Middlemarch, by George Eliot

I finished this book yesterday. Reading it felt like  the conquest of a peak. When I understood the flowery, yet beguilingly simple, prose, I felt enlightened. I’m afraid that my reading muscles are not quite equal to Eliot’s compositional powers.

The plot did not heat up until about page 690. Still, the amusing and relatable characters moved the story along. One can see onesself and acquaintances so well in the characters she draws. I admire Caleb, Mr. Farebrother, Mary and Dorothea. I will strive to avoid the foibles of Dr. Lydgate, Rosamond and Mr. Bulstrode.

Much in it amused me.

Reading it was worthwhile. I expect to read The Mill on the Floss, also by Eliot, in a later year.

I watched the BBC mini-series, 99% of it, that is, and feel that it misses so much that can only be expressed by book.

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