"Middlemarch" by George Eliot

The charms of this lovely classic are many and varied: all characters are superbly drawn, and they act strictly in accordance with who they are; sometimes that leads them to nefarious activity and sometimes to virtuous. The plot shows balance, suspense, logic, intrigue, and pace; the historic milieu—the book is set in the early 1830s, which saw the tumult of the first Reform Bill, the initial expansion of the voting franchise in Britain—is explicitly stated. Local partisan debates mirror the national dust-up. And Eliot samples for her readers a full cross section of English society.

Society plays a crucial role, as it typically does in English fiction of that century (initial full publication of the book was in 1872). Principal characters include Dorothea Brooke, a beautiful, headstrong, right-thinking young woman; her much older husband, a clergyman named Casaubon; and her sister Celia. We also follow  Middlemarch’s mayor Walter Vincy and his family, featuring son and heir Fred, his sister Rosamund, and Rosamund’s husband, Doctor Lydgate. Their internal dialogues, decisions, motivations, and actions all ring true as a bell, as do the choices made by every other character in the book. We can see their hindrances and disappointments as they unfold; we know they will face trials, and their trials all result from understandable and predictable human impulses. It’s extremely well known and justifiably extolled as a realistic and true-to-life novel.

I found the first fifth of the book somewhat arduous, as Eliot’s characters are first presented—we don’t have the background for everyone’s position in life, or motivation. Once these are established, though, and events begin to take flight, the novel takes on a charm and an irresistible momentum toward its various outcomes. Eliot sometimes inserts author’s asides regarding a character, or a general point of human nature, into her narrative. Sometimes these asides are convoluted and reflect mores and terminology unfamiliar to 21st Century readers. A second reading will usually suffice to clarify these thoughts, when necessary.

However, she reigns as an omniscient author, and, more importantly, as a wise and indulgent seer, much too canny about human nature to excoriate or condemn. No one doubts Middlemarch merits its exalted place in the canon of classic English novels. And I am glowing in its aftermath, too, and turning around to heartily recommend it to all serious readers. I am glad that I waited until I was a mature, experienced reader to encounter this gem. Its delights will thrill and satisfy every discerning reader.