Reading...

Housecleaning

2007-07-04T11:43:00.000-04:00

I'm considering undertaking another book as a group reading project, tentatively to start in September. Again, something "big," and generally acknowledged as a classic.

Any ideas? Would you read along?

Novels, mirrors, and politics

2007-02-01T11:00:00.000-05:00

(Rushing to catch up with the rest of the class...)

I had a good laugh at the lengthy parenthetical that Stendhal interjects into his narrative in Ch. 19 (Pt. II). Well-written irony is pure joy to read. He eventually came right out with his beef with those he offends:

(Ah, my dear sir: a novel is a mirror, talking a walk down a big road. Sometimes you'll see nothing but blue skies; sometimes you'll see the muck in the mud piles along the road. And you'll accuse the man carrying the mirror in his basket of being immoral! His mirror reflects muck, so you'll accuse the mirror, too! Why not also accuse the highway where the muck is piled, or, more strongly still, the street inspector who leaves water wallowing in the roads, so the mud piles can come into being.)

Later (in Ch. 22), he inserts another during the secret political meeting where Julien is the note-taker:

(The author would have preferred, at this point, to insert a page consisting of nothing but ellipses. "That would look awful," said the publisher, "and, for such a lightweight book, looking bad is, quite simply, death." -- "Politics," the author replied, "is a stone tied around literature's neck, and in less than six months, it sinks under the weight. Politics set among the imagination's concerns is like a pistol shot fired at a concert. The noise mangles without energizing. It does not harmonize with the sound of any instrument in the orchestra. Politics will mortally offend half your readers, and bore the other half, who would have found the discussion fascinating, and wonderfully lively, in the morning newspaper...." -- "If your characters don't talk politics," responded the publisher, "they'll cease to be the Frenchmen of 1830, and your book will no longer be a mirror as you claim it is....")

I love this. What do you think about Stenhal's argument here? His resistance to politicizing his narrative is certainly still an issue today.

Verdict

2007-01-25T10:22:00.000-05:00

Did you like it?

To borrow a question from The Modern Library Reading Guide: Why did the twentieth century see an enormous rise in Stendhal’s literary reputation and influence?

What do you interpret "the red" and "the black" as symbolizing?

Nessie has just posted a review of the book that touches on some major points but without going into too much detail.

The question that lingers with me is what were these characters' motivations — it starts with boredom, a let's-see-what-happens, but later? Do you think, in the end, Mme de Renal and Mathilde really love Julien — I mean REALLY love him? How sincere, or genuine, are Julien's words and actions? Has he achieved any kind of love or heroism?

Mathilde early on had said: "Nothing can so distinguish a man as a death sentence. It's the only thing one can't buy."

?

Is this thing on?

2007-01-02T12:34:00.000-05:00

I admit it: I fell behind, got distracted. But I'm back on schedule, slightly ahead even, and planning to finish in the next couple days.

I'd wanted to pick up on Rachel's comment that "Mme de Renal's handling of her husband was comical and ingenious and WAY cleverer than she should have been capable of." I completely agree! But where does the cleverness come from? Not books. It's something that arises from the force and purity of her love?

I'm thoroughly enjoying how Stendhal presents Paris society, the petty power games, the wars of words, how people fall in and out of favour (I'm reminded of the movie Ridicule — did anyone see it?).

(Mathilde is worshipful of Rousseau, while Julien calls Rousseau a fool and, essentially, a hypocrite (B2,ch8,p273). What's that all about?)

"We no longer have genuine passions, in the nineteenth century. That's why there's so much boredom, here in France. We do the most incredibly cruel things but without cruelty."

I did fall back on the Spark Notes, to make sure I wasn't missing anything. They did reinforce the sense that all actions are taken not for themselves but for their approval (eg, Julien considers Mathilde only after the respected academician sings her praises). Also, they did help make clear Julien's method, that all his actions are conceived as a military strategy (only without having much understanding of strategy), his whole life is a battle, and in this "small" way he continues to try to emulate his hero, Napoleon. ("It's clear that Julien had no experience of life; he had not even read novels.")

Mathilde, on the other hand, had read quite a lot, and things she shouldn't. Most descriptions of passion she dismisses as frivolous love. But she sees herself as Marguerite de Valois.

These two lovers are so intent on conforming to their respective models, they're lacking for genuine passion. All their knowledge and ideas and ambitions seem bound to end in disappointment, and they keep upping the stakes to keep it exciting.

Mme de Renal certainly does look better when cast against the light of Paris. Julien often compares them, and Mme shines superiorly. And I wonder — is it because of her naivete, the convent-upbringing, the living in the provinces, that makes her seem a better — purer — person? Is it my age, that I sympathize with her, that I feel critical of the young adults, careless, fickle, without the strength of character they purport to admire?

Is anyone still reading? Where are you?

Some quick and general comments (thru ch 21)

2006-11-28T08:48:00.000-05:00

I haven't had much time for reading while away (and I'm still away). I just wanted to comment on the show versus tell thing. I know this conversations been had in various forums, and some of you have been part of it, so this isn't exactly a new and stunning observation, but I'm finding that Stendhal's "show" is minimal and "tell" pretty extreme. Those events we traditionally think of as moving the plot forward happen in the blink of an eye, but the characters analyze them to death in their heads. For example, when one of the Renal sons is seriously ill and Mme freaks out, I had to review these pages to be sure precisely what happened.

Then there's the letters. Stendhal's treatment of the episode seems so opposite to what we (as a mature, postmodern reading audience) have come to expect.

Sorry for not going into more detail, but I'm short on time.

I'd love to hear from the rest of you on that last section before moving forward. Do you think the relationship between Julien and Mme has evolved any? What do you think of M de Renal's show of character in response to the letters?

Stendhal and Rousseau

2006-11-16T17:51:00.000-05:00

When I came across this in Ch. 13, I began to wonder if Stendhal was poking fun at Rousseau:

He discovered a small cave in the almost perpendicular face of one of the rocks. He set his course for it, and presently was ensconced in this retreat. 'Here,' he said, his eyes sparkling with joy, 'men can do me no harm.' It occurred to him to indulge in the pleasure of writing down his thoughts, so dangerous to him in any other place. A smooth block of stone served as his table. His pen flew: he saw nothing of the scene round about him. At length he noticed that the sun was setting behind the distant mountains of Beaujolais.

'Why should I not spend the night here?' he asked himself; 'I have bread, and I am free!' At the sound of that great word his heart leaped, his hypocrisy meant that he was not free even with Fouque. His head supported on both his hands, Julien stayed in this cave happier than he had ever been in his life, engrossed in his dreams and in the joy of freedom. Without heeding it he saw fade and die, one after another, the last rays of evening light.

I haven't read much philosophy, but it seems that Julien fits the type of the Romantic-hero wannabe. Is Stendhal slyly criticizing this ideal, or is he demonstrating (through Julien) how the ideal can never by reached by someone of such shallow character?

What to make of Julien?

2006-11-14T22:03:00.000-05:00

I mentioned previously in passing that Julien, in the opening chapters anyway, reminded me a little of Pierre in War and Peace. Obviously, I still have War and Peace on the brain — and with each passing chapter they're less alike. However, there are some superficial similarities: There's references to both of them as childlike. They're both ardent supporters of Napoleon. They've both been denied access to "society," and when finally admitted are rather enamoured of it (Julien not actually admitted, but at least allowed to see it up close).

I sympathize with these naifs. They're underdogs; I want to root for them.

Except, a few more chapters along, I don't really like Julien anymore. I still feel a little sorry for him, but I don't understand him.

I don't have any fully formed notions of his motivations — I'm just thinking out loud here and I have yet to go back and reread some of this section.

What's with this duty he feels toward Mme de Rênal? Or is it duty to himself to fulfill a role he's decided he's fit for. Or duty to his aspired-to station in society?

Mme is also naive; we know she didn't get any ideas about love (or much else) from books, indeed she has trouble recognizing it. As awkward or uninformed as her actions are, they seem to me to come purely of herself, her nature; it's natural.

