιβλίο στο metabooks.
Γραφή πολύ διαφορετική από της Έρπενμπεκ που διάβαζα τελευταία, ποητική, πληθωρική, λυρική, με απίστευτες περιγραφές της φύσης που σε κάνει να νιώθεις πως είσαι κι εσύ μια μικρή Φόξη ή Χέιλυ που οσφραίνεσαι τη χλόη ή νιώθεις στα αφτιά σου το ζζζζζ από τα μελίσσια. 300 σελίδες που βγαίνουν άνετα σε ένα απόγευμα γιατί πολύ απλά δεν μπορείς να το αφήσεις από τα χέρια σου. Ειδικά όσοι αγαπάτε τον Χάρντυ και τις αδερφές Μπροντέ ψάξτε το, μου ήρθαν στο νου σε αρκετές σελίδες.
"Η αλεπουδίτσα" είναι κάτι παραπάνω από ένα ερωτικό τρίγωνο, όπως μπορεί να υποθέσει κάποιος αν μείνει στην περιγραφή της υπόθεσης του έργου. Είναι ένα βιβλίο που μιλά με τόλμη για τις ανάγκες της γυναίκας για ελευθερία, για ανεξαρτησία, για την επιθυμία να μην ανήκει σε κανέναν, ούτε σε πατέρα, ούτε σε σύζυγο, ούτε σε εραστή. Για την αγάπη για τη φύση, για την αγάπη για τα ζώα (η Φόξη είναι ένα ζωάκι-σύμβολο με πάνω από μία ερμηνεία), για την θρησκευτική υποκρισία αλλά και για το αληθινό μήνυμα του χριστιανισμού, για τις συμβάσεις και τα θέλω, για την πάλη ανάμεσα στη λογική και το ένστικτο και για πολλά ακόμη.
Το βάζω στο top 5 των βιβλία που με άγγιξαν περισσότερο φέτος -μέχρι τώρα τουλάχιστον 😊
Γραφή πολύ διαφορετική από της Έρπενμπεκ που διάβαζα τελευταία, ποητική, πληθωρική, λυρική, με απίστευτες περιγραφές της φύσης που σε κάνει να νιώθεις πως είσαι κι εσύ μια μικρή Φόξη ή Χέιλυ που οσφραίνεσαι τη χλόη ή νιώθεις στα αφτιά σου το ζζζζζ από τα μελίσσια. 300 σελίδες που βγαίνουν άνετα σε ένα απόγευμα γιατί πολύ απλά δεν μπορείς να το αφήσεις από τα χέρια σου. Ειδικά όσοι αγαπάτε τον Χάρντυ και τις αδερφές Μπροντέ ψάξτε το, μου ήρθαν στο νου σε αρκετές σελίδες.
"Η αλεπουδίτσα" είναι κάτι παραπάνω από ένα ερωτικό τρίγωνο, όπως μπορεί να υποθέσει κάποιος αν μείνει στην περιγραφή της υπόθεσης του έργου. Είναι ένα βιβλίο που μιλά με τόλμη για τις ανάγκες της γυναίκας για ελευθερία, για ανεξαρτησία, για την επιθυμία να μην ανήκει σε κανέναν, ούτε σε πατέρα, ούτε σε σύζυγο, ούτε σε εραστή. Για την αγάπη για τη φύση, για την αγάπη για τα ζώα (η Φόξη είναι ένα ζωάκι-σύμβολο με πάνω από μία ερμηνεία), για την θρησκευτική υποκρισία αλλά και για το αληθινό μήνυμα του χριστιανισμού, για τις συμβάσεις και τα θέλω, για την πάλη ανάμεσα στη λογική και το ένστικτο και για πολλά ακόμη.
Το βάζω στο top 5 των βιβλία που με άγγιξαν περισσότερο φέτος -μέχρι τώρα τουλάχιστον 😊
April 20, 2017
A strange and wondrous novel, reminiscent of the Brontes and Hardy, with the fiery, Biblical prose of early Cormac McCarthy.
June 12, 2025
I was tired, especially at the beginning. I do not know how much it was the fault of the lector's interpretation, her voice of the main character, from which she didn't make a person naive or innocent, but more like stupid and annoying.
The idea may have been good, but I didn't like the realization much. The confrontation of nature with civilization was bad, stereotypical, and naive.
The idea may have been good, but I didn't like the realization much. The confrontation of nature with civilization was bad, stereotypical, and naive.
May 11, 2025
«Ambos la deseaban con una pasión semejante en lo intenso y repentino. Hazel no quería a ninguno de los dos. La única pasión que sentía, con intensidad no menor, era por la libertad, por el sendero del bosque, donde la vida llena de aventura se vivía en la copa de los árboles».
3,5 - ¿Por qué las pasiones terminan, a veces y de forma completamente irracional, volviéndonos locos y sacando lo peor de nosotros mismos? ¿Con qué frecuencia perdemos la inocencia por la crueldad y el egoísmo de los demás?
¡Qué ganas tenía de volver a Mary Webb! Su estilo tan característico entre la fábula y la leyenda con toques místicos y la presencia imperfecta de la naturaleza me enamoró en «Precioso veneno» me ha vuelto a fascinar en esta novela, en que nos trae, de nuevo, una protagonista valiente, atrevida y que se enfrenta a un mundo dominado por los hombres.
En este caso, Hazel, que vive con su padre en un pequeño rincón del bosque, empieza a ser seducida por dos hombres muy distintos, que se obsesionan para conseguirla.
Durante toda la narración, tienes la sensación de que, a pesar de la bondad innata de la protagonista, algo malo va a ocurrir. Sin embargo, el tono, en varias ocasiones, hace reír por la ingenuidad de Hazel y las situaciones que se generan, sobre todo en la primera mitad. Hacia el principio de la segunda, empezamos a ver claramente los temas que trata: el despertar de la inocencia y el deseo sexual, la supremacía y la agresividad masculina y la independencia de una mujer joven que va a intentar hacerlo todo para seguir conservándola.
Y, quizás, es esto último lo que más me ha gustado de la novela: la fortaleza y la perseverancia de Hazel por conservar su independencia y la vida que quiere vivir, entre los árboles, las flores y los animales. Pero, como a todos y todas nosotros, la crueldad del mundo lucha por imponerse en contra sus deseos y su fuerte personalidad y la va a enfrentar con la persona que es y en la que se quiere convertir.
«Qué manía tiene la gente de decir que soy de alguien: preferiría ser mía».
La autora, que publicó esta novela en 1917, demuestra con su narrativa no solo que era una adelantada al tiempo que le tocó vivir, sino que creía en un estilo de vida impensable para las mujeres de la época, que tan solo debían casarse y tener hijos para ser aceptadas por su entorno.
El final de la novela me ha encantado: no solo es coherente con la evolución del personaje y de los acontecimientos, sino que muestra, en parte, el destino de las mujeres que desafiaban las normas de su época y querían hacer las cosas a su modo.
