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432 pages, Paperback
First published May 3, 2016
This is a novel, a product of my imagination inspired by the life and writings of George Eliot. It is an effort to depict her inner world as she lived out her life.So begins Dinitia Smith's introduction to her novel about the last year and a half in the life of Mary Anne (Marian) Evans who, at the age of sixty, married a man twenty years her junior and traveled to Venice for their honeymoon. It was not a happy occasion, and the novelist known to the world as George Eliot would die at the end of the following year. Among the accolades on the back cover, I paid especial attention to the one by Jay Parini, who, in his novel The Last Station, did much the same for Leo Tolstoy, using his final days as a prism reflecting the complex psychology of this saintly but infuriating man. But Parini takes Tolstoy's career pretty much for granted; he does not attempt to give us a whole life story, merely to explore what happens when the conflicting themes of communal utopianism and interpersonal strife already seen in his novels come to roost in the mind of a very old man.
There was a swirl of young men around her now, young men unlike any she'd ever known, brilliant people, people who, like her, read different languages, and knew philosophy, mathematics, and science. They seemed fascinated by her learning, so unusual for a woman, and by the way she fearlessly challenged them. She was conscious that she made her voice low and musical. She felt herself opening up to them in a slow, almost painful way, as if she were a bud whose petals were being inexorably forced apart by sunlight and warmth. What did it mean that these men loved to talk to her? Were they drawn to her as a woman? Or was she simply like another man to them?I persevered for 120 pages before abandoning this book. I could not bear to think what Smith's explanatory approach would do with the psychological subtleties that Eliot herself was to explore in Middlemarch or the passions of Daniel Deronda. If you want to know about the writer's life, read a proper biography. If you want her inner world, read her novels. Though, in checking up some facts in Wikipedia, I came upon this wonderful description of the author by Henry James. Put together with Samuel Laurence's drawing of Eliot below, it brought her far more immediately to life for me than 120 pages of Smith's earnest novel.
She had a low forehead, a dull grey eye, a vast pendulous nose, a huge mouth full of uneven teeth and a chin and jawbone qui n'en finissent pas*…. Now in this vast ugliness resides a most powerful beauty which, in a very few minutes, steals forth and charms the mind, so that you end, as I ended, in falling in love with her. Yes, behold me in love with this great horse-faced bluestocking.
