So, to be perfectly honest, I pretend to convey the highest aspects of artistic criticism in my time on this site. Never is it more true than with my literary reviews. You see, art is such a faint excitement, that writing and language get molded over to become occurrences of granular genius. She, the woman of my dreams, is a tide, a noontide, and these little articles are my self-esteem. Not healthy! Anyway, while I was mildly disappointed with 'The Woodlanders', it did satisfy some of my wanton adulation for Hardy, and I do think he is ahead of the times even today in the true essence of what he sought to present as his sense of entertainment. The places are occasionally distinct, but never made whole. The characters and narrative deft are very nice. But he's annoying, really, for not taking more effort in his craftsmanship to make this book into something notable even if it didn't have his name attached to it. Now to go on a walk through a forest, thanks bro, for reminding why I should, pleasant keepings.