But Julien?! As I understand it: he picked up these notions of how a young man ought to conduct himself quite recently and suddenly, while in the employ of de Rênal? Does he think this will advance his career? How stupid is he? Or is he in fact acting on a natural impulse that he now regards through a distorted lens?

Pollarded trees

2006-11-09T01:09:00.000-05:00

I was struck in Chapter 2 by Stendhal's description of some trees because it strikes me as emblematic of one of the central themes:

...what I object to in the Cours de la Fidelite is the barbarous manner in which the authorities keep those sturdy plane trees trimmed and clipped short. Instead of looking, with their low, rounded, flattened heads, like the commonest of vegetables, they would like nothing better than to take on the magnificent form they develop in England. But the mayor's will is despotic, and twice a year the branches of all trees belonging to the commune are mercilessly amputated. ...

"I like shade," replied Monsieur de Renal... "I have my trees trimmed to make them give more shade, and I can't imagine what else a tree is made for if, unlike the useful walnut tree, it doesn't bring in money."

This specific kind of tree-trimming is called pollarding. It isn't seen much in North America, but is pretty common in European cities. It's an ancient practice, a way of making a tree that would otherwise be very large into a manageable street-tree. As you can see from the picture, the tree forms big bulging nodes on the end of its branches (my Dad used to call these "cat-heads", but I'm not finding a confirmation of that term on the web). These nodes don't get any higher, year after year, because a tree only grows bigger around, not taller, except at the very ends of its branches. Slender shoots spring up from the nodes, and when they start getting too big, they are trimmed back.

(My father's a plant pathologist. While your dad was teaching you to juggle or play pool, this is what mine was teaching me.)

Anyway, the trees in the story suggest something I'm seeing throughout: conformity and how much it hurts. How we bend over backwards and mutilate ourselves to meet ridiculous standards of behaviour, success, decency. These are disingenuous, hypocritical trees. They will provide the shade they are required to provide, no matter how ugly it makes them.

Hooked

2006-11-08T14:26:00.000-05:00

Stendhal is light on the irony at the start of things, but then I came upon this in Ch. 5 and could not keep from laughing:

This horror of feeding with the servants was not natural to Julien; he would, in seeking his fortune, have done other things far more disagreeable. He derived this repugnance from Rousseau's _Confessions_. It was the one book that helped his imagination to form any idea of the world.

It goes on:

The collection of reports of the Grand Army and the _Memorial de Sainte-Helene_ completed his Koran. He would have gone to the stake for those three books. Never did he believe in any other. Remembering a saying of the old Surgeon-Major, he regarded all the other books in the world as liars, written by rogues in order to obtain advancement.

With his fiery nature Julien had one of those astonishing memories so often found in foolish people.

Ok, I'm definitely in for the long-haul--this is going to be fun. (The epigraph by "ENNIUS" made me smile as well.)

P.S. I'm reading the Moncrieff e-text since I have no bookstore access.

"The cage less gay"

2006-11-06T14:57:00.000-05:00

"The little town of Verrières might be one of the prettiest in all Franche-Comté."

The town of Verrières is fictional, but its geography and description suggests Besançon. It's not a stand-in, however, as characters refer to this other town in their comings and goings (as a centre of learning and of fashion, or at least shopping).

It's pretty, pretty, pretty, we're told repeatedly. With a horizon "for the purpose of pleasing the eye." Rênal's wall offers "one of the most picturesques views in all France.

But:

"Nowhere in France can you hope to find the picturesque gardens surrounding Germany's manufacturing towns — Leipzig, Frankfurt, Nuremburg, etc. In Franch-Comté, the more walls you put up, the more your property bristles with rocks heaped one on top of another, the more claim you have on your neighbours' respect."

The trees are "like the most vulgar of garden vegetables."

Add to this the roar and frightful appearance of the mill's operation, "visibly harsh and violent," and the stench of financial transactions, and I have to wonder:

How pretty is it really?

I get the feeling we may get a look at some ugly undersides, including of the good-looking (if delicate) Julien and the pretty-for-her-age Mme Rênal.

And what is it that makes them ugly? For the town, it's the concessions to commerce, the idiotic "tyranny of opinion" (any idea what to make of this reference to the United States?), the call to a kind of conformity. The epigraph suggests it's not a happy place, and Julien is desperate to escape. (I knew a town like that once.)

In Julien we already see hypocrisy regarding his public stance on Napoleon, a conformity to his new crowd. Madame is "an artless soul," bored and not giving much thought (or care?) to anything (a kind of passionless conformity to her station?). But they'll make a handsome couple, no?

Some preliminaries

2006-11-06T10:00:00.000-05:00

I've had neither much time to search out any interesting or relevant background material nor luck in finding anything that goes beyond the introductory notes to most editions and which doesn't include spoilers.

The main events of The Red and the Black are based on a real-life incident, but to share any details of it seems to give away the book's ending. Warning: the introduction to the Raffel translation contains spoilers, as does the biographical note.

To warm up to a discussion about the book proper, maybe we could talk a bit about reading the book...

What translation are you reading?
Have you read the introduction?

Why are you reading TR&TB? Have you read it before?

Diane Johnson in her introduction to the Raffel translation notes that "An American reader is most likely to have encountered The Red and the Black at about the age of its protagonists, Julien Sorel and Mathilde de la Mole, who are eighteen or nineteen when we meet them. [...] As with many novels, to take it up again at an older age is to experience a different book." Stendhal saw it published when he was 47. I feel a peculiar pleasure in being of an age somewhere between Stendhal's and that of the other, older (about thirty) protagonist, as if I'm well-poised to get it.

Do you have a reading plan, or method? I've noted elsewhere that I'm having a hard time pacing myself, not reading ahead, but I'm trying to set aside blocks of time as well as trying to read in French.

Most important: are you liking it so far?

I'll be posting a couple more specific thoughts later in the day (1. my impressions of the town; 2. how Julien reminds me of Pierre in War and Peace).

Schedule

2006-10-17T15:18:00.000-04:00

I've posted a schedule in the sidebar, its main purpose being to focus discussion on specific sections and prevent spoiling plot and character developments for your fellow readers.

The date cited is the day on which posting and discussion opens for the indicated chapters.

I've used my French edition as a cue for a few of the breaks, as some academics have deemed it appropriate to interrupt the text in these places with scholarly articles and other supplementary material. The remainder of the breaks I've determined solely on the basis of page count.

I will be away November 22–29 and may or may not have internet access during that time, but I certainly intend to read while away. Section discussions now open on Mondays (a change from previous discussions, to accommodate my little vacation so I won't miss a full section). Also, I've stretched one section over 2 weeks at the end of December as I expect both reading and discussion may slow a little around Christmas.

I'll be digging around for some background material to post over the next couple weeks. Feel free to do same, introduce yourselves, post some initial thoughts on Stendhal or The Red and the Black, why you're reading it or what you've heard about it.

Happy reading!

Introducing Stendhal's The Red and the Black

2006-10-05T14:22:00.000-04:00

A novel is a mirror that strolls along a highway. Now it reflects the blue of the skies, now the mud puddles underfoot. [The Red and the Black, ch 49]

According to The Modern Library:

The Red and the Black, Stendhal’s masterpiece, is the story of Julien Sorel, a young dreamer from the provinces, fueled by Napoleonic ideals, whose desire to make his fortune sets in motion events both mesmerizing and tragic. Sorel’s quest to find himself, and the doomed love he encounters along the way, are delineated with an unprecedented psychological depth and realism. At the same time, Stendhal weaves together the social life and fraught political intrigues of post–Napoleonic France, bringing that world to unforgettable, full-color life. His portrait of Julien and early-nineteenth-century France remains an unsurpassed creation, one that brilliantly anticipates modern literature.

Published in 1830, the novel's events span the years 1827-1829. Both Middlemarch and War and Peace are historical novels, written many decades after the events they describe. I'm curious how Stendhal then will present "history" — I expect a sense of immediacy, without the benefit of hindsight nor the filters of historians.

