Thomas Hardy: The Return of the Native, and The Name Inside the Book

By Craig: Our time on this earth is fleeting. I sit here tonight listening to the rhythmic ticking of an alarm clock. I never set it, but its tick is soothing and it eventually lulls me to sleep. I usually read a book every night before I go to bed while the clock is ticking. The books pages contain nothing deep or scholarly. It's usually a Louis L'amour novel, or something similar. Lately I have been reading Thomas Hardy. A few months ago it was Gaston Leroux and Jack London. I tried reading War and Peace but found it too dry. In fact, I have tried reading War and Peace off and on for the last 30 years. I never make it past the first chapter. I did manage to get through Dicken's Bleak House. I kept waiting for the meat of the story, but it never came. I guess it was apropos. After all "Waiting" and "Time" are two of the themes of that book. Indeed, Jarndice vs Jarndice (The law case throughout the book) went on in perpetuity through the generations. I guess that is how it is in life. Everything goes on into the future...nothing is ever totally resolved...things change...and time never ends even though you do. Where is the resolution to existence? Is there ever one?

I am in the process of selling my house and have started to pack up some of the books in my library. I own hundreds of books. I should correct myself and say "I am the current caretaker of hundreds of books." A person never really owns anything. The concept of ownership is a specious one. The proof of this is found in every library. A lot of my books are decades old, some of them are centuries old. I have always been fascinated with the names written inside of the books which denote previous ownership. I recently finished Hardy's The Mayor of Casterbridge. I enjoyed the book so I decided to read his The Return of the Native. The copy that I possess is an old hardback with green boards. It was published by Harper and Brothers in 1922. Where I acquired the book I have long since forgotten. Perhaps I purchased it in a lot when I was selling books back in the early 1990s? Maybe it was given to me by somebody and I have forgotten the when! and the who! I had never read Hardy or had even given him any thought until my late cousin Trevor, in England sent me a book on Wessex Tales by Hardy a number of years ago with a glowing recommendation to read his works.  Well Trevor...I'm just getting around to it now wherever you might be! Anyway, where this book came from escapes me. I opened it up and as I usually do I looked at the front leaf. A simple name was inscribed inside "Louise Kirk." I sat there looking at it wondering who Louise Kirk might have been. The ink was faded with age on the yellowed leaf. It was obviously old as it was written in ink from an inkwell. I guessed that it was probably inscribed by Miss or Mrs. Kirk sometime around 1922. There were no other clues. There was simply the name. Louise Kirk once possessed this copy of Thomas Hardy's The Return of the Native. This was certain as her name was clearly written inside the aging book...The book which I, the latest caretaker, was about to sink his teeth into. I thought about the age of the book. It was 95 years old. How many people have read this copy that once belonged in the library of Louise Kirk? Was she the only one who read it? Did it sit on a shelf collecting dust and yellowing for three quarters of a century after her reading? Did her son or daughter pick it up during the Eisenhower administration and peruse through the leafs?  I Know that I have had the book for at least 20 years...where was it the preceding 70 or 75? Who was the caretaker? I did not know a Louise Kirk or anyone named Louise for that matter yet the book sits here in all its faded glory on my nightstand begging to be read. It seems to breathe..."Please Read Me Craig! You and Louise have neglected me for so long!" I want to ask it some questions. What happened to Louise? She must be long in her grave. The drama that unfolded as she read Hardy's masterpiece dissipated from her mind shortly after the reading as it will from me when I am done with it. I thumbed through the pages and started reading it, but I gave up and flipped back to the front leaf and thought about Louise Kirk. I did a quick Google search but came up with nothing. She could have been one of numerous Louise Kirk's who had lived in the past century. Perhaps she had married and became Louise Jones...or Louise Smith?  She had lived a life...How long I did not know. The only thing that connected me with her was this book...The book, one of many of which I find myself caretaker. I picked up a ball point pen and carefully wrote my name under that of the previous caretaker Louise Kirk. Perhaps in 95 years someone will pull this volume off a shelf somewhere and see two names and wonder...