#BajoTierra #MaryWebb #PreciosoVeneno #Trotalibros
3,5 - ¿Por qué las pasiones terminan, a veces y de forma completamente irracional, volviéndonos locos y sacando lo peor de nosotros mismos? ¿Con qué frecuencia perdemos la inocencia por la crueldad y el egoísmo de los demás?
¡Qué ganas tenía de volver a Mary Webb! Su estilo tan característico entre la fábula y la leyenda con toques místicos y la presencia imperfecta de la naturaleza me enamoró en «Precioso veneno» me ha vuelto a fascinar en esta novela, en que nos trae, de nuevo, una protagonista valiente, atrevida y que se enfrenta a un mundo dominado por los hombres.
En este caso, Hazel, que vive con su padre en un pequeño rincón del bosque, empieza a ser seducida por dos hombres muy distintos, que se obsesionan para conseguirla.
Durante toda la narración, tienes la sensación de que, a pesar de la bondad innata de la protagonista, algo malo va a ocurrir. Sin embargo, el tono, en varias ocasiones, hace reír por la ingenuidad de Hazel y las situaciones que se generan, sobre todo en la primera mitad. Hacia el principio de la segunda, empezamos a ver claramente los temas que trata: el despertar de la inocencia y el deseo sexual, la supremacía y la agresividad masculina y la independencia de una mujer joven que va a intentar hacerlo todo para seguir conservándola.
Y, quizás, es esto último lo que más me ha gustado de la novela: la fortaleza y la perseverancia de Hazel por conservar su independencia y la vida que quiere vivir, entre los árboles, las flores y los animales. Pero, como a todos y todas nosotros, la crueldad del mundo lucha por imponerse en contra sus deseos y su fuerte personalidad y la va a enfrentar con la persona que es y en la que se quiere convertir.
«Qué manía tiene la gente de decir que soy de alguien: preferiría ser mía».
La autora, que publicó esta novela en 1917, demuestra con su narrativa no solo que era una adelantada al tiempo que le tocó vivir, sino que creía en un estilo de vida impensable para las mujeres de la época, que tan solo debían casarse y tener hijos para ser aceptadas por su entorno.
El final de la novela me ha encantado: no solo es coherente con la evolución del personaje y de los acontecimientos, sino que muestra, en parte, el destino de las mujeres que desafiaban las normas de su época y querían hacer las cosas a su modo.
#BajoTierra #MaryWebb #PreciosoVeneno #Trotalibros
September 14, 2011
1.5* I was looking for "Precious Bane" but came across this instead and thought I'd try it. I liked it a lot for about 3 or 4 chapters, taken in by the charm of the coffin-carving father and his daughter Hazel with her pet vixen and the nature description which was good - and then, well, I thought to myself - this is weird, what's happening, is this girl a wild thing or an idiot? And what's this with the obsession with sex? And then I looked into it a bit more and discovered to my chagrin and many "now-I-get-it" giggles, that this is the book Stella Gibbons based "Cold Comfort Farm" on! (Everything fits - the fey little nature-lover, the oversexed farm men (although everything in this book seemed to be about sex somehow),the surly aged servant et al.)Thank goodness for Stella Gibbons' wit and sarcasm! This book was an eye-roller extraordinaire. I really detested the clumsy and heavy-handed mystic nature philosophy. This could have been a good book, strangely enough, but she ruined it. "What for I read this?" as Hazel would say. So! I highly recommend you avoid it! Go straight to "Cold Comfort Farm" and enjoy the parody! ("Precious Bane" might be a little too precious for me now - we'll see.)
June 23, 2018
A book written in the first person with a rural Shropshire dialect. As the story progresses, it does so with an impending sense of doom and tragedy for the main character, Hazel. The observations of the natural world and the consideration of the treatment of animals and their feelings are strongly portrayed, amidst a backdrop of a rural community set in the ways of hunting and farming. I would recommend this book to friends and at times felt parallels with Thomas Hardy's Tess, and how she was destined to tragedy right from the start, through no fault of her own, apart from a naivety and innocence about the ways of the world.
Read
July 8, 2017That blurb describing this as "soil and gloom" is pretty spot on.
If you're reading the Virago's, put this one on the list.
SPOILER -- I was however a bit disappointed in the Thelma & Louise ending. I think there is something anti-feminist in that kind of thing.
If you're reading the Virago's, put this one on the list.
SPOILER -- I was however a bit disappointed in the Thelma & Louise ending. I think there is something anti-feminist in that kind of thing.
January 12, 2015
This entire review has been hidden because of spoilers.
May 26, 2018
'The strength of the ancient laws of earth...' (p.70)
Parallels are drawn between Mary Webb's Gone To Earth [1917] and Thomas Hardy's Tess Of The D'Urbervilles [1891], the two themes of the young, fresh, naïve rustic beauty just becoming aware of her sexuality, causing passionate men to become breathless in her sight, and the love triangle of peasant girl, domineering arrogant squire and the gentle adorer.
'Hazel had her mother's eyes, strange, fawn-coloured eyes like water, and in the large clear irises were tawny flecks. In their shy honesty they were akin to the little fox's. Her hair, too, of a richer colour than her father's, was tawny and foxlike, and her ways were graceful and covert as a wild creature's.' (p.13)
In Webb's location, the foothills of the Welsh mountains in deep rural Shropshire - the South Shropshire hills - we find a profoundly deep pagan resonance, where the land forms the people and the people the land. Webb's descriptive daubing of the place and the peaceful yet brutal prevalence of Nature in the spirituality of Hazel Woodus - who has a profound unarticulated connection to the land and its creatures and woods - is immediately developed through plant and wildlife. The little cottage of bare brick with only a rusty corrugated tin roof stands at the foot of the Callow, surrounded by a large garden:
'In the summer white lilies haunted it, standing out in the dusk with their demure cajolery, looking, as Hazel said, like ghosses. Goldenrod foamed round the cottage, deeply embowering it, and the lavender made a grey mist beside the red quarries of the path. Then Hazel sat like a queen in a regalia of flowers, eating the piece of bread and honey that made her dinner, covering her face with lily pollen.' (p.19)
Wild as the woods and the creatures in it, Hazel attracts men like honey bees. Pursued both by the local minister, Edward Marston, and the neighbouring squire-farmer, Jack Reddin, she wants neither, she just wants the Callow and the woods and Foxy, but is told by her father that she is ready for marrying. In one of their taunting arguments, she promises herself to the first that asks. It's the parson.
'Both men saw her as what they wanted her to be, not as she was.' (p.125)
And this is the seed of the 'purple-mantled' tragedy, whatever else happens. For convention is not a veil that could adorn Hazel Woodus: she belongs to a pagan tribe, akin to her gypsy mother who stared out of the open cottage door every day, longing for the freedom of the wild - before the day she suddenly left. Hazel dances in the fields and woods, sucks the nectar from the wimberry flowers, adorns her head with foxgloves, 'crowned with madness' (p.169). Beneath the vast canopy of the gloaming sky she loses all sense of self, all personality, and is merely a being, a creature amongst those with whom she naturally belongs. She is a Pagan spirit, and the tame Christianity of the Marstons cannot, will never, tame her.
'Hazel, in the fields and woods, enjoyed it all so much that she walked in a mystical exaltation. Reddin in the fields and woods enjoyed himself only. For he took his own atmosphere with him wherever he went, and before his footsteps weakness fled and beauty folded.' (p.164)
Thus she is gradually, then suddenly drawn to Reddin's dark coarse magic, the strength of her resistance proportionally weakened by his brutish persistence:
'... during each meeting with him she had been more perturbed. His personality dragged at hers. Already he was stronger than her fugitive impulses, her wilding reserve. He was like a hand tearing open a triplet of sorrel leaves folded for rain, so strong in their impulse for self-protection that they could only be conquered by destruction. She was afraid of him, yet days without him were saltless food. There was a ruthlessness about him - the male instinct unaccompanied by humility; the patrician instinct unaccompanied by sympathy; the sportsman's instinct unaccompanied by pity. Whatever he began he would finish.' (p.174)
Hazel, borne under by this relentless domineering conquest, must capitulate, despite her best endeavours at loyalty for her new husband, whom she likes, respects, cares about, yet cannot love, for in those few moments when, with a little forceful masculinity he could have made her love him forever, his paternal protective religion swerved him away from his troubling male instinct - his was an intellectual determination, of which Reddin knew nought.
It is not incidental that Webb uses the symbol of the trifoliated sorrel closed for protection, only to be opened by destruction. This is a manifold symbolism, not merely of the precious nature being destroyed by brute force, but of the religious protectionism of Edward in the Christian trinity being crushed by the brutal passions of Reddin's primeval need and greed. Much of Webb's allusive metaphor is of nature: flowers and plants, trees and shrubs, animals and birds. Throughout the novel she refers to some 40 flowers and plants, 25 trees, more than 35 birds and 20 animals. Nature and Hazel; Hazel is Pagan. Even her surname speaks of her natural abode, probably a corruption of woodhouse, Woodus.
As we begin the story, she is romping about the Callow with her pet cub vixen, clambering through the birches and ash and larch, 'a half-fledged bird' (p.11), down into the fold of her garden and its apple trees and beehives. Her only pair of stockings are not on her legs, her hair is tangled, her dress tears from shoulder to waist, her beauty worn 'without self-consciousness'. She is forever a dryad, a tree nymph, and although the grand oak is never mentioned in the novel, it is always implicit in the heartland of Hazel Woodus's nature ('drys' signifies 'oak' in Greek).
Some of Webb's most beautiful prose is poetic or even Shakespearean: the 'deep and darkly spotted bells [of the foxgloves worn round her head in a wreath] shook above her, and she walked like a jester in a grieving world, crowned with madness.' (p.169). It is therefore no surprise that Hazel capitulates to Reddin on Midsummer Night's Eve - the half-way point in the novel. Referring to the manuscript-book of spells and charms and other gypsy lore, the only material inheritance from her mother, she follows two rites intended to show her path: stay with Edward, or go to Reddin.
The simplicity with which she mistakes the incidence of man (hearing, unknowing, her own father playing his harp on the the way home from a show) and the accidents of nature (a falling flower petal) taken as signs does not merely betray her naïvety, but speaks of her entire nature. She hears the strains and sees the sigils of the natural world about her as part of some faerey world, and these elfin semblances are part of the world which guides her, no different from the water of the brook, the sap of the tree or the blood of the fox, but the lifeblood of her inner world, the thrum of her spirituality. Follow them, she must, as Puck leads blind lovers to dumb fates.
Webb threads the darker spells of her faerey magic through her manifold allusions to Nature, creating metaphor in our minds often without the direct use of the literary device, weaving it within the unravelling of Hazel's persona, fate and story, with the foreboding of forces too powerful which will overcome her, as the darkening evenings and threat of severity of weather build up and pour over the Welsh hills looming in her background. God's Little Mountain cannot protect her from such atavistic compulsions as old as Time. Edward's timid religious tenets and rituals - as much an intellectual determination rather than a faith in his most desperate crises - cannot stand up to the ur-like forces bent on the frailty of her pagan beauty. The outcome is a fait accompli even before the dread description of Undern Mansion, Reddin's Gothic retreat, rotten and corrupt, haunted, dark and dank as the weathered Welsh hills at night, full of threat. From the moment Reddin's horse and trap are heard on that dark road, Hazel's fate is writ:
'A power was on Hazel now, driving her against the one instinct of her life hitherto - the wild creature's instinct for flight and preservation. (p. 170).
She has just freed a rabbit from a trap, screaming in pain. Blood soaks her peacock-blue dress; it will not wash out; it will forever be 'like the stigma of pain that all creatures bear as long as they wear the garment of the flesh.' (p.50). Hazel's heart beats with the creatures; Reddin sets the traps they are driven into in their hunger, to cause their pain, to destroy them.
'He spoke with a quite unconscious brutality; he voiced the theory of his class and his political party, which tacitly or openly asserted that woman, servants and animals were in the world for their benefit.' (p.211).
But in the end, it is Hazel's 'own physical nature' that proves 'traitorous to her freedom' (p.211), when she meets Reddin at Hunter's Spinney for a tryst she knows deep inside part of her, the dominant part at the time, wants more than the safety and comfort of her life with Edward, more than the offensiveness of Reddin and Vessons and Undern might otherwise have repelled, more urgent then than the love and protectiveness she had of Nature's wild things.
Webb builds to this moment of capitulation with the storm on its wings, threatening from the purple hills. It symbolises some raw occult, supernatural or magical power which hazel feels - though she cannot articulate - is at the centre of the forces which drive that storm, are its thunder; is behind the power of the maddened horse, which Reddin whips and lunges on; is that undeniable urge which pushes her on to the Spinney, which ruins her life; is the antic power of her faerey world. It is this unearthly force which drives all the events of the novel - and against which Edward, spiritually and intellectually, struggles, in his soul.
The novel is a chiaroscuro of light and dark, and the bleeding between the two, like the 'flaming sky' (p.172) at sunset when Reddin finally wins over her Pagan freedom. Hazel is the bright vivid light of spring and summer, of burgeoning life; Reddin the dark mindless annihilation of an unearthly dark that consumes all. You are reminded of the Ur-poems of Blake's 'Songs of Innocence' [1794]: his children are both blessedly uncomplicated, and immune from, or above, human wisdom, with an innocence that seems to insulate them from danger or sorrow. Hazel is the child of Nature, innocent yet of the brutishness of adult sexuality, feeling the pain of the sins of the world (like the sacrificial Lamb of God?) through the creatures she shares it with, waiting, unknowing, to be ensnared in the trap of adult possessiveness, which lacks all and any spirituality.
In part a pastoral, in part a Gothic novel, this bildungsroman of a girl entering womanhood is a poetic treatise on the differences of spirituality between Paganism and Christianity, underlay by a brooding and rambunctious Nature, in the woods, its trees, shrubs, birds and creatures, and in the shadows of the ominous mountains. Webb writes with a sensitivity of the burgeoning effulgence of Nature and an understanding of the inner drives of humanity in its coarseness and refinedness both, in Reddin and Edward, and in the difference between primal urges and intellectual sensibility - and the pull that each has on the naïve beauty whom both fall for, but who might only fall for one while longing for the other, in such different ways.
Webb's novel has deeper overtones than the dark brooding threat advancing over the Welsh Mountains as Hazel's fate overwhelms her, imagery developed by Alan Garner in his finale in The Weirdstone Of Brisingamen [1960], as the storm which is the jaws of the wolf sweep down to end the flood of humanity - and magical races - on the plain below Shuttlingslow - an image prompted by the knowledge of Webb's interest in The Mabinogion [1410]. But the novel is perhaps also allegorical of the then current waste of Europe's youth at the front of World War I: Hazel is used and abused by Church (Edward) and State (Reddin) for their own selfish needs and greed for gains, and that dark storm sweeping off the Welsh Mountains symbolises a wider fate than the destruction of a single innocent.
This lovely little book, written in language that touches many quiet places in the inner self, is melodic and mournful, quickening and dulling, light and dark, haunting and liberating, and conjures a sense of place which resonates within, and which will stay with me in affection. In some way - not least because I was born in and have returned to Shropshire, and currently live at the foot of the South Shropshire Hills - reading this novel made me feel grounded. Erika Duncan, in her introduction (1979) to my Virago copy of 1983, puts her finger adeptly on this impression:
'... I think her writings call to life the homesickness for childhood in us all.' (p.4).
June 27, 2019
Who is Mary Webb? I did not know. No one told me about her, except Roald Dahl. Thank you, Mr Dahl, for enriching my life once again. For ensuring I did not miss so many, many important missives from the mind of a woman born in 1881, and writing in the 1910s to 20s. Biographies observe that her "lyrical style conveys a rich and intense impression of the Shropshire countryside and its people." Yes. Her writing is lovely, and her characters haunting. As real or moreso to me than those of Jude the Obscure or Far From the Madding Crowd or other famous classics of which it reminds me. Just in the smallest moments, Webb's voice trills out pure and clean, clever and cutting, too. When it comes to nature, she tosses off lovely sentences like, "A rainstorm, shaped like a pillar, walked slowly along the valley, skirting the base of the hills. It was like a grey god with folded arms and head aloof in the sky." And, "Behind the house God's Little Mountain sloped softly up and away apparently to its possessor." And also, "Yet the tongueless thrush is a thrush still, and has golden music in its heart." When it comes to a girl's place in the world, she writes, "Mrs. Marston's china glowed so, and was so stainless and uncracked that it seemed as if the lives of all the beautiful young women in her family must have been sacrificed in its behalf." And, "He spoke with a quite unconscious brutality; he voiced the theory of his class and his political party, which tacitly or openly asserted that woman, servants, and animals were in the world for their benefit." When it comes to the violent praxis between society's pure insistences and its more putrid realties, she notes, "It was impossible to imagine [Hazel] facing any of the facts of life, or engaging in any of those physical acts to which all humanity is bound, and which need more than resignation — namely, open-eyed honesty — to raise them from a humiliation to a glory." And also, "That a woman should, in the evolution of life, cease to be a virgin and become a mother is a thing so natural and so purely physical as hardly to need comment; but that the immortal part of her should be robbed, that she should cease to be part of an entity in a world where personality is the only rare and precious thing — this is tragic." Ah, they raise you to know nothing. To understand nothing ... nothing but abuse. They groom you, pressure and seduce you, and see in you only their own fantasies. They rape you and take from you, and in the end, refuse to hold all the parts of you dear, wild or otherwise. Mary Webb is best known for her book Precious Bane, I find. A wonderful thing to know, indeed.
December 31, 2020
man vs God vs nature, warring upon and within the body. gnostiskeptic gothic romance. A sprinkling of protofeminist critique. Webb has a rich descriptive style and unpeels the vivid souls of her characters and the flimsy scaffolding of society with intensity.
July 12, 2014
I so loved this novel and "sipped" it slowly to
savor it. It is so lovely and lyrical and unusual.
If you have a great feeling for the natural world,
this book is highly recommended for you.
savor it. It is so lovely and lyrical and unusual.
If you have a great feeling for the natural world,
this book is highly recommended for you.
July 7, 2025
5 for the writing, 2 for plot (or lack thereof)
Hazel Woodus prefers the company of animals over people. Though simple-minded, she is stunning and lovely. Two older men - opposite men - become enraptured by young Hazel, and this is where the author lost me. One chapter with Reddin, one with Edward. One chapter with Reddin, one with Edward. Hazel wants neither man. Back to Reddin, then to Edward...
This one is in desperate need of more characters, more storyline, more everything. It became difficult to root for anyone. In fact, I began to hope that Hazel's woodland creatures would join up and overthrow the entire village.
Didn't happen.
Hazel Woodus prefers the company of animals over people. Though simple-minded, she is stunning and lovely. Two older men - opposite men - become enraptured by young Hazel, and this is where the author lost me. One chapter with Reddin, one with Edward. One chapter with Reddin, one with Edward. Hazel wants neither man. Back to Reddin, then to Edward...
This one is in desperate need of more characters, more storyline, more everything. It became difficult to root for anyone. In fact, I began to hope that Hazel's woodland creatures would join up and overthrow the entire village.
Didn't happen.
August 4, 2019
With no mother and only an indifferent father, Hazel has no one to advise her on the ways of the human world. She becomes a child of nature, at home in the company of the wounded animals in her rural surroundings.
Her innocent exuberance catches the eye of the kindly minister, Edward, and the cruel squire, Reddin. Although she marries Edward, the marriage is unconsummated as Edward feels he must preserve her innocence and supress his own desires. But Hazel has desires of her own which she doesn't understand. She finds herself drawn to Reddin's power and virility. She vacillates between the two and there seems little doubt that all will end in tears. If only Edward could have declared his physical love...
Although this is often described as a Greek tragedy, there are many moments of comedy. Reddin's servant, Vessons, commentates on proceedings like a Shakespearian idiot savant. Hazel's father, Abel, has a similar role. Edward's mother, Mrs Marston, and maid, Martha, are there to depict the small-minded views of the day. Mary Webb writes some terrific one-liners that give insight into human nature.
Despite being written over 100 years ago, the novel doesn't shy away from discussing sex and is quite saucy in places (although I doubt a modern novel would leave unchallenged Reddin's views: "Virility, he felt, was not of his seeking. There it was, and it must be satisfied.")
There are many descriptive passages of birds, flowers, plants and animals. At first sight they might look overwritten to modern eyes, but they work perfectly to evoke the setting which is so important to Hazel.
Her innocent exuberance catches the eye of the kindly minister, Edward, and the cruel squire, Reddin. Although she marries Edward, the marriage is unconsummated as Edward feels he must preserve her innocence and supress his own desires. But Hazel has desires of her own which she doesn't understand. She finds herself drawn to Reddin's power and virility. She vacillates between the two and there seems little doubt that all will end in tears. If only Edward could have declared his physical love...
Although this is often described as a Greek tragedy, there are many moments of comedy. Reddin's servant, Vessons, commentates on proceedings like a Shakespearian idiot savant. Hazel's father, Abel, has a similar role. Edward's mother, Mrs Marston, and maid, Martha, are there to depict the small-minded views of the day. Mary Webb writes some terrific one-liners that give insight into human nature.
Despite being written over 100 years ago, the novel doesn't shy away from discussing sex and is quite saucy in places (although I doubt a modern novel would leave unchallenged Reddin's views: "Virility, he felt, was not of his seeking. There it was, and it must be satisfied.")
There are many descriptive passages of birds, flowers, plants and animals. At first sight they might look overwritten to modern eyes, but they work perfectly to evoke the setting which is so important to Hazel.
June 1, 2012
This was an interesting book, and more compelling than I'd expected it to be.
It's very didactic and philosophical, but the gist of the plot (in modern terms)is of a young and naive woman torn between the desires of a Nice Guy (tm) and a Bad Boy.
It is very clear that neither of them are more concerned about her than of their ideas about her- this is explicitly stated, many times, in the text. She has her passion- for the natural world- and neither of her suitors pay any attention to that.
I will say the Nice Guy (tm) actually did stand up for her more than one would have expected, and without making demands on her (except in his mind). Nonetheless, it was rather a classic tragedy, win which the sad outcome is inevitable based on the various characters and situations involved.
I am not really sure what Webb's opinion was; although she laid the fault of the tragedy squarely on the men, she also did not treat Hazel- the female protagonist- as an entire person, capable of choosing; she was more of a force of nature. I assume that the dialog of "what women are" has, in the past 100 years, changed enough that it's hard for me to grasp her point without absent context.
This novel also has some brilliant passages describing the natural world- flowers, storms, trees, etc.- worth reading for that.
It's very didactic and philosophical, but the gist of the plot (in modern terms)is of a young and naive woman torn between the desires of a Nice Guy (tm) and a Bad Boy.
It is very clear that neither of them are more concerned about her than of their ideas about her- this is explicitly stated, many times, in the text. She has her passion- for the natural world- and neither of her suitors pay any attention to that.
I will say the Nice Guy (tm) actually did stand up for her more than one would have expected, and without making demands on her (except in his mind). Nonetheless, it was rather a classic tragedy, win which the sad outcome is inevitable based on the various characters and situations involved.
I am not really sure what Webb's opinion was; although she laid the fault of the tragedy squarely on the men, she also did not treat Hazel- the female protagonist- as an entire person, capable of choosing; she was more of a force of nature. I assume that the dialog of "what women are" has, in the past 100 years, changed enough that it's hard for me to grasp her point without absent context.
This novel also has some brilliant passages describing the natural world- flowers, storms, trees, etc.- worth reading for that.
December 28, 2016
Mary Webb leaves you spell bound with her narrative description of the tale of a country girl and her life. Caught in triangle of love and abuse and her love of wild life. The cruel world of the hunter and hunted ,poetry of words and tale one you will want to read again . It was made into a first rate film .
September 27, 2011
Hearth-breakingly, heart-achingly beautiful.
October 27, 2025
Los dos hombres la veían como lo que querían que fuera, no como era.
Entiendo porqué se ha comparado a esta autora con Thomas Hardy en lo que a estilo de escritura, amor por la naturaleza y el entorno rural se refiere, pero Mary Webb tiene entidad propia. Me da mucha pena que no haya tenido el mismo reconocimiento y que solo empezasen a valorarla después de su muerte, y tampoco demasiado. Es verdad que Hardy tiene un estilo más pulido, pero puede deberse también a que Bajo tierra fue una de las primeras obras de la autora, tendré que leer Precioso Veneno. Aún así, la manera de escribir de Webb es super evocadora, elegante y muy muy sensible.
Lo que más me ha gustado es, de hecho, cómo la naturaleza cobra vida. No se limita a acompañar las emociones de Hazel o a servir de presagio de lo que está por venir: es un personaje más. Los árboles, los ríos, las abejas, las flores… todos parecen ser seres sintientes. El paisaje es un reflejo de lo que va ocurriendo y una manera de expresar las cosas cuando nada más puede hacerlo. Me ha encantado esa sutileza, especialmente en los momentos más trágicos y críticos de la novela, el hecho de que intuyes lo que está pasando por cómo está la montaña, el viento, los animales, las tormentas, etc. Esa conexión entre lo humano y lo natural hace que la obra tenga un aire romántico, aunque no sea una obra del romanticismo como tal.
Aunque en apariencia la historia gira en torno al triángulo amoroso entre Hazel, Reddin y Edward, en realidad el libro trata sobre el crecimiento forzado de Hazel y su tránsito abrupto de niña a mujer. Es un proceso impuesto por un mundo de hombres que no le permite decidir e ir a su ritmo. Ella, todavía inocente, se ve empujada a madurar de golpe, bajo la presión del pueblo, de las exigencias de su padre, del deseo posesivo de Reddin y del amor idealizado de Edward, que la endiosa y la priva de humanidad, como si fuera un puto ángel caído del cielo y no una niña.
Hazel puede parece demasiado inocente, sí, y a veces te saca de quicio y no terminas de entender qué narices tiene en la cabeza, pero también es un alma libre e incomprendida, ligada a la naturaleza más pura y vital. Ni siquiera ella misma se entiende, porque aún es muy pequeña, y lo único que comprende de verdad y con lo que se identifica es con su montaña. Dicen que es una mujer mala, pero solo es una mujer que quiere ser libre, está en su propia naturaleza apreciar la belleza del mundo, vivir en él sin la moralidad hipócrita, sin las convenciones. Ha crecido en modo Heidi, recogiendo flores, jugando con su zorrita, expresando cómo se siente, cuidando de las abejas. Ha crecido encontrando el amor en esos momentos, pues su familia no le ha dado nada nunca. Cuando la tiran de cabeza al mundo construido por los capullos de turno sin preguntarle nada, ¿porqué tiene que ser ella la que tiene que cambiar si no ha hecho nada malo?
Paradójicamente, esa conexión con lo salvaje, que los demás consideran inmadurez o fantasía, estupideces de niñas que aun no saben que su “papel” es ser esposas y madres, es precisamente lo que obsesiona a Reddin y enamora a Edward. Sin embargo, ambos van a intentar moldearla para que encaje en sus propios patrones: Reddin la quiere reducir a un objeto de satisfacción sexual, y Edward la quiere como una esposa inmaculada, una criatura celestial que debe ser protegida. Ninguno de los dos la acepta como una mujer completa, ni pretende conocerla de verdad.
Al forzarla a crecer, la obligan a descubrir antes de tiempo su cuerpo, su deseo y su alma. La autora muestra super bien esa confusión que siente Hazel, y parece que es una inconsciente y que todo “se lo busca ella”, pero eso es porque vemos la historia desde el prisma del pueblo que la rechaza. Hazel comete errores, sí, pero ¿cómo no hacerlo, si apenas está aprendiendo lo que significa existir en un mundo que le quiere quitar su libertad? Nadie le ha explicado nada, nadie le ha preguntado nada, y a pesar de que ella habla alto y claro, nadie la escucha. Quieren que crezca, pero que reprima su despertar sexual, sus dudas, su confusión, su autosuficiencia como mujer adulta. La quieren niña en unos aspectos, y madre en otros. La disonancia cognitiva de la pobre mía es muy real, normal que me vaya como pollo sin cabeza. Pero la culpa siempre será suya, de eso no cabe duda.
El mundo la destruye, es injusto, y le arrebata su amor por la naturaleza, su conexión con ella y consigo misma. Todo el mundo preocupado por la inocencia inmaculada de Hazel, cuando lo que de verdad le hizo daño fue otra cosa de la que nadie se preocupa, porque es una mujer y esas cosas no importan tanto: su identidad. Cuando Hazel se da cuenta de lo que implica dejar su infancia atrás, y de cómo es el mundo de verdad ahí fuera, ya es tarde, ya la han roto. Es muy triste ver la desilusión, la decepción, el golpe de realidad, y la incredulidad ante toda la mierda que la rodea. Muy triste y muy cierto, desgraciadamente, lo que hace que el libro, aunque es muy bonito, sea jodidamente trágico.
Ps. Data --> Gracias mi niño precioso por regalármelo por mi cumpleaños <3.
Entiendo porqué se ha comparado a esta autora con Thomas Hardy en lo que a estilo de escritura, amor por la naturaleza y el entorno rural se refiere, pero Mary Webb tiene entidad propia. Me da mucha pena que no haya tenido el mismo reconocimiento y que solo empezasen a valorarla después de su muerte, y tampoco demasiado. Es verdad que Hardy tiene un estilo más pulido, pero puede deberse también a que Bajo tierra fue una de las primeras obras de la autora, tendré que leer Precioso Veneno. Aún así, la manera de escribir de Webb es super evocadora, elegante y muy muy sensible.
Lo que más me ha gustado es, de hecho, cómo la naturaleza cobra vida. No se limita a acompañar las emociones de Hazel o a servir de presagio de lo que está por venir: es un personaje más. Los árboles, los ríos, las abejas, las flores… todos parecen ser seres sintientes. El paisaje es un reflejo de lo que va ocurriendo y una manera de expresar las cosas cuando nada más puede hacerlo. Me ha encantado esa sutileza, especialmente en los momentos más trágicos y críticos de la novela, el hecho de que intuyes lo que está pasando por cómo está la montaña, el viento, los animales, las tormentas, etc. Esa conexión entre lo humano y lo natural hace que la obra tenga un aire romántico, aunque no sea una obra del romanticismo como tal.
Aunque en apariencia la historia gira en torno al triángulo amoroso entre Hazel, Reddin y Edward, en realidad el libro trata sobre el crecimiento forzado de Hazel y su tránsito abrupto de niña a mujer. Es un proceso impuesto por un mundo de hombres que no le permite decidir e ir a su ritmo. Ella, todavía inocente, se ve empujada a madurar de golpe, bajo la presión del pueblo, de las exigencias de su padre, del deseo posesivo de Reddin y del amor idealizado de Edward, que la endiosa y la priva de humanidad, como si fuera un puto ángel caído del cielo y no una niña.
Hazel puede parece demasiado inocente, sí, y a veces te saca de quicio y no terminas de entender qué narices tiene en la cabeza, pero también es un alma libre e incomprendida, ligada a la naturaleza más pura y vital. Ni siquiera ella misma se entiende, porque aún es muy pequeña, y lo único que comprende de verdad y con lo que se identifica es con su montaña. Dicen que es una mujer mala, pero solo es una mujer que quiere ser libre, está en su propia naturaleza apreciar la belleza del mundo, vivir en él sin la moralidad hipócrita, sin las convenciones. Ha crecido en modo Heidi, recogiendo flores, jugando con su zorrita, expresando cómo se siente, cuidando de las abejas. Ha crecido encontrando el amor en esos momentos, pues su familia no le ha dado nada nunca. Cuando la tiran de cabeza al mundo construido por los capullos de turno sin preguntarle nada, ¿porqué tiene que ser ella la que tiene que cambiar si no ha hecho nada malo?
Paradójicamente, esa conexión con lo salvaje, que los demás consideran inmadurez o fantasía, estupideces de niñas que aun no saben que su “papel” es ser esposas y madres, es precisamente lo que obsesiona a Reddin y enamora a Edward. Sin embargo, ambos van a intentar moldearla para que encaje en sus propios patrones: Reddin la quiere reducir a un objeto de satisfacción sexual, y Edward la quiere como una esposa inmaculada, una criatura celestial que debe ser protegida. Ninguno de los dos la acepta como una mujer completa, ni pretende conocerla de verdad.
Al forzarla a crecer, la obligan a descubrir antes de tiempo su cuerpo, su deseo y su alma. La autora muestra super bien esa confusión que siente Hazel, y parece que es una inconsciente y que todo “se lo busca ella”, pero eso es porque vemos la historia desde el prisma del pueblo que la rechaza. Hazel comete errores, sí, pero ¿cómo no hacerlo, si apenas está aprendiendo lo que significa existir en un mundo que le quiere quitar su libertad? Nadie le ha explicado nada, nadie le ha preguntado nada, y a pesar de que ella habla alto y claro, nadie la escucha. Quieren que crezca, pero que reprima su despertar sexual, sus dudas, su confusión, su autosuficiencia como mujer adulta. La quieren niña en unos aspectos, y madre en otros. La disonancia cognitiva de la pobre mía es muy real, normal que me vaya como pollo sin cabeza. Pero la culpa siempre será suya, de eso no cabe duda.
El mundo la destruye, es injusto, y le arrebata su amor por la naturaleza, su conexión con ella y consigo misma. Todo el mundo preocupado por la inocencia inmaculada de Hazel, cuando lo que de verdad le hizo daño fue otra cosa de la que nadie se preocupa, porque es una mujer y esas cosas no importan tanto: su identidad. Cuando Hazel se da cuenta de lo que implica dejar su infancia atrás, y de cómo es el mundo de verdad ahí fuera, ya es tarde, ya la han roto. Es muy triste ver la desilusión, la decepción, el golpe de realidad, y la incredulidad ante toda la mierda que la rodea. Muy triste y muy cierto, desgraciadamente, lo que hace que el libro, aunque es muy bonito, sea jodidamente trágico.
Ps. Data --> Gracias mi niño precioso por regalármelo por mi cumpleaños <3.
December 11, 2020
Έχω αντικρουόμενα συναισθήματα γι αυτό το βιβλίο. Από τη μια πλευρά, είναι εκπληκτικό να γράφει κανείς το 1917 για μια γυναίκα που θέλει να είναι ελεύθερη, να μην ορίζεται από κάποιον άνδρα, να μην τη νοιάζει ο κόσμος. Από την άλλη η ίδια ηρωίδα κινείται στα όρια της ανοησίας. Δε συνδέθηκα με κανέναν από τους χαρακτήρες και βρήκα το τέλος προβλέψιμο (ταιριαστό παρόλα αυτά).
Το χειρότερο από όλα, όμως, ταν η μετάφραση. Πόσα υποκοριστικά να αντέξει κανείς σε ένα βιβλίο; Και κάτι ακόμα που μου έκανε άσχημη εντύπωση, όλα τα ονόματα έχουν διατηρηθεί από την αγγλική (Χέιζελ, Εντουαρ, Τζακ, Άντριου κλπ κλπ) αυτός ο καημένος ο Τζώρτζ ο άντρας της Σούζαν γιατί έγινε Γιώργος;
Το χειρότερο από όλα, όμως, ταν η μετάφραση. Πόσα υποκοριστικά να αντέξει κανείς σε ένα βιβλίο; Και κάτι ακόμα που μου έκανε άσχημη εντύπωση, όλα τα ονόματα έχουν διατηρηθεί από την αγγλική (Χέιζελ, Εντουαρ, Τζακ, Άντριου κλπ κλπ) αυτός ο καημένος ο Τζώρτζ ο άντρας της Σούζαν γιατί έγινε Γιώργος;
April 30, 2020
Ένα αριστούργημα. Ειλικρινά. Ποια ήταν η Μαίρη Γουέμπ; Δεν είχα τη π��ραμικρή ιδέα. Και τώρα, που τη διάβασα, δε θα τη ξεχάσω ποτέ.
Η Χέιζελ Γουντς είναι ένα πρόσωπο λυρικό, σχεδόν παραμυθένιο. Η ζωή και η καθημερινότητά της είναι αφιερωμένη στη βρετανική εξοχή, με τα λιβάδια, τις ξερολιθιές, τα τριαντάφυλλα, τις μέλισσες και τα μελίσσια του πατέρα της, και φυσικά την λατρεμένη αλεπού της, στην οποία έχει βρει τη φιλία που δεν βρήκε σε κανέναν από τους ανθρώπους γύρω της. Ένα κορίτσι που λατρεύει τη φύση, που παρατηρεί τα πάντα και έχει απόψεις (σχεδόν) αιρετικές για την εποχή της. Η Μαίρη Γουέμπ δημιούργησε έναν χαρακτήρα ο οποίος θα μπορούσε να θεωρηθεί ως η απαρχή του γυναικείου κινήματος, κι όλα αυτά στις αρχές του 20ου αιώνα (με ότι αυτό συνεπάγεται). Η Χέιζελ πολιορκείται από δύο άντρες εντελώς διαφορετικούς τόσο μεταξύ τους όσο και από την ίδια. Και οι δύο τις προσφέρουν "τα πάντα" αρκεί να γίνει δική τους. Φυσικά, η ιστορία είναι κάτι πολύ περισσότερο από ένα απλό ερωτικό τρίγωνο. Οι χαρακτήρες "μάχονται" μεταξύ τους, και η Χέιζελ παλεύει εναντίον αυτών αλλά και μέσα της για τις δύο διαφορετικές πλευρές του εαυτού της. Η Χέιζελ σε παρασύρει σαν άλλη νεράιδα να γνωρίσεις έναν κόσμο, όπως φαντάζεται η ίδια, ότι θα έπρεπε να είναι. Κι όσο μελοδραματικό κι αν ακούγεται, η γραφή σε κυριεύει και οι φιλοσοφικές αναζητήσεις ενός αθώου κοριτσιού σε χτυπάνε σαν καρφιά, όπως χτυπάνε και την κοινωνία της Γουέμπ (όπως θα έκαναν λίγο αργότερα στα μέσα του 20ου αιώνα η Ντόρις Λέσινγκ και η Κάρεν Μπλίξεν).
"Δε θέλω να μοιάζω σε κανέναν άλλο παρά στον εαυτό μου".
"Θέλουν να 'σαι ότι δεν είσαι".
"Ο κόσμος μοιάζει σα μια μεγάλη παγίδα με ελατήριο που μας έπιασε όλους μέσα".
"Η μητέρα μου δεν αγαπούσε το γάμο. Κι έλεγε πως ύστερα απ' το γάμο δε θα πήγαινα πια στα δάση και θα τέλειωναν οι καλές μου ημέρες. Κι έλεγε πως όλο δάκρυα και βάσανα, βάσανα και δάκρυα είναι η μοίρα της γυναίκας. Κι έλεγε, να ανήκεις μόνο στον εαυτό σου".
"Μόνο στην ποίηση καταλαβαίνει ο κόσμος τον έρωτα. Στη ζωή την καθημερινή τον αποκαλούν βραχνάδα και του προσφέρουνε μια καλή κουταλιά απ' αυτό το εμετικό μίγμα που λέγεται κοινός νους".
"Η κ. Μάρστον έλεγε συχνά: Θαρρώ πως μόνο η Χέιζελ μπορεί να χάνει έτσι τον καιρό της. Μα μπορείς να πεις πως έχανε τον καιρό της; Να τρως, να κοιμάσαι, ν' ακούς σοβαρούς ανθρώπους να σου διαβάζουνε με ζήλο εκατό φορές βιβλία που τα ξέρομε, να ικετεύεις το Θεό (που στο τέλος τον φαντάζεσαι σαν ένα μεγάλο αφτί) για όλα τ' αγαθά, και να μαζεύεις κέρδη, αυτά κατά τους ανθρώπους δεν είναι χαμένος καιρός. Αλλά αν πιείς απ' το ποτήρι της ομορφιάς και σηκώσεις τα φύλλα που σκεπάζουν τη γη και θελήσεις να βρεις στο λίκνο του το Θεό (γιατί αν έχει κατοικία κάπου εκεί θα είναι) αυτό το λένε: χάνεις τον καιρό σου. Ω κόσμε ακάθαρτε και βαριοΐσκιωτε, πότε λοιπόν θα πλυθείς και θα λευκανθείς";
"Οι άνθρωποι λένε πως είμαι δική τους. Έχω καλύτερα ν' ανήκω στον εαυτό μου".
Η Χέιζελ Γουντς είναι ένα πρόσωπο λυρικό, σχεδόν παραμυθένιο. Η ζωή και η καθημερινότητά της είναι αφιερωμένη στη βρετανική εξοχή, με τα λιβάδια, τις ξερολιθιές, τα τριαντάφυλλα, τις μέλισσες και τα μελίσσια του πατέρα της, και φυσικά την λατρεμένη αλεπού της, στην οποία έχει βρει τη φιλία που δεν βρήκε σε κανέναν από τους ανθρώπους γύρω της. Ένα κορίτσι που λατρεύει τη φύση, που παρατηρεί τα πάντα και έχει απόψεις (σχεδόν) αιρετικές για την εποχή της. Η Μαίρη Γουέμπ δημιούργησε έναν χαρακτήρα ο οποίος θα μπορούσε να θεωρηθεί ως η απαρχή του γυναικείου κινήματος, κι όλα αυτά στις αρχές του 20ου αιώνα (με ότι αυτό συνεπάγεται). Η Χέιζελ πολιορκείται από δύο άντρες εντελώς διαφορετικούς τόσο μεταξύ τους όσο και από την ίδια. Και οι δύο τις προσφέρουν "τα πάντα" αρκεί να γίνει δική τους. Φυσικά, η ιστορία είναι κάτι πολύ περισσότερο από ένα απλό ερωτικό τρίγωνο. Οι χαρακτήρες "μάχονται" μεταξύ τους, και η Χέιζελ παλεύει εναντίον αυτών αλλά και μέσα της για τις δύο διαφορετικές πλευρές του εαυτού της. Η Χέιζελ σε παρασύρει σαν άλλη νεράιδα να γνωρίσεις έναν κόσμο, όπως φαντάζεται η ίδια, ότι θα έπρεπε να είναι. Κι όσο μελοδραματικό κι αν ακούγεται, η γραφή σε κυριεύει και οι φιλοσοφικές αναζητήσεις ενός αθώου κοριτσιού σε χτυπάνε σαν καρφιά, όπως χτυπάνε και την κοινωνία της Γουέμπ (όπως θα έκαναν λίγο αργότερα στα μέσα του 20ου αιώνα η Ντόρις Λέσινγκ και η Κάρεν Μπλίξεν).
"Δε θέλω να μοιάζω σε κανέναν άλλο παρά στον εαυτό μου".
"Θέλουν να 'σαι ότι δεν είσαι".
"Ο κόσμος μοιάζει σα μια μεγάλη παγίδα με ελατήριο που μας έπιασε όλους μέσα".
"Η μητέρα μου δεν αγαπούσε το γάμο. Κι έλεγε πως ύστερα απ' το γάμο δε θα πήγαινα πια στα δάση και θα τέλειωναν οι καλές μου ημέρες. Κι έλεγε πως όλο δάκρυα και βάσανα, βάσανα και δάκρυα είναι η μοίρα της γυναίκας. Κι έλεγε, να ανήκεις μόνο στον εαυτό σου".
"Μόνο στην ποίηση καταλαβαίνει ο κόσμος τον έρωτα. Στη ζωή την καθημερινή τον αποκαλούν βραχνάδα και του προσφέρουνε μια καλή κουταλιά απ' αυτό το εμετικό μίγμα που λέγεται κοινός νους".
"Η κ. Μάρστον έλεγε συχνά: Θαρρώ πως μόνο η Χέιζελ μπορεί να χάνει έτσι τον καιρό της. Μα μπορείς να πεις πως έχανε τον καιρό της; Να τρως, να κοιμάσαι, ν' ακούς σοβαρούς ανθρώπους να σου διαβάζουνε με ζήλο εκατό φορές βιβλία που τα ξέρομε, να ικετεύεις το Θεό (που στο τέλος τον φαντάζεσαι σαν ένα μεγάλο αφτί) για όλα τ' αγαθά, και να μαζεύεις κέρδη, αυτά κατά τους ανθρώπους δεν είναι χαμένος καιρός. Αλλά αν πιείς απ' το ποτήρι της ομορφιάς και σηκώσεις τα φύλλα που σκεπάζουν τη γη και θελήσεις να βρεις στο λίκνο του το Θεό (γιατί αν έχει κατοικία κάπου εκεί θα είναι) αυτό το λένε: χάνεις τον καιρό σου. Ω κόσμε ακάθαρτε και βαριοΐσκιωτε, πότε λοιπόν θα πλυθείς και θα λευκανθείς";
"Οι άνθρωποι λένε πως είμαι δική τους. Έχω καλύτερα ν' ανήκω στον εαυτό μου".
January 9, 2014
This book was just a little odd. I must admit I was hoping to like it more than I did. It started almost like a fantasy novel with the wild half gypsey girl living in the woods with her father the musician. The story was basically about two men that wanted her and how she didn't want either but still had to choose between them.
I think the biggest problem I had with the book was that most of the dialogue was written in dialect. It was supposed to sound Welsh but it didn't sound at all Welsh when I was reading it it just made the main character sound like she had a rather severe learning disability. Unfortunately she often acted in a very stupid and incomprehensible way as well. I think I would have liked it better if she was an active sexual agent, rather than an longing she didn't understand it would have been much better if she'd just come out and said she fancied the bad guy. The other disturbing thing was that most of the sex was really rape. Her desire didn't come into it at all and it was all about how the two men wanted to force themselves on her. The "good" man was the one who didn't give in to his urges. The author did complain that both the men who wanted her didn't understand her or really love her. But it did then make me wonder what the point of it all was. There were some really great moments of social criticism in here that I thoroughly enjoyed but for the most part I just found it a bit puzzling. Who was the reader supposed to be sympathetic towards?
I think the biggest problem I had with the book was that most of the dialogue was written in dialect. It was supposed to sound Welsh but it didn't sound at all Welsh when I was reading it it just made the main character sound like she had a rather severe learning disability. Unfortunately she often acted in a very stupid and incomprehensible way as well. I think I would have liked it better if she was an active sexual agent, rather than an longing she didn't understand it would have been much better if she'd just come out and said she fancied the bad guy. The other disturbing thing was that most of the sex was really rape. Her desire didn't come into it at all and it was all about how the two men wanted to force themselves on her. The "good" man was the one who didn't give in to his urges. The author did complain that both the men who wanted her didn't understand her or really love her. But it did then make me wonder what the point of it all was. There were some really great moments of social criticism in here that I thoroughly enjoyed but for the most part I just found it a bit puzzling. Who was the reader supposed to be sympathetic towards?
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