Middlemarch by George Eliot

Around the World in 80,000 Pages - Book 5

Middlemarch by George Eliot

You can read about my Around the World in 80,000 pages challenge here.

Miles travelled: 265

Pages read: 2,183

From the very cusp of the north, we head back into the familiar ground of the midlands, to Coventry (by some authorities the most central city in England), only 39 miles (barely a pamphlet's worth of pages) away from our starting point in Bridgnorth. But we are in no rush.

With its roots as a Saxon town (probably Coffa's Tree) Coventry became very wealthy in the Middle Ages on the back of the wool trade. It was possibly the fourth most important English city at this time (after London, York, and Bristol). Incorporated as a city in 1345, in 1451 became a county in its own right. The National Parliament was even held here on two occasions. There was a large monastic and ecclesiastical community in the city, but this ultimately proved to work against it during Henry VIII's reign. Coventry was the only cathedral to be destroyed as part of the dissolution, and the city did not have another until 1918, when the parish church was elevated (and this lasted only until 1940, when it was reduced to ruins after a bombing raid by German forces). In 1842 Coventry was folded into Warwickshire, part of the reforms following the Parliamentary Boundaries Act 1832, which tidied up a lot of enclaves and idiosyncrasies, but probably also due to the fact that it had lost some of its prestige (by 1861 it was only the 29th largest city/town in England—way below its neighbour Birmingham).

Mary Ann Evans was born on an estate in Warwickshire in 1819, her father the estate manager. Rather harshly, though to her ultimate benefit, her father decided that, with her looks, she was going to struggle to marry, and so gave her an education far superior to that of most women. As a child, she was intensely religious, at one point descending into a crying fit when she accidentally heard some secular music (I am not a fan of emojis in prose, but if I were, Face With Rolling Eyes would be appropriate here).

By the age of 21, her education had finished, her mother was dead, and her elder brother married and became head of the house. She and her father moved to Coventry (which she later stated was the basis for the setting of Middlemarch). Here, Evans was exposed to a social group with very progressive views, both with regard to society and religion. She became a part of these circles, translating The Life of Jesus, Critically Examined  and moving away from a literal interpretation of the bible. Her personal life became increasingly unorthodox. When first she moved to London, she lived (as more than a lodger it seems) with her publisher, his wife, and his mistress. She later started a relationship with George Lewes, who was already in an open marriage. However, this latter relationship developed into what appeared to be a more traditional setup, although Lewes never divorced his first wife, let alone married Mary Ann, the couple did refer to each other as husband and wife. She chose George Eliot as a nom de plume, it was not unusual at the time for women to use a male persona when publishing.

And so to the novel. I have not read any George Eliot before, and so my expectations were based on her reputation: as a realist and a feminist. Let's look at the latter first. I'm not really convinced Mary Ann Evans/George Eliot was a feminist. It's always hard looking at the views of those from a bygone age, we can't fairly judge them by today's societal views, but must look at how they differed from the views of their contemporaries. And Mary Ann was obviously living a life which did not conform to what those of the Victorian age expected. But, and it's a big but, was she doing so as a trailblazer for other women to follow? I would argue that Mary Ann saw herself as an exception from womankind, not a pioneer. She was very disparaging of a lot of other women, and criticised "silly novels by lady novelists". Even after her identity as George Eliot became known, she kept the pen name, and I would posit this was deliberately to distance herself from other women authors. She was also not an advocate of universal suffrage, stating that voting should be preserved for those who had a 'vested interest'. 

Middlemarch itself is far from what one would describe as a progressive novel. It was set forty years before it was written, at the time of much change in England, and the Reform Act features prominently in the background. But Eliot did not seem to promote more change. Rather, I got the impression that, as these changes had become part of the new norm by the time of writing, they were used as a symbol of what the established order could achieve. Much in the way that the NHS (radically left-wing at the time of its conception) is now used by the right wing as a 'way of life', which is in danger. The women in Middlemarch are not really exemplars of those whose potential is shackled by society. Most of the women are a bit pathetic and silly, with the exception of Dorethea, and again this comes across as her being 'unlike other women'.

The second point, 'realism', I also have an issue with, but not in the same way. Middlemarch is a realist novel—but in some ways, too real. It is not real in that it is an imitation of life, but rather an intensely close look at life. In the way a dissected body is realistic, with all of its organs exposed for all to see, and yet misses that vital spark of life. The great asset of a novel over other forms of media (or one of the great points, there are many) is that it can slow down the action to a snail's pace, and look with detail at the motivations and emotions behind a scene. But like many good things (cheese, stout, pork scratchings) it turns out it is possible to overdo it. Every character is subject to a complete analysis, and every scene is pontificated on at tedious length. It is rather like watching a rugby match (bear with me). When a try is scored, or some other turning point in the match is played out, a slow-mo recap is called for, and displays the incredible skill which can be lost when viewed at full speed. But if the entire match were to be watched at 1/10th of the speed, and from every conceivable angle, the whole thing would be deathly tedious. And I found Middlemarch to be utterly tedious, for just this reason. Eliot takes omniscience to the extreme, going into minute detail about the thoughts every one of her characters have, and even the thoughts they don't have, consciously at least. And I'm not convinced her psychological reasoning is sound in all cases. Some characters do feel real (Dorethea), others (such as Casaubon and Rosamond) feel more like poorly understood stereotypes, and the armchair psychology makes them seem even more shallow. In real life people do things against their character, things they can not themselves properly explain, and that aspect of humanity is entirely missing in the novel, leaving it feeling flat and lifeless.

Now, it is entirely possible I am missing something here, as many people consider Middlemarch to be one of the greatest novels of the English language. Virginia Woolf described it as "one of the few English novels written for grown-up people". I think she means by this that it takes itself seriously. But for me, that is a great fault. Even the most profound works benefit from, not light relief as such, but some sense of whimsy to throw the more serious aspects of the work into relief (and let's face it, at over 700 pages, such elements were not left out for the sake of brevity). There are a couple of places where (I think) Eliot attempted a silly phrase or two (she seems to find legs comical...), but these missed the mark.

Middlemarch has, at its heart, a passable story, but is so consumed by explaining every facet of every character in cod psychological terms that the whole thing dies a sterile and uninspiring death. 67/140 ★★☆☆☆.

Our accompanying music is an aria from Bellini's Norma arranged for piano and played by Y Mikhashoff. This is the kind of tune which could have been played in the parlour at Freshitt Hall. It's also a little bit dull and goes on too long.