Coincidentally (or this may account in part for why I'm drawn to this book), it covers post-Napoleonic France, picking up not long after where War and Peace left off and occurring just a few years before the political reforms and other goings on discussed in Middlemarch.

Politics in a literary work, is like a gun shot in the middle of a concert, something vulgar, and however, something which is impossible to ignore. [The Charterhouse of Parma, ch 23]

Tolstoy was enormously influenced by Stendhal.

The Russians imitate French ways, but always at a distance of fifty years. [The Red and the Black, ch 54]

According to Wikipedia, "André Gide felt that The Red and the Black was a novel far ahead of its time, and called it a novel for readers in the 20th century."

"We should never be finished with Stendhal," said Paul Valéry. "I can think of no greater praise than that."

In The Red and the Black Czeslaw Milosz "perceives the "legend of the will": that a lone individual can apprehend the complexity of society as hypocrisy and assert his authenticity by rebelling against it."

In our calling, we have to choose; we must make our fortune either in this world or in the next, there is no middle way. [The Red and the Black, ch 8]

Wikipedia.

Excerpt (translated by Burton Raffel).
One review favourable, another not so much.

Etext (translated by CK Scott-Moncrieff).
Etext (translated by Charles Tergie).

I've been rather enthusiastic for some months now regarding the prospect of reading this book, and even promised myself I'd try reading it in French. Don't worry: in addition to having a great number of dictionaries at my disposal, as well as a resident French speaker (everyone should have one), I have on hand Burton Raffel's English translation of the novel for reference.

Register your interest in reading along in the comments or by email. (If you've previously emailed me regarding joining in on the next book, I'll be in touch with you shortly.) Any suggestions on how to tackle this masterpiece, all comments, and any resources are welcome.

I'll be posting a schedule in the next week or so. I'd like discussion to open in the first bit of November. The schedule will take into account my late-November vacation, as well as Christmas preparations and festivities. Reading will go into the new year.

A novel is like a bow, and the violin that produces the sound is the reader's soul.

The end of Tolstoy

2006-09-27T16:24:00.000-04:00

We may as well call it a day and consider discussion on War and Peace closed.

I'm still thinking about War and Peace, I'm just having great difficulty saying anything about it. I've determined that perhaps it lends itself better to introspection; any discussion of it (that isn't in the flesh and involving music and vodka) is bound to be superficial.

I may post some further thoughts, as I intend to watch Sergei Bondarchuk's 1968 epic Soviet production (years in the making! cast of thousands! a record-setting cost of $100 million), as soon as I can get my hands on it (there's a waiting list at the library!). It's considered to be the most faithful adaptation.

Still, I'd appreciate your thoughts (in the comments below, or by email) on where the difficulties lie: the timing, the pace, the size of the book, the bigness of its themes, the historic detail? Maybe it'll help in planning the next group reading project.

Yes, I do have another group reading project in mind. (Hint: Stendhal's The Red and the Black.) More information in the days to come.

A little discussion

2006-09-03T01:42:00.000-04:00

I say this is a "little" discussion, because I'm not looking at larger themes or underlying philosophies. I'm just going to write about one of the characters I enjoy--Pierre. I liked him at the very beginning, and although he sometimes acts foolishly, he remains likable.

I'm still in the middle of the Battle of Borodino (trying to remember if, in history, Napolean ever did take Moscow or not--can't remember!), and I've just been marveling over Pierre. Who rides out into the middle of a battle just to see what's going on? It reminds me of the first few chapters in Anna Pavlovna's drawing room. Pierre was a naive young man, charging into the group and sharing his opinions without the least idea that he was ridiculous or unwelcome. And now he's doing the same thing on the battlefield! He chats with the officers or the soldiers without the faintest idea of what's really going on.

I don't think Pierre sees things as they are. I think he sees them as he is. And because he is generous, big-hearted, and open, he casts everything in his own mold, imagining that everyone is as happy to see him as he is to see them. He's not stupid, though. I'm curious to see whether he will remain so enchanted with the Masons. I suppose it depends on what Tolstoy thought about them, and that I don't know.

The further into the book we go, the more complex I find the battles. I know nothing about military maneuvers. The only "battlefields" I've been on are historic (like Gettysburg). I have been at a few re-enactments, though, and they are so loud! If you added to the noise of the guns and cannons the sounds of men and horses screaming...I can't even imagine. How can Pierre be so oblivious????

Well, I'm hoping to finish reading about this battle today or tomorrow. Where is everyone else? I know Isabella finished on time, but surely not everyone else?

Some reviews

2006-08-16T10:04:00.000-04:00

If anyone's nearing the end of War and Peace, you may be interested in the following more cohesive perspectives on the book as a whole (as opposed to on its itty-bitty parts taken separately). (Some links below contain spoilers.)

Matt has in recent weeks posted some thoughts on wrapping up the reading of War and Peace and a fuller review.

Also, Maxine some time ago in the comments provided a link to Frank Wilson's review of War and Peace in the Philadelphia Inquirer (I believe it's no longer available online, but I was able to search on the elements and find a cached copy). Here's a bit:

The nearest to a hero in the war chronicle is Prince Kutuzov, the old, one-eyed Russian commander. ("Long years of military experience, confirmed by the wisdom of old age, had told him that one person cannot control hundreds of thousands of men fighting to the death, and he knew that the fate of battles... is decided by a mysterious force known as the 'spirit of the army.'... ")

Napoleon is portrayed as an amoral brigand whose luck has run out, Czar Alexander as well-meaning but largely clueless. The most controversial parts of the work are the essays on history, which many regard as its least successful component. But they often segue nicely into the war episodes.

The essays also remind us that the novelist able to perform the miracle of creation that is Natasha could also be a common scold. From start to finish, the book is told in Tolstoy's voice, the viewpoint that of a patriotic Russian (the Russian forces are always referred to as "ours").

A laggard's notes

2006-08-02T18:46:00.000-04:00

Who else is behind? Woooo! Shake off your shame, people! The real shame is making Isabella write this blog all by herself, and I just can't do it anymore.

This is my third or fourth time through W&P, and I tells ya, it's like reading a different story. I'm not sure what it is, whether I'm just older, or I remember the basic plot so the details are sinking in more. Previously, for me, this seemed like a very plot-driven book. This time, I'm getting hung up on character portraits.

Not so much the main characters -- Andrei, Pierre, Nikolai, Natasha are all pretty much what I remembered them to be. But Dolokhov is more interesting this time. Bagration. Kutuzov. Denisov. Boris. Each embodies a different strategy for leading, for winning. (Bagration in particular, while utterly useless in social situations, is my kind of leader -- whatever his troops happened to do turned out to be exactly what he had wanted them to do. And by god, it gave them confidence, and pretty well worked!)

Fathers stand out. Prince Bolkonsky and Count Rostov, aging fathers completely at the mercy of their emotions (although one is furious, the other jolly). Count Bezukhov, who gave his son no guidance whatsoever, vs. Prince Vasily, who places his children where they will be useful, like furniture.

I am also struck by Tolstoy's preoccupation with the difference between what people think is real, and what is in fact real. The truth is sometimes unknowable. That idea strikes me as very... well, postmodern, of all things. The world is too complex for us to untangle.

Bleah. This book is too complex to untangle. Here's to better organization in the future, and to (maybe!) catching up!

Meaning and meaninglessness

2006-07-28T16:35:00.000-04:00

[Adapted from my scribblings on these subjects on my blog.]

Am having a great deal of trouble figuring out how or where to start. As I started to write this, it seemd I was stringing together quotations more than articulating any useful connections between them, but maybe this is where you can help. I need to spit it all out before I paralyze myself into not writing about anything on this novel at all.

Page references are to the Signet Classic Dunnigan translation (I can cite you a book and chapter on request).

Andrei
The book begins for me on p 377. That is, really begins — this is where I realize there's more going on than soirées and troop movements.

Prince Andrei is wounded (B1, P3, ch17).

