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“George Eliot” was the pen-name of Mary Ann Evans, one of the greatest of English novelists of the Victorian era. Her long novel Middlemarch, subtitled A Study of Provincial Life, is generally considered to be her finest work.
Published in eight installments between 1871 and 1872, Middlemarch tells the intertwined stories of a variety of people living in the vicinity of the (fictional) midlands town of Middlemarch during the early 1830s, the time of the great Reform Act. The novel is remarkable for its realistic treatment of situation, character and relationships and also demonstrates its author’s accurate knowledge of political issues, medicine, politics, and rural economy. Yet it also includes several touches of humor.
The novel’s main characters include: Dorothea Brooke, a religiously-inclined and very intelligent young woman who marries a much older man believing that she can assist him in his scholarly studies; Dr. Tertius Lydgate, a doctor who comes to Middlemarch to further his medical research and implement his ideas for treatment, but whose plans are thrown into disarray by an unwise marriage; Fred Vincy, an idle young man, the son of the town’s Mayor, who gets into a mire of debt; and several others.
The initial reception of the novel by critics was mixed, with a number of unfavorable reviews, but its reputation has grown through time and Middlemarch is now generally considered to be one of the best novels ever written in English.
1003 pages, ebook
First published January 1, 1872



The growing good of the world is partly dependent on unhistoric acts; and that things are not so ill with you and me as they might have been, is half owing to the number who lived faithfully a hidden life, and rest in unvisited tombs.
"Marriage, which has been bourne of so many narratives, is still a great beginning, as it was to Adam and Eve, who kept their honeymoon in Eden but had their first little one among the thorns and thistles of the wilderness. It is still the beginning of the home epic–the gradual conquest or irremediable loss of that complete union which makes the advancing years a climax and age the harvest of sweet memories in common."
...the growing good of the world is partly dependent on unhistoric acts; and that things are not so ill with you and me as they might have been, is half owing to the number who lived faithfully a hidden life, and rest in unvisited tombs.







"but what we call our despair is often only the painful eagerness of unfed hope."

The Author is not Marching hidden in the Middle.
While Eliot is masterly in her execution, above and beyond that she also has a genius all of her own, about which I would say, perhaps one improves through reading these books, or perhaps these books have the power to make one sit up and take notice.
A book is made from a tree. It is an assemblage of flat, flexible parts (still called ‘leaves’) imprinted with dark pigmented squiggles. One glance at it and you hear the voice of another person—perhaps someone dead for thousands of years. Across the millennia, the author is speaking, clearly and silently, inside your head, directly to you. (bold letters are mine)
The faults will not, I hope, be a reason for the withdrawal of your interest in him."
must not we, being impartial, feel with him a little?
We are most of us brought up in the notion that the highest motive for not doing a wrong is something irrespective of the beings who would suffer the wrong."
But Fielding lived when the days were longer (for time, like money is measured by our needs).... We belated historians must not linger after his example."
And here I am naturally led to reflect on the means of elevating a low subject.
…painting and Plastik are poor stuff after all. They perturb and dull conceptions instead of raising them. Language is a finer medium....Language gives a fuller image, which is all the better for being vague.. The true seeing is within; and painting stares at you with an insistent imperfection... as if a woman were a mere colored superficies.."


