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During the Victorian era, Meredith read law, and people articled him as a solicitor, but shortly after marrying Mary Ellen Nicolls, a 30-year-old widowed daughter of Thomas Love Peacock, in 1849 at 21 years of age, he abandoned that profession for journalism.
He collected his early writings, first published in periodicals, into Poems, which was published to some acclaim in 1851. His wife left him and their five-year old son in 1858; she died three years later. Her departure was the inspiration for The Ordeal of Richard Feverel (1859), his first "major novel." It was considered a breakthrough novel, but its sexual frankness caused a scandal and prevented it from being widely read.
As an advisor to publishers, Meredith is credited with helping Thomas Hardy start his literary career, and was an early associate of J. M. Barrie. Before his death, Meredith was honored from many quarters: he succeeded Lord Tennyson as president of the Society of Authors; in 1905 he was appointed to the Order of Merit by King Edward VII.
His works include: The Shaving of Shagpat (1856), Farina (1857), Vittoria (1867) and The Egoist (1879). The Egoist is one of his most enduring works.
Librarian note: There is more than one author in the Goodreads database with this name.
This is a wonderful novel, the main characters of which are immensely likable. There are a number of especially moving and tender chapters (chh. 14, 20, 27 & 28) and the ending is very satisfying. The chapter which is a swimming scene is delightful "They stopped their talk - for the pleasure of the body to be savoured in the mind ...".
Over the last year or so I have read a number of Meredith's later novels: The Amazing Marriage; The Tragic Comedians; The Egoist; Diana of the Crossways. They all include tremdenously well drawn, rich and varied characters and have excellent plots (the first three and mentioned especially). He has enormous sympathy for and insight into the issues faced by women.
George Meredith was greatly acclaimed in his own time but is sadly marginal these days. This may be because of his writing style. He certainly isn't the easiest author to read because of his very rich, complex long sentences, but I find him easier than late Henry James, and with more poetic imagery. It seems to be the case with most of his novels that the opening chapters are harder going than the later ones. It is well worth sticking to it, even if you don't follow everything he says, because the rewards are great. I found that reading aloud helped me understand some of the more ornate sentences. The characters are wonderful.
I had the additional pleasure of the version I was reading being a Constable and Co hardback copy printed 113 years ago in 1902 on beautifully thin paper. Next stop for me is likely to be Meredith's One of Our Conquerors.
A schoolboy and a girl meet and fall in love: they share a hero-worship of the retired general, Lord Ormont. Years later, when they meet again, one has become Lord Ormont's wife, and the other his secretary. The Ormonts' marriage is not a happy one; and the rest of the book consists of a leisurely will-she won't she. Will Aminta be won back by her husband, or run off with her first love?
Meredith is perceptive and generous towards all sides, carefully showing how the marriage is unhappy because of Ormont's fixed ideas about women and Aminta's youthful preconceptions rather than ill-will on either side. The book lacks a strong plot-line - deliberately, I think: Meredith eschews melodrama. For instance, he introduces the conventional plot device of a package of incriminating letters, which hint at some explosive discovery to come, only to defuse them when the time arrives. This seems appropriate in a book that advocates plain-dealing and honesty in marriage.
One of the book's major themes is education, which includes learning about oneself and how to behave; and Meredith is particularly sympathetic both to the constraints felt by women of the time (1894) and to those unhappy in marriage. (Divorce then still carried considerable stigma.)
However, he also has a highly idiosyncratic prose style. The first chapter has not a word of dialogue - everything is reported and analysed; and this analysis continues throughout, sometimes in markedly obscure and oblique fashion. A typical sentence reads: "An immolation of the naturally constituted individual arrests the general expansion to which we step, decivilises more, and is more impious to the God in man, than temporary revelries of a licence that Nature soon checks." If you can work that one out, you might enjoy this book.