He opened his eyes, hoping to see how the struggle between the gunner and the Frenchman ended; he wanted to know whether the red-haired artilleryman had been killed or not, and whether the cannons had been captured or saved. But he saw nothing. Above him there was nothing but the sky, the lofty heavens, not clear, yet immeasurably lofty, with gray clouds slowly drifting across them. "How quiet, solemn, and serene, not at all as it was when I was running," thought Prince Andrei, "not like our running, shouting, fighting; not like the gunner and the Frenchman with their distraught, infuriated faces, struggling for the rod; how differently do those clouds float over the lofty infinite heavens! How is it I did not see this sky before? How happy I am to have discovered it at last! Yes! All is vanity, all is delusion, except those infinite heavens. There is nothing but that. And even that does not exist; there is nothing but stillness, peace. Thank God..."

This scene is often cited as being one of the most memorable in W&P. I held my breath for the next few chapters; I shifted with Andrei, in and out of consciousness, between reality and something else. He is before Napoleon, "such a small, insignificant creature compared with what was taking place between his soul and that lofty, infinite sky with the clouds sailing over it."

This bit still puzzles me: What did he see? What did it inspire in him? Not God. He's ill for some time. When he returns, his wife dies with a reproachful look on her face. For 2 or 3 years it seems Andrei is merely going through the motions; he's in a depressive state. Is he mourning (the wife he thought stupid)? Is it posttraumatic stress disorder? Somehow that clarity, that sense of what it all means, translates into inaction, the pointlessness of everything? Russian fatalism? All that is left for him is his son, he thinks, and this does not seem much to him.

There's the oak tree; we pass by it a few times. I love the oak sequences better than the lofty heavens.

A whole new sequence of thoughts, hopeless but ruefully satisfying, rose in Prince Andrei's soul in connection with that oak tree. He considered his life afresh as it were and arrived at the same hopeless but soothing conclusion as before, that it was not for him to begin anything anew, but that he must live out his life harming no one, disturbed by nothing, desiring nothing.

Andrei inspired by the first blush of love finally recognizes the oak for the metaphor it is. "All the finest moments of his life suddenly rose to his mind. Austerlitz with its lofty heavens, the reproachful look on his wife's face in death, Pierre at the ferry, that young girl thrilled by the beauty of the night, and the night itself and the moon — all this suddenly came to his mind." Wait a minute! His wife's reproach, a fine moment?! (Then, "No, life is not over at thirty-one!" Hah!)

Pierre
So Pierre doesn't believe in God. He meets a Freemason. He starts reading Thomas a Kempis, sent to him anonymously.

One thing, and one thing only, he realized as he read this book: the hitherto unknown joy of believing in the possibility of attaining perfection, and the possibility of an active brotherly love among men.

And about a week later, just like that, Pierre believes in God (p 432). Or he says he does when asked. He actually thinks about it and hesitates before answering, then very quickly reaffirms his position. Is this genuine? A sudden realization? Or does he give this response to gain access to the Brotherhood, for all the other benefits and social good he believes in? Is he fooling himself, or others?

A couple years go by and he is disillusioned. A line I really like (p 527):
"At this meeting Pierre for the first time was struck by the endless variety of men's minds, which prevents a truth from ever appearing the same to any two persons."

And he sinks into a depression (p 529).

It was all the same to him: nothing in life seemed to be a matter of great consequence, and under the influence of the depression that possessed him, he valued neither his liberty nor his determination to punish his wife.

The Russian mentality
What strikes me as evident particularly in Andrei and Pierre, but also Nikolai, is a swaying between extremes. From "Life is meaningless" to "life is full of purpose" and back again, and again, in 60 seconds.

Is this a Russian characteristic? Is this part of Russian fatalism? What is Russian fatalism anyway? Nietzsche said "Against it the invalid has only one great remedy — I call it Russian fatalism, that fatalism without revolt with which the Russian soldier, when a campaign becomes too strenuous, finally lies down in the snow. No longer to accept anything at all, to take anything, to take anything in — to cease reacting altogether." That phrase — "Russian fatalism" — is usually considered gloomy, depressing, pessimistic. Is it?

Opposites
All this back and forthing has me thinking about Pythagorean dualism or a dualism of contraries (a subject I don't know a whole lot about, but read some stuff on many, many years ago). Aside from swaying between meaning and meaninglessness, Tolstoy sways also between (obviously) war and peace, big picture and small details, masculine and feminine (on p517 he refers to "the feminine world, society").

From Dictionary of the History of Ideas: "The Pythagoreans taught that all things are composed of contraries: the one and the many, the limited and the unlimited, the odd and the even, right and left, masculine and feminine, rest and motion, the straight line and the curve, light and darkness, good and evil, etc."

I'm not sure what to make of this. My understanding is that Pythagoras blended mathematical principles with the mystical, and it's also my understanding that Tolstoy tries to apply a mathematical calculus to History, and I find this kind of exercise interesting.

Nietsche
Tolstoy said "Neitzsche was stupid and abnormal." In trying to find out a little about this thing called Russian fatalism, I came upon some quotes by Nietzsche, on women, war, truth, etc, and was astounded by how well suited many of them are to summing up the attitudes expressed in War and Peace. I'll probably look into this a bit further myself, but thought I'd ask if anyone knows anything more about their relationship or how their ideas relate.

Middlemarch
This bit reminds me of Middlemarch, this idea of tying to be a good person, the betterment of the world depending on unhistoric acts...

He surprised me by asking whether I remembered the threefold aim of the order: (1) The preservation and study of the mystery. (2) The purification and reformation of oneself for its reception, and (3) The improvement of the human race by striving for such purification. Which is the principal aim of these three? Certainly self-reformation and self-purification. Only to this aim can we always strive independently of circumstances. But at the same time just this aim demands the greatest efforts of us; and so, led astray by pride, losing sight of this aim, we occupy ourselves either with the mystery which in our impurity we are unworthy to receive, or seek the reformation of the human race while ourselves setting an example of baseness and profligacy.

Notes to self
Dreams
There's some references to the dreamlike quality of things (by Pierre, primarily, I thought, but can't find references now). I think Andrei's lofty sky counts. Also, meeting Speransky, then seeing him in a new light, as if for what he really is — somehow separating the essence from the actions, the superficial representation. And Natasha at the opera. Is there something Platonic in all this?

Music
Again, Natasha at the opera is in stark contrast to the other musical moments. She is not technically perfect but sings with "soul," charms everyone. Also, at Uncle's house after the hunt — this is my favourite and the most enchanting episode thus far.

Anybody there?

2006-07-26T08:46:00.000-04:00

Just a quick note...

Sorry for keeping so quiet lately. I've been swamped with work, etc. The spare time I've had I've devoted to reading rather than writing about what I've read. I'm pleased to say I've passed the halfway mark, and am finding W&P to be unputdownable.

Anyway, constraints on my time are easing up, and I hope to organize some thoughts for a post or two in the next couple days.

Of course, this shouldn't stop you from saying anything.

Tolstoy's bloopers

2006-07-20T13:06:00.000-04:00

Is it sacrilege to pick apart War and Peace — "the greatest novel ever written" — on this most superficial of levels?

It started innocently enough: the copyeditor in me notes a discrepancy and dismisses it as a typo. The next point I notice is not something wrong, exactly, but a disconnect between specific words and my sense of events in time — perhaps something unintended was introduced in the translation. But the more it goes, the more I believe Tolstoy had a very poor sense of time; at least he didn't map out a timeline for his characters.

Here are the discrepancies I've found:

1. Anna Pavlovna holds a soirée some July evening, 1805; Pierre leaves the party, visits with Andrei, and steps out into the June night. Typo?

2. Lisa goes into labour March 19, 1806. That previous July evening, we're told she "being pregnant, no longer attended any of the gala evenings," as though it had been going on for some time. How long had she even known she was pregnant? — "soon to become a mother," "bore her burden," "waddling steps"; she's plump and stout even in these early days. Were these references to her condition translated with some exaggeration?

3. Later in the summer of 1805, the Rostovs have a party for Natalya's name day (August 26). Natasha we're told is 13. (Sonya is 15.) When her brother returns in early 1806, she is "smiling as only a happy girl of fifteen can smile" (Sonya is now 16). (Later in 1809 Natasha is 16.)

