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277 pages, Paperback
First published January 1, 1861

Favourable Chance, I fancy, is the god of all men who follow their own devices instead of obeying a law they believe in. Let even a polished man of these days get into a position he is ashamed to avow, andhis mind will be bent on all the possible issues that may deliver him from the calculable results of that posiition. Let him live outside his income, or shirk the resolute honest work that brings wages, and he will presently find himself dreaming of a possible benefactor, a possible simpleton who may be cajoled into using his interest, a possible state of mind in some possible person not yet forthcoming. […]In utter contrast to this is the language of the ordinary people of Raveloe, where the novel is set. Here for instance is the midwife Dolly Winthrop, who becomes Silas’s nearest friend, trying to work out in her bumbling way the theology of what happened to him:
But what comes to me as clear as the daylight, it was when I was troubling over poor Bessy Fawkes, and it allays comes into my head when I'm sorry for folks, and feels as I can't do a power to help 'em, not if I was to get up i' the middle o' the night—it comes into my head as Them above has got a deal tenderer heart nor what I've got—for I can't be anyways better nor Them as made me, and if anything looks hard on me, it's because there's things I don't know on; and for the matter o' that, there may be plenty o' things I don't know on, for it's little I know—that it is.And then there are passages of simple description which achieve a particular radiance towards the end, which make them the greatest joy in the novel. Here, for example, is Silas, his life changed by the orphan girl he calls Eppie, venturing outside of his cottage to enjoy the open air:
And when the sunshine grew strong and lasting, so that the buttercups were thick in the meadows, Silas might be seen in the sunny mid-day, or in the late afternoon when the shadows were lengthening under the hedgerows, strolling out with uncovered head to carry Eppie beyond the Stone-pits to where the flowers grew, till they reached some favorite bank where he could sit down. […]. Sitting on the banks in this way, Silas began to look for the once familiar herbs again; and as the leaves, with their unchanged outline and markings, lay on his palm, there was a sense of crowding remembrances from which he turned away timidly, taking refuge in Eppie's little world, that lay lightly on his enfeebled spirit.You can’t entirely absolve such passages from the charge of sentimentality, and there are several pages (which I shan’t quote) that may well go over the line. This is exacerbated by the curious form of the book, which is divided into three: Part One (155 pages in my edition), Part Two (50 pages), and Conclusion (3). To all intents and purposes, the story is over by the end of Part One. Yes, there are some loose ends to be tied up, which Eliot takes care of in Part Two, set 14 years later, but most of that section is merely basking in the situation that had been reached at the end of the previous part. But it does end in a celebrated paragraph that, sentimental or not, brought tears to my eyes:
