Marching Through ‘Middlemarch’

A 2022 paperback edition of "Middlemarch" by George Eliot.

Sometimes a man’s gotta do what a man’s gotta do.

That idiom brings to mind some of the old Hollywood Westerns: John Wayne as the obsessed ex-soldier tracking down his abducted niece in “The Searchers,” Gary Cooper as the sheriff facing a gang of killers in “High Noon,” and Clint Eastwood as the renegade Confederate soldier in “The Outlaw Josey Wales.” All these guys load up their six-guns, mount their horses, or fight a battle alone in a street. They all face danger and death. My “gotta do” was a bit more pedestrian.

My saddle was the chair on my porch, my weapon was a cool drink poured against the 90-plus temperatures, and my quarry was “Middlemarch,” George Eliot’s 700-page novel about English provincial life, the people and customs of the first half of the 19th century, and the nature of love, marriage, family, and faith.

Over the years, a mention of “Middlemarch” kept popping up in certain books and essays I’d read. Ubiquitous literary lists with titles like “100 Best Novels in English Literature” always included “Middlemarch” somewhere in their ranks. Consequently, reading the book became a fixation for me, a goal to accomplish without any real idea as to why. Was I looking to check off one more ambition before I checked out? Was it an urge to fill some mysterious gap in my education? What was behind this desire to read a book about which I knew next to nothing?

Though the original impetus remains a mystery, I became more and more determined to make “Middlemarch” my own.

A portrait of George Eliot by François D’Albert Durade. Oil on canvas; 13 1/2 inches by 10 1/2 inches. National Portrait Gallery, London. George Eliot was the pen name of Mary Ann Evans, a Victorian translator, writer, and journalist. Public Domain

Perfume and Procrastination

Two false starts preceded this marathon. The first came in April when I checked out Eliot’s doorstop of a book from my public library. Right off the bat, I realized I’d need my own copy, both on account of the time this adventure would likely require and because I wanted to mark certain passages as I read. Incidentally, the library copy brought one humorous delight, which was its fragrance. Every page was imprinted with perfume, as if some female admirer had cozied up with the book nightly and fallen asleep in its embrace.

At any rate, I bought my own copy—without the bouquet—from my local used bookshop and returned home ready to climb Mount Middlemarch. Yet still I dragged my feet, and for two months the book sat on the shelf, ignored and ominous. Finally, during the first week of July, “Middlemarch” and I made our acquaintance and together began our journey.

Along the way, Eliot and her masterpiece reintroduced me to lessons I’d learned from reading other classics.

Adjust to the Pace and Setting 

George Eliot, the pseudonym for Mary Ann Evans, wrote and published “Middlemarch” in parts between 1869 and 1872. The book itself is set 40 years earlier. The pace of life in both instances, particularly in rural England, was much slower than today’s. Eliot’s writing reflects that difference.

As a result, readers harried by the hectic pace of modern life may find pleasure in living for an hour every day in an age when mail was delivered by post, the railroad was only coming into its own, and Middlemarch’s inhabitants always seem to find time for face-to-face visits.

Readers who’ve spent time in a small town will also feel right at home with Eliot’s story. There are few secrets in the town of Middlemarch, and people often render judgments, good and bad, on others because of their family background. That was the case in the small North Carolina town where I spent my childhood. A Smith or a Jones—we had both—might be judged bright, dull, or odd according to their lineage.

So, it’s best to approach a classic like “Middlemarch” as if boarding a time machine and then enjoy the trip.

Tolerate Confusion and Your Own Ignorance

Novice readers of Russian literature are often thrown for a loop by the many names given to various characters or by references to historical events unfamiliar to them.

You’ll find these same challenges in “Middlemarch.” The names are less of a problem than the sheer abundance of characters, the Reform Bill that was then dominating English politics, and the differences between the practices and beliefs of churches. Some social customs will be confusing for those unfamiliar with British history. Reading online summaries of the plot and characters can help if you become hopelessly entangled in details.

For the most part, however, I recommend plowing ahead without getting too disoriented by distractions like politics. In my Wordsworth Classics edition, for instance, editor Doreen Roberts includes 286 “Notes to the Text.” I referred to fewer than half of these notes without losing the plot or the sense of a scene.

Keep Alert for Wisdom and Beauty

As a fan of epigrams, I found “Middlemarch” a treasure chest of delight. In these short asides, Eliot pours champagne for the reader. Here are three of my favorites:

“We mortals, men and women, devour many a disappointment between breakfast and dinner-time; keep back the tears and look a little pale about the lips, and in answer to inquiries say, ‘Oh, nothing!’ Pride helps us; and pride is not a bad thing when it only urges us to hide our own hurts—not to hurt others.”

“Will not a tiny speck very close to our vision blot out the glory of the world, and leave only a margin by which we see the blot? I know no speck so troublesome as self.”

“The growing good of the world is purely 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.”

These last words, the final lines of “Middlemarch,” brought tears to my eyes on reading them. The stories of all these people are summed up in this finale: the saintly Dorothea and her true love, Will Ladislaw; the idealistic Dr. Lydgate, who died thinking himself a failure; Fred Vincy and Mary Garth, who after much travail “achieved a solid mutual happiness”; and many more.

Mary Garth and Fred Vincy endure many trials and tribulations in "Middlemarch." Public Domain

But even more, Eliot’s words about the “hidden life” and those good souls who “rest in unvisited tombs” called to mind my own dead, and their influence on me and on so many others. Because of those family members and friends, my life was “not so ill” as it might have been.

Look for Today in Yesterday

The soldier who returns from fighting in the Middle East may read “The Iliad” and find camaraderie with the Greek and Trojan warriors across 25 centuries. Christopher Marlowe’s “Doctor Faustus” still warns of the cost of selling our souls for worldly success. Jane Austen’s novels continue to attract women young and old; the Jane Austen Society of North America alone has 81 regional groups.

“Middlemarch” very much belongs in this august society. It’s a primer about love, marriage, and family; its truths still resonate today. In addition, it features an array of personalities rarely found in most novels. From the guilt-ridden Nicholas Bulstrode to the good-hearted Caleb Garth, the novel analyzes such a wide gamut of human personalities that it’s a near-anthropological study of human beings in general. And unlike so many other authors, Eliot exhibits profound sympathy for all her characters (with the possible exception of the blackmailer Raffles), even with their flaws.

In his article “4 reasons why you should read old, classic books,” Kevin Dickinson encourages us to pick up classic literature because  it helps us understand people better, provides the opportunity to reassess the modern world, and allows us to join in the great conversation of our culture. They call to us to be read.

“Middlemarch” called to me, and I am forever grateful I finally answered that knock at the door.

"Middlemarch" by George Eliot.

By George Eliot William Collins, reissue, Jan. 25, 2022 Paperback: 976 pages

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