4. Early in 1806, Rostov returns home on leave. (He'd left sometime after Aug 26.) Twice it's mentioned he'd been away for a year and half. (These bits are intercut with other scenes definitely occurring in 1806.)

5. In November 1805 the deal of Pierre's marriage is sealed, and he's married 6 weeks later. March 3 he's at dinner at the Rostovs and calls Dolokhov out to a duel. Dolokhov's mother: "And if he was so jealous, well, as I see things, then he ought to have shown it sooner, instead of letting it go on for a year."

6. It's the third day of Christmas holidays; Nikolai and Denisov plan to rejoin their regiments after Epiphany (January 6 by our calendar). There's dinner, a ball, a couple days go by, gambling, Denisov leaves, Rostov stays on a couple weeks, then leaves at the end of November.

Of course, none of this diminishes the quality of the work as a whole. Although, in a lesser novel, I might find these discrepancies distracting, evidence of a sloppy mind even, reason to (gasp!) abandon a book (or at least scoff at it).

I believe W&P was published in instalments, which likely accounts for most of these oversights (any insight into 19th-century Russian publishing practices?), but I'm curious whether any of these might be the effects of sloppy translation (are they present in your editions?). Most importantly, I want to know: have you come across any other "bloopers"?

Book I, Parts 2&3, in general

2006-07-15T11:31:00.000-04:00

I thought a separate post might be in order to open some general discussion on Book I, Parts 2 & 3.

1. So? How's it going? I admit to having fallen behind the schedule this week, but I'm back on track now. Are we going too fast? If you don't speak up we'll never know.

2. How do feel about the war scenes? Do you prefer them over the scenes in society?

3. Can Prince Vasily be any more unpleasant?

4. Nikolai Rostov: coward? What do you make of his love for the Tsar?

5. Tolstoy really dwells on the ugliness of women (or is it just me?).

6. Do you have any favourite quotations or scenes?

State your opinions, ask your questions, gossip!

Napoleon, Bush and Tolstoi

2006-07-13T14:57:00.000-04:00

The best way to see Pierre's initial admiration for Napoleon is in the context of the time's politics. Yes, Pierre is naive, like a lot of intellectuals and free thinkers of the time, about Napoleon and what he stood for. Although a lot of what Napoleon represented seemed to be admirable on the surface--an end to kings, establishment of constitutional governments, the end of the power of the Catholic Church--in reality Napoleon tried to effect all this through constant militarism that bled Europe dry for a generation and completely ruined France. When Napoleon took up the cause of Italian or Polish freedom against outside occupiers he seemed enlightened. But Napoleon never liberated a country without becoming the new oppressor--"meet the new boss, same as the old boss," in the words of Pete Townshend.

Pierre's mistaken understanding of Napoleon, shared by Beethoven and many intellectuals and supporters of the Enlightemment, was common. By 1812 most of them (Pierre included for those of you who've read ahead) had turned against him. Tolstoi's view of Bonaparte was neither that he was the savior of Europe nor the Anti-Christ. He thought Napoleon and Tsar Alexander were both pathetic because they didn't realize that they were as caught up by Fate as the lowliest peasant. He thought Napoleon mistaken about his own genius and Alexander mistaken about his own righteousness. Tolstoi believed that most historians were wrong for casting these men as great leaders rather than just tools of the forces of history.

If we put this in the present context: what is the role that history will assign George Bush II in the Iraq debacle? Can any of us, having seen this guy stumble over a speech a sixth grader could slam-dunk, think that Bush II was smart enough to plan and carry out such a historical act? The invasion was a fact of history brought on by many converging forces and mistaken world-views: conservative think tanks, industries looking for contracts, political responses made to cover up incompetence over 9/11, a stolen election in 2000, oil greed, upper echelon officers looking for advancement, diplomatic posturing, etc. To think Bush II had much control over these forces is to be sadly mistaken--or so I think Tolstoi would argue.

The Face Of War

2006-07-12T18:31:00.000-04:00

Part Two has us in the thick of war. One of my favourite passages occurs when Natasha's brother, Nikolai, faces a rush of Frenchmen after being thrown from his horse:

From the Ann Dunnigan translation:
"He stared at the approaching Frenchmen, and although only a moment before he had been galloping ahead to reach these men and cut them down, their proximity now seemed to him so awful that he could not believe his eyes. "Who are they? Why are they running? Can they be coming to me? Really coming to me? Me whom everyone loves?" He recalled his mother's love for him, the love of his family and his friends, and the intention of the enemy to kill him seemed impossible. "But perhaps--they are not going to kill me!" He stood for more than ten seconds, not moving from the spot, not understanding his position.

The foremost Frenchman, the one with the hooked nose, was now so close that the expression on his face could be seen. And the excited, alien appearance of this man with his bayonet tilted forward, holding his breath and lightly running towad him, frightened Rostov. He grasped his pistol, but instead of firing flung it at the Frenchman and ran with all his might toward the bushes. He ran not with the feeling of doubt and conflict with which he had marched onto the Enns Ridge, but with the feeling of a hare fleeing from the hounds. One single feeling of fear for his young, happy life took possession of his whole being."

For those interested there is an article in the current issue of The Walrus magazine by David Gilmour, called My Life with Tolstoy. It is a memoir and focuses Gilmour's passion for Tolstoy, and particularly War and Peace, over the years.

Pierre and Napoleon

2006-07-09T17:12:00.000-04:00

I don't know much about history, and I'm assured I don't need to to appreciate War and Peace. There's not many references to historical events in Book I, but enough to sidetrack me and want to know more.

Unless otherwise indicated quoatations are taken from Wikipedia's entry on Napoleon, which compares well with other encyclopedic sources I've checked, and I'm assured by a couple history buffs I consulted that it's fairly accurate, it covers the basics, and it's mostly objective.

Napoleon was serving in the military when the French revolution broke out (1789).

Throughout the 90s, as a general, he became increasingly influential in French politics. He published 3 newspapers, widely circulated within France.

From 1795 to 1799, the Directoire exécutif held executive power in France. Power was shared by 5 directors, chosen by the Council of Ancients from a list elected by the Council of Five Hundred (two parliamentary houses).

Napoleon seized power on November 9, 1799 (or 18 Brumaire on the French Republican calendar).

War and Peace begins in 1805. Genoa and Lucca (city-states) had just been annexed by France.

On the second page Prince Vasily tells us, "They have decided that Bonaparte has burned his boats." This doesn't appear to match a historical event. Perhaps it's meant as a metaphor? Although, it's the sort of thing that Napoleon would do, or that would be attributed to him.

At the beginning of chapter 3, the party is discussing the assasination (see below) of the Duke of Enghien.

I can find no substantiation for the Viscount's anecdote, that the Duke and Bonaparte both enjoyed Mademoiselle George's favours, although Napoleon's association with her is mentioned in the Historic Court Memoirs of France.

Toward the end of chapter 4, Anna Pavlovna's guests gang up on Pierre:
"...how can you account for a great man who is capable of executing a duke or even an ordinary person, for that matter, without cause and without trial?"

In January 1804, Bonaparte's police uncovered an assassination plot against him, ostensibly sponsored by the Bourbons. In retaliation, Bonaparte ordered the arrest of the Duc d'Enghien, in a violation of the sovereignty of Baden. After a hurried secret trial, the Duke was executed on 21 March. Bonaparte then used this incident to justify the re-creation of a hereditary monarchy in France, with himself as Emperor, on the theory that a Bourbon restoration would be impossible once the Bonapartist succession was entrenched in the constitution.

"I should like to ask Monsiuer how he explains the Eighteenth Brumaire... Was that not a hoax? It was an act of trickery in no way resembling the conduct of a great man."

When Napoleon had returned to Paris in October 1799,

the military situation had improved due to several French victories. The Republic was bankrupt, however, and the corrupt and inefficient Directory was more unpopular with the French public than ever.

