Middlemarch

One sentence synopsis... A story of human nature, disillusionment, and self-deception amongst members of every class of society in a provincial English town.

Read it if you like... Hardy, Austen, disastrous marriages, unfulfilled potential, failing to live up to expectations, settling, Stars Hollow but everyone ends up disenchanted or publicly shamed.

Dream casting... Scoot McNairy as Garth. Stephen Root as Bulstrode.
Nicholas Braun as Fred. Anna Baryshnikov as Mary. Phoebe Fox as Dorothea.

I very rarely give books 5-star ratings on Goodreads. I don't think I've even left a review here.

Middlemarch deserves both.

I generally like reading English novels from the 18th to 19th century, and I thoroughly enjoy most of those that I have read so far. Middlemarch is my first foray into George Eliot's work, but I expected a similar, serene vibe that I usually get from novels of this time period. What I got was akin to a 19th century soap opera. I would say that this was a 19th century Days Of Our Lives, except the storyline was so much tighter than any soap opera I've known.

Middlemarch is subtitled “A Study of Provincial Life”, and that's a great summary of what it is. It's a panoramic study of life in the fictional English village of Middlemarch, with not just one or two, but at least four central characters, and a whole intricate background of secondary, tertiary and other minor characters spreading out from there like concentric circles. With such a busy canvas to work with, I was simply bowled over by George Eliot's masterful way of weaving her tale. The book was 782 pages long for my edition, but shit was going down in almost every chapter, there were plot twists, and new developments that never seemed to stop coming.

Even more amazing was how Eliot did not compromise on the characterisation despite all the action in her story. The central characters were well fleshed out, their growth and maturity throughout the novel flowed naturally from their changing situations, and their every action throughout the story was realistic and unforced. The parts that every character played in every crisis or new development fit together seamlessly. Sometimes, small gestures that appear insignificant at first are revealed to have larger consequences later, yet everything was always believable. I've never read a truer representation that captures the elaborateness of human nature and social reality, and I'm awed by Eliot's mastery over realist writing.

I think when it comes to reading older English novels, I am always captivated by its characterisation most of all, as there is certainly a different flavour to how it was done in previous centuries than it usually is in contemporary novels. Middlemarch illustrates everything I love about this aspect, which explains why I thoroughly enjoyed this book. I will certainly be checking out more of Eliot's other works, but this book's reputation as “one of the greatest novels in the English language” is certainly not undeserved.

The only little thing was, I spent probably 90% of the book expecting and wishing that Dorothea would end up with Lydgate because they always seemed so suitable for each other, but ah well. Lydgate's life ended up more pitiable than I would've wished.

Most giant novels I read, I end up thinking that they could have used a better editor. This one, though, felt like it earned its 800+ page length in its tale about a provincial town in Georgian England. It primarily follows the course of two marriages: that between intelligent and warm-spirited Dorothea and the much older clergyman, Edward Casaubon, whom she falls in love with, holding out hope to devote her considerable mental energy to a collaboration with him on the scholarly mythological text he's devoted his life to writing, and then that between Tertius Lydgate, a doctor who arrives in the area to set up a new medical practice with dreams of conducting important research, and Rosamond Vincy, the most beautiful girl in town, who sees the new doctor as her route to the elevated status she craves. While a more romantic novel would have presented these love matches as the end of the story, here they are just the beginning, and we can see how the hope and feelings that were brought into them fail under the weight of reality rather than expectation. It's often a funny book, tartly acidic about its characters and their foibles, and only seldom a sentimental one. Eliot's character work is wonderful, everyone feels fully realized and like a person with tendencies both good and bad. It doesn't move along particularly briskly, but neither does it drag. Its world feels realistic, and is populated with side characters who get lives and sometimes storylines of their own. It was an enjoyable experience to read, but I was definitely glad when it was done and is best for a relatively patient reader.

I was hoping to really enjoy this book as I've heard that so many people do, but this was not for me. Very slow-paced and I couldn't care less about the characters. The commentary on society, their lives and relations were great but as with most classics, it was important during the time it was written and published but it's not something I can relate to.

I started Middlemarch on January first and lingered over it for weeks, months, before finally finishing it off during the twenty-four hour readathon. It really wasn't until mid-book that I grew to love it, the characters, the plots, the intrigues, the small-town gossip that fueled so many difficulties. I came away with a new appreciation for the power of acting out of interest for the benefit of others, bravely, despite the possible consequences. So happy I read this book.

‰ЫП(Every nerve and muscle in Rosamond was adjusted to the consciousness that she was being looked at. She was by nature an actress of parts that entered into her physique: she even acted her own character, and so well, that she did not know it precisely to be her own.)‰Ыќ

‰ЫПYoung folks may get fond of each other before they know what life is, and they may think it all a holiday if they can only get together; but it soon turns into working day, my dear. However, you have more sense than most ‰Ы_.‰Ыќ

‰ЫПMary was fond of her own thoughts, and could amuse herself well sitting in twilight with her hands in her lap; for, having early had strong reason to believe that things were not likely to be arranged for her peculiar satisfaction, she wasted no time in astonishment and annoyance at that fact. And she had already come to take life very much as a comedy in which she had a proud, nay, a generous resolution not to act the mean or trecacherous part.‰Ыќ

‰ЫПThe cubic feet of oxygen yearly swallowed by a full-grown man‰ЫУwhat a shudder they might have created in some Middlemarch circles! ‰ЫчOxygen! nobody knows what that may be‰ЫУis it any wonder the cholera has got to Dantzic? And yet there are people who say quarantine is no good!‰ЫЄ‰Ыќ

‰ЫПShe did not know then that it was Love who had come to her briefly as in a dream before awaking, with the hues of morning on his wings‰ЫУthat it was Love to whom she was sobbing her farewell as his image was banished by the blameless rigour of irresistible day. She only felt that there was something irrevocably amiss and lost in her lot, and her thoughts about the future were the more readily shapen into resolve.‰Ыќ