Whenever I read a Thomas Hardy novel, I’m struck by the filmic quality of it. Mostly written during the 1870s and 1880s, there was no such thing as film, and yet Hardy describes scenes so precisely and directs your gaze so purposefully, that it always feel like I’m watching a movie.

In a previous novel — I believe it was The Woodlanders I remember the way he described how a man looked up at a lit window, where a woman was holding a dress in front of her and looking at herself in the mirror. Something about that scene stuck with me…it was so evocative, so specific, so real, and — yes — so cinematic.

In this novel, Under the Greenwood Tree the movie-quality lies mostly in the way the story develops: it starts with a broad impression of the Mellstock church choir, and then slowly homes in on Dick Dewy, one of the main characters.

The first few chapters are about this church choir, a merry band of rural townsfolk who sing in church on Sundays and go Christmas carolling each year. We meet members of the choir as we’re walking through the woods around Mellstock, and enter the home of tranter Reuben Dewy and his family. There’s sand on the floorboards and hams drying above the fireplace.
Dewy and his companions speak in intense rural dialect, so it takes some extra reading effort, but to me that was worth it: it made the place feel so real, I could almost smell the meat smoking in the living room.
While carolling, Dick Dewy (Reuben’s eldest son) suddenly disappears. The entire church choir retraces their steps to see where they lost him, and they find him gazing up at a house where they’d been carolling earlier…and where Ms. Fancy Day lives.

This is the moment when the story of the choir becomes a subplot and backdrop to the actual story of Dick and Fancy. And this happens so gradually, so naturally, that it really feels like a camera slowly zooming in on one face in the crowd. It’s wonderful.
With the start of Dick and Fancy’s narrative, the story really takes off.
I have to say that this one was not as complex and layered as other works of his. However, I believe this was only his second novel ever published, which makes it feel like a study for some of his later narratives (notably my favorite, The Woodlanders).
It was a quick read, but so perfect in its simplicity. To me, Hardy always strikes me as one of the masters of knowing what to emphasize, and what to leave out. His prose is so precise, his characters so life-like.
Fancy, for example, is lovely and beautiful, but far from perfect. And yet, you love her anyway. She’s a person; a full human being. I think that’s one of the reasons his works have become classics.

This was the perfect book at the perfect time. During a very hectic period, this novel provided escape and relaxation. It almost makes me want to get rid of my phone altogether, and live as slowly as Dick and Fancy do: sewing a dress for half a day, or spending hours mending and oiling a wagon, and then another few hours driving 10 miles.
Quiet, peaceful, simple.
I’ll be reading many more of Hardy’s books, still.