Bonaparte was approached by one of the Directors, Sieyès, seeking his support for a coup to overthrow the constitution. The plot included Bonaparte's brother Lucien, then serving as speaker of the Council of Five Hundred, Roger Ducos, another Director, and Talleyrand. On 9 November (18 Brumaire), and the following day, troops led by Bonaparte seized control and dispersed the legislative councils, leaving a rump to name Bonaparte, Sieyès, and Ducos as provisional Consuls to administer the government. Although Sieyès expected to dominate the new regime, he was outmaneuvered by Bonaparte, who drafted the Constitution of the Year VIII and secured his own election as First Consul. This made him the most powerful person in France, a power that was increased by the Constitution of the Year X, which made him First Consul for life.

"And the prisoners he killed in Africa!"

In early 1799 he led the army into the Ottoman province of Syria, now modern Israel, and defeated numerically superior Ottoman forces in several battles, but his army was weakened by disease and poor supplies. He was unable to reduce the fortress of Acre, and was forced to return to Egypt in May. In order to speed up the retreat, Bonaparte took the controversial step of killing prisoners and plague-stricken men along the way. His supporters have argued that this decision was necessary given the continuing harassment of stragglers by Ottoman forces.

Pierre is referred to as a Jacobin. Napoleon supported the Jacobins. "The terms Jacobin and Jacobinism are used as pejoratives for left-wing revolutionary politics."

In chapter 13, Boris finds Pierre imagining himself as Napoleon. "England is done for"..."Pitt, as a traitor to the state and the rights of nations, is condemned to —" I don't understand this. Thanks to Pitt's efforts, Great Britain in April had joined the Third Coalition, an alliance (including Russia and Austria) to fight Napoleon. I suppose this moment says more about Pierre than anything else. Is this just some geekiness, or possibly childishness, coming through? Possibly it shows that his admiration of Napoleon is blind, and his understanding of political events limited (just thinking out loud...)? Or is he a bit of a megalomaniac himself (and how will this play out when he's a count)?

The couple other historical references, I think, can be taken at face value (movement of troops, etc). (If I've missed any references or if you have any insight into the relevance of these events, please share via the comments.)

The instances noted above do, however, add a little to Pierre's characterization. He's never before been received in "society" (having been abroad, and perhaps because he's illegitimate), but now he appears not only as anti-patriotic, but as a Napoleonic sympathizer — seen at the very least as a fool, though quite possibly as a threat, to be siding with a cause that essentially seeks to do away with the very class he is now associating with.

Initial thoughts

2006-07-05T13:23:00.000-04:00

I honestly don't know where to start. I feel like the 148 pages of part 1 barely constitute an introduction to characters and events. I'm having trouble picking out anything that is really discussion-worthy. In case you're having similar difficulties, or if you're just shy, I'll try to start some kind of ball rolling here.

A summary of the difficulties I rambled about on my own blog, hoping it would point me in some direction (but no such luck):

1. I'm not loving this book. It's entertaining, and it's certainly not hard, but I'm not captivated (yet?). Anyone else?

2. I've learned quite a bit about the rise of Napoleon. Comments the characters make in passing are sidetracking me. I'm assured that understanding them is not crucial to appreciating the novel — I could skip right over them — but I can't help but want to know. I'll post a few notes on the historical references in days to come, and I welcome any insight from those of you who actually do know something about the Napoleonic Wars.

3. Do your editions have introductions and/or notes? Have you read them? I'm almost wishing I hadn't read the introduction to my book (John Bayley), as I feel my impressions are quite strongly coloured by it.

4. The big question: "What's this novel all about anyway?"

Matt (who's read W&P before) ventured an answer in previous comments: "the meaning of a man's soul - the tension between one's free will and fate; sort of like if you're put into the position, you have decide whether this is really your passion or merely because it's expected of you."

I'd have to agree there are tensions, but don't think I'd call it "fate" just yet. To this point I see the struggle between following one's desires and doing one's social duty. I think that's clearly true for Andrei, Pierre, and Boris.

Andrei, coming to Pierre's defense and in reference to Napoleon, says, "Besides, in the actions of a statesman one must distinguish between his acts as a private person and those as a general or an emperor." (Chapter 4)

Perhaps this is applicable to anyone, statesman or not: distinguishing between acts of free will and those performed in fulfilling a social/political role.

So? How far have you gotten? What do you think so far?

Schedule

2006-06-28T14:59:00.000-04:00

I've posted a schedule in the sidebar. The sections are a little uneven in length, but it seemed best to follow the big breaks than to count pages or even chapters.

I've broken the text into books and parts according to the Dunnigan edition I'm reading.

The sections are labelled a little differently in the online text (tr Maude); the corresponding breakdown is roughly as follows:
Book 1 (28 chapters; my edition has this in 25 chapters!?)
Books 2 (21 chapters) & 3 (19 chapters)
Books 4 (16 chapters) & 5 (22 chapters, although my book goes to chapter 21; the online chapter 22 is incorporated into the first chapter of my edition's next part)
Books 6 (26 chapters), 7 (13 chapters) & 8 (22 chapters)
Books 9 (23 chapters) & 10 (39 chapters)
Book 11 (34 chapters)
Books 12 (16 chapters) & 13 (19 chapters)
Books 14 (19 chapters) & 15 (20 chapters)
Epilogues 1 & 2

It seems so daunting to count chapters, but many of them are in fact very tiny.

Let's see how the first couple weeks go; we can slow it down a bit if need be.

Like A Child In A Toyshop...

2006-06-22T12:54:00.000-04:00

Pierre had been educated abroad, and this reception at Anna Pavlovna's was the first he had attended in Russia. He knew that all the intellectual lights of Petersburg were gathered there and, like a child in a toyshop, did not know which way to look, afraid of missing any clever conversation that was to be heard. Seeing the self-confident and refined expression on the faces of those present he was always expecting to hear something very profound. At last he came up to Morio. Here the conversation seemed interesting and he stood waiting for an opportunity to express his own views, as young people are fond of doing.

Ah, I feel rather like young Pierre. Without the educated abroad part. I'm not sure that I am going to be one to express my views, as I am a young person actually not that fond of doing that, yet, I wanted to say how honored I am by the chance to study this great work with such a great group of people.

I also wanted to direct you an excerpt of an article (How to Read a Hard Book) on Oprah's O Magazine website, where there is advice on how to read a great work of literature. War & Peace is the example used. It actually did make me want to read the book even more.

I look forward to getting to know those of you I already know better, and meeting the ones I don't! Happy Reading!

"Translation Wars"

2006-06-20T15:52:00.000-04:00

I’d remembered reading an article in The New Yorker on Constance Garnett and “Translation Wars.” I remember that the article led me to purchase the Rosemary Edmonds’ translation of War and Peace. I did some research and found the article in one of our library databases. Due to copyright issues I cannot link the site. I will provide the bibliographic information*.

Here is a summary of the article:

Garnett translated over 70 volumes of Russian literature. She translated with rapidity and is known to have skipped words she was unfamiliar with and to also have grammatical and idiomatic errors and, at times, her writing would be unsmooth and lack polish. Nabokov was said to have loathed Garnett’s translations. In the article, Nabokov is quoted as calling Garnett’s Anna Karenina “a complete disaster” and he also states that Americans were turned off by the Great Russian novels because they were “reading Constance Garnett” rather than Tolstoy or Chekov.

Nabokov is not the only one with a beef on Garnett’s translations. The article tells of two other translators, Pevear and Volokhonsky, who tried for years to get Random House to publish a correct translation of Karamazov. When comparing the different translations the author of the article, David Remnick, states that, “to compare the Garnett and the Pevear-Volokhonsky translations of The Brothers Karamazov is to alight on hundreds of subtle differences in tone, word choice, word order, and rhythm.”

The article then discusses the importance of translation and details the newest translation of War and Peace by Anthony Briggs. Briggs translates all the French passages to English and spells out the expletives. I like the Edmonds’ translation with the French. It keeps me in practice!

Out of curiosity, what translation are you reading?

*Here are the bibliographic details:
Remnick, David. “The Translation Wars.” The New Yorker. 11/7/2005, Vol. 81 Issue 35, p98, 12p.

Which Translation?

2006-06-20T15:15:00.000-04:00

Today, I almost picked up a copy of Rosemary Edmonds's translation but hesitated. I'd like to read a translation that some or most or even one other person would be reading.

So, which translation? Any recommendations?

Short on time?

2006-06-16T09:25:00.000-04:00

War and Peace, ultra-condensed:

History controls everything we do, so there is no point in observing individual actions. Let's examine the individual actions of over 500 characters at great length.

Tolstoy Studies

2006-06-13T22:21:00.000-04:00

It has been a while since I read any Tolstoy, a decade or more.

I came across an interesting link: the Tolstoy Studies Journal (University of Toronto).

Among the resources? A War and Peace family tree, an image gallery and reviews.

War! What is it good for?

2006-06-10T14:24:00.000-04:00

War and Peace, by Leo Tolstoy.

Sorry for delaying in making this announcement, but I've been busy, and lazy. But there you have it: War and Peace. "This panoramic study of early 19th-century Russian society, noted for its mastery of realistic detail and variety of psychological analysis, is generally regarded as one of the world's greatest novels." "Often called the greatest novel ever written, War and Peace is at once an epic of the Napoleonic Wars, a philosophical study, and a celebration of the Russian spirit."

As Rachel has made clear, it's vital to read both the war and peace sections; skipping over the war bits will just confuse you.

Discussion of the first manageable chunk is tentatively set to open on July 5. (The text apparently is divided into 15 books plus 2 epilogues — the schedule for discussion will likely follow these breaks. Other suggestions are welcome.)

I do not have a copy in my possession but will rectify this shortly. (The text is available online.) Within the next week or two I will post a schedule.

Also, I will be updating the list of contributors. If you'd like to be included, leave a comment or send me an email. I will be contacting those of you who participated in the discussion of Middlemarch or who expressed an interest in the next selection to confirm your status.

In the meantime, feel free to share your thoughts on this selection as well as any resources on the novel, Tolstoy, or the historical background.

Read on!

Last words on Middlemarch

2006-06-08T12:48:00.000-04:00

I give you a quotation from Middlemarch's finale, for no other reason than that I love it and never managed to find a way to work it into the rest of our discussion.

Lydgate on Rosamond:

He once called her his basil plant; and when she asked for an explanation, said that basil was a plant which had flourished wonderfully on a murdered man's brains.

Ah, the basil plants I have known...

Thanks to all for reading Middlemarch with me. Feel free to continue to leave comments. If you're just getting into the novel and dying to discuss it, I'd be happy to oblige.

Stay tuned for the next reading group selection.

Watching Middlemarch

2006-05-23T14:20:00.000-04:00

A couple weeks ago we watched the first half of the 1994 BBC adaptation of Middlemarch, one episode per night (it's packaged in 6 episodes). Episode 3 ended with the death of Casaubon, which in print occurs at the end of chapter 48 (of 86).

My impressions, briefly, while I still have them:

Casting
Dorothea is played by Juliet Aubrey. As in the book, she didn't strike me as a great and irresistible beauty in the opening scenes, but somehow, she becomes lovelier as the story progresses.

Robert Hardy as Mr Brooke is hilarious. (Hardy plays Cornelius Fudge in the Harry Potter movies.)

I love Featherstone. He's played as a bit of a parody, your typical crusty old crank, amusing to watch, but it's quite evident, more so than in the text, that he has a soft spot for the youngsters and delights in their company.

Casaubon is impressive. I haven't yet decided if I approve though. Played by Patrick Malahide, he's a very strong presence, not the pathetic wisp of a man I'd envisioned. He appears to be more conflicted than I think he deserves to be.

Rufus Sewell needs a haircut. But that's just my opinion.

Adaptation
The story starts with Lydgate, which in some ways is a sensible decision. We are introduced to Middlemarch through his eyes. We see work on the railroad as he drives into town.

We never hear about Laure: Lydgate's being both wary of love and stupid about women is a little harder to buy.

Some scenes and conversations are condensed and combined (for example, Lydgate meets Rosamond at Featherstone's place); most of it seems to make sense.

There's no scene of Ladislaw going to church to see Dorothea/Casaubon. Of all the skipped bits this is perhaps the most offensive to me.

We see Fred interact with the Garths only very briefly; there is no nuance to his relationship with Caleb (tho this may yet change...?). That is to say, the Fred subplot is far more sub than in the novel.

So far, 3 scenes have made me roll my eyes, and you'll see how similar they are:
Casaubon at the Vatican library, haunted by Dorothea's echoing words, to demonstrate his inner turmoil about his work, his lack of confidence among his "peers," etc.
Fred having a fevered nightmare — flashback closeups of the rogue horse.
Rosamond, tossing and turning in bed, hearing the echoes of Mrs Bulstrode, her mother, and Lydgate to convey the distress she's feeling about Lydgate's intentions toward her, her apparent failure to achieve her aim.

These strike me as a cheap film trick, and I'm really surprised someone tried to use them seriously in 1994.

It drives home, however, the difficulty: how do you convey visually what Eliot tells us is in her characters' heads? Nevermind Eliot's witty commentaries — there's so much more to this book than what the charcter's say and do.

The watching of it
My viewing partner has not read Middlemarch. He interrupts periodically to ask me for clarification. I in turn am quizzing him on his impressions. Quite remarkably, they match my own impressions regarding specific events and characters at certain stages. So, for all the shortcuts the adaptation takes in simplifying and condensing, and for all my quibbles about scene order and dialogue, etc, it manages to produce a similar effect on my viewing companion as did the novel on this reader.

A perspective I hadn't considered (and I'm not sure what to make of it): He sees Middlemarch as a boomtown; the story has the feel of a western: newcomers to town, everybody at heart wanting to raise it up, make something of it, jockeying for position. The many outdoor scenes — the wide-openness of it, the colour, the dust kicking up — do something to enhance this.

The movie feels quite slowpaced. I must admit that, were it not for having just finished reading it, it may not have held my interest, nor would it have enticed me to turn to the novel.

But I am looking forward to seeing the rest of it, hopefully over the next couple nights. I know I'll return to this book someday, and I expect I'll get something out of watching the movie again too (preferably in more concentrated viewing sessions, and without work deadlines looming over me).

Has anyone else seen it?

The end

2006-05-16T17:36:00.000-04:00

Okay, nobody seems to want to touch it, so I'm going to be brave and jump in.

A little history here -- I saw the BBC Middlemarch on Masterpiece Theatre before I ever read the book, so I got to hear Russell Baker's commentary before and after each episode. After the last episode, he said something along the lines of this: generations of readers have felt vaguely disappointed by the ending of Middlemarch, and wished that Eliot had somehow been able to get Dodo and Lydgate together.

I don't remember what else he said because I was shocked. Of course Dodo and Ladislaw belonged together! Ladislaw was HAWT. And Romantic. What else could a girl possibly want? (I was 22, let it be remembered).

Reading the book shortly thereafter did not change my mind.

Fast forward 11 years to this past Christmas. I was on the phone with an old friend who had finally gotten around to reading the book (inspired by my gushing long ago). She hated the ending. Her points were these:

Clearly, Eliot intends the reader to think Ladislaw is a much better catch than any sensible modern reader would think he is. He's self-absorbed and mediocre. All Dodo's wants and ambitions are subordinated to his career. She should not have married him.
Dodo should have married Lydgate.
The ending, therefore, is either lame or tragic, or more likely both. If you fall in love with the wrong person, you are pretty much doomed to limp along, never achieving what you might have, and that's just depressing.

Oh dear. It had been so long since I'd read the book, that I had no rebuttal. What she said made sense to me, and made me worry that this book I had loved so long was, in fact, nothing but a big disappointment. That's one of the reasons I leapt at the chance of reading it again, with other people! I needed to know which was right -- her pessimistic reading, or the rosy interpretation of my youth.

I have concluded NEITHER.

This time through, I like the ending. Not in a "how romantic, they're together!" kind of way, I mean, and not without a certain somber understanding. It's not a buoyantly happy ending for Dodo; not happy at all for Lydgate. Fred and Mary fare a bit better. But let's have a look at what Eliot is trying to say.

One of the big themes in Middlemarch, to my mind, is how to make peace with your ordinariness. Everyone wants to be special: Fred wants to be exempt from work; Bulstrode wants to be part of God's elite, without having to follow the rules himself; Lydgate wants to make a big splash in the medical community; Rosamond wants to rise in society; Casaubon wants to do exceptional scholarly work. (The exception to this, it seems, are some of the peripheral characters -- Celia, Sir James, Mrs. Cadwallader -- who are extremely interested in keeping everything exactly as it is. Similarly, much of conservative Middlemarch society).

Inevitably, characters who strive for, long for, and chase after specialness run up against setbacks and disappointments. There are good ways and bad ways to deal with setbacks. Our bad models include Bulstrode (who bribes, cheats, and possibly hastens death), Casaubon (who hoards and hides), and Lydgate, who basically gives up (we can debate this, if you like). There are two significant good models: Farebrother (who I've discussed before), and Caleb Garth. Caleb's strategy is especially instructive: he works hard. Success comes only slowly, specialness perhaps never, but that doesn't really matter. Work is its own reward. He never stops moving, and he never stops believing in work for its own sake.

Work is one thing that saves us from despair in the face of obstacles: love is another. Fred and Mary have both, and I think they end up the happiest. Lydgate ends up with pale shadows of both, and I think his fate is unambiguously tragic.

Then we have the problem of Dodo. She is presented from the beginning as special -- and she is. She is kind and courageous, able to step forward and save Lydgate when no one else (even my dear Farebrother, *sob*) will do it. Under the right circumstances, she could have been St. Theresa. But these aren't the right circumstances, and the question Eliot asks in the ending is Is that a tragedy? Is it enough to marry someone you love? Is it enough to work diligently at the myriad invisible, unappreciated tasks of everyday life?

I think it is. I think Eliot thinks so too. We work, we love, we do our best, and we can't let the specter of how much better we could have done (maybe! under the right circumstances!) recast our stories as tragedies. Dodo's story is still worth telling. So is yours.

Let me just end with the very end, barely remembered from my first read-through, that now gives me chills:

...[For] 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 have lived faithfully a hidden life, and rest in unvisited tombs.

Book the next?

2006-05-11T15:40:00.000-04:00

Does anybody want to read another book together?

Some people are still reading Middlemarch, and some still have something to say about it (well, I do). I'm not ready to declare closure on Middlemarch, but I figure it can't hurt to look forward to another group reading project. Think about it.

I casually mentioned the possibility a while ago elsewhere. I received suggestions both for specific authors (Dickens, Thackeray, Tolstoy) and specific works (Anna Karenina, Ulysses, War and Peace).

I'm vetoing Anna Karenina, because I've read it and I'm not up for a reread at this time. Maybe after we get another book down, though, I'll hand the blog over to the Karenina readers (I'd happily follow along without actively participating).

Anyway, I'm presenting a shortlist. Vote for the one that appeals to you most. At the end of the month, I'll tally the votes, update the list of contributors, and set up a schedule (tentatively for June/July/August).

Diana has also suggested the possibility of creating a forum (either in her webspace or elsewhere) to complement (or supplant) our blog goings-on. (Potential use: a scheduled "live" discussion.) Any thoughts on blogs versus forums, or format in general, would be appreciated.

The shortlist (click for a bit about):

War and Peace, Leo Tolstoy
The Brothers Karamazov, Fyodor Dostoevsky
Ulysses, James Joyce
The Red and the Black, Stendhal
Fathers and Sons, Ivan Turgenev

Is that too long for a shortlist? I anticipate that Tolstoy and Dostoevsky will be clear favourites. I still balk a little at the thought of Ulysses, but I doubt I will ever be more ready than I am now, and I believe this sort of forum would well suit the reading of it. I haven't read any of these and don't own any of them except Ulysses (and I'm half-hoping there's a new, more accessible translation of it available).

Leave a comment to register your preference, along with any strong opinions or suggestions about these or future reading selections (I'm keeping a list) and discussion format or schedule.

Sir James

2006-05-06T14:36:00.000-04:00

"Sir James never ceased to regard Dorothea's second marriage as a mistake." Gina and I discussed this briefly by email a couple weeks ago, but I think it's worth opening up for discussion here.

Chapter 54:

Indeed, Sir James shrank with so much dislike from the association even in thought of Dorothea with Ladislaw as her possible lover, that he would himself have wished to avoid an outward show of displeasure which would have recognized the disagreeable possibility. If any one had asked him why he shrank in that way, I am not sure that he would at first have said anything fuller or more precise than "that Ladislaw!" — though on reflection he might have urged that Mr. Casaubon's codicil, barring Dorothea's marriage with Will, except under a penalty, was enough to east unfitness over any relation at all between them. His aversion was all the stronger because he felt himself unable to interfere.

A few pages later, James is still stewing over it: "To his secret feeling there was something repulsive in a woman's second marriage, and no match would prevent him from feeling it a sort of desecration for Dorothea." Desecration! My, what a strong word.

Eliot delves a bit deeper in Chapter 84:

The mass of his feeling about Dorothea's marriage to Ladislaw was due partly to excusable prejudice, or even justifiable opinion, partly to a jealous repugnance hardly less in Ladislaw's case than in Casaubon's. He was convinced that the marriage was a fatal one for Dorothea. But amid that mass ran a vein of which he was too good and honorable a man to like the avowal even to himself: it was undeniable that the union of the two estates — Tipton and Freshitt — lying charmingly within a ring-fence, was a prospect that flattered him for his son and heir.

Which of these factors do think plays the largest part? Does he still hold a torch for Dorothea? What do you make of the James and Celia's marriage?

Or is it really all about his sense of what's proper? His stance is, we're told in the Finale, the one Middlemarch at large took.

James is obviously a product of his upbringing. Do you see anything admirable in him?

Go me! Who else?

2006-05-03T14:46:00.000-04:00

I just finished Middlemarch. I don't have anything coherent to say about it at the moment because it's all still swirling around in my head and frankly, it hasn't quite sunk in yet that I really did this. I know that I wouldn't have gotten through this lunker of a book without this blog and you all. I have many times started a Big, Serious Classic and then faltered because life got in the way, other, easier-to-read books got in the way, and sometimes even other Big, Serious Classics would lead me astray (only to repeat the cycle).

So, I just wanted to say thank you, Isabella especially, for being here and for keeping me going.

How many have finished? How many are close? How many are seriously flagging? To anyone who hasn't finished yet - stay with it! When I turned that 799th page, I felt invincible!

And now I want to read it again...

More About Dogs

2006-05-01T09:25:00.000-04:00

I remembered something I read in Daniel Deronda about dogs, and found it again.

"The dogs--half-a-dozen of various kinds were moving lazily in and out, taking attitudes of brief attention--gave a vacillating preference first to one gentleman, then to the other; being dogs in such good circumstances that they could play at hunger, and liked to be served with delicacies which they declined to put in their mouths; all except Fetch, the beautiful liver-colored water-spaniel, which sat with its forepaws firmly planted and its expressive brown face turned upward, watching Grandcourt with unshaken constancy. He held in his lap a tiny Maltese dog with a tiny silver collar and bell, and when he had a hand unused by cigar or coffee-cup, it rested on this small parcel of animal warmth. I fear that Fetch was jealous, and wounded that her master gave her no word or look; at last it seemed that she could bear this neglect no longer, and she gently put her large silky paw on her master's leg. Grandcourt looked at her with unchanged face for half a minute, and then took the trouble to lay down his cigar while he lifted the unimpassioned Fluff close to his chin and gave it caressing pats, all the while gravely watching Fetch, who, poor thing, whimpered interruptedly, as if trying to repress that sign of discontent, and at last rested her head beside the appealing paw, looking up with piteous beseeching. So, at least, a lover of dogs must have interpreted Fetch, and Grandcourt kept so many dogