I just finished reading Under the Greenwood Tree (1872) by Thomas Hardy. It was his second published novel, and the first one set in his fictional Wessex County. In it, Hardy unfolds a love story set amid the rural, rustic farmland and villages of 1850s England.

There is a simplicity and warmth about the story and its prose. The supporting characters remind me in a way of the cast of Cannery Row by John Steinbeck. They are marked by a similar sense of decency and kindness.

I love the world Hardy creates in Wessex County, and this was a fitting beginning to this cycle of stories.

“The point in Yalbury Wood which abutted on the end of Geoffrey Day’s premises was closed with an ancient tree, horizontally of enormous extent, though having no great pretensions to height. Many hundreds of birds had been born amidst the boughs of this single tree; tribes of rabbits and hares had nibbled at its bark from year to year; quaint tufts of fungi had sprung from the cavities of its forks; and countless families of moles and earthworms had crept about its roots.”

The title of the novel comes, I imagine, from a song within the play As You Like It by William Shakespeare:

Under the greenwood tree
Who loves to lie with me,
And turn his merry note
Unto the sweet bird’s throat,
Come hither, come hither, come hither:
            Here shall he see
            No enemy
But winter and rough weather.

Who doth ambition shun
And loves to live i’ the sun,
Seeking the food he eats,
And pleased with what he gets,
Come hither, come hither, come hither:
            Here shall he see
            No enemy
But winter and rough weather.