In 1895 Jude the Obscure was published, Hardy's last, and perhaps his greatest, novel. It was promptly reviled by a majority of reviewers on both sides of the Atlantic, and burnt by a bishop, ‘probably in his despair’, Hardy suggested later, ‘at not being able to burn me’; by so much had progress eroded the fervours of faith. The only long-term effect on the author, as Hardy also revealed, was that of ‘completely curing’ him ‘of further interest in novel writing’. Fortunately it did not also cure him of the habit of poetry; and, meanwhile, Jude seems an excellent place to start.

In certain obvious ways, it is very modern; its treatment of human sexuality is more frank, if not necessarily more realistic, than one finds in any previous important English novel. The claims for naturalism made by Flaubert, Zola, Ibsen and other European writers were at last influencing the British tradition, as they might have done much earlier had it not been for the excessive public prudery of Victorian taste. But, like nearly all major novels, Jude is not primarily naturalistic. Its total impact has more the force of myth. To Hardy, as to many other progressive Victorians, modern life had come to seem a tragic affair. Jude and Sue pursue the romantic quest for self-fulfilment, but the very nature of things conspires against them. Certain of the sufferings arise, it is true, from social causes that might be alleviated; though Jude himself is rejected in his search for education, no laws of nature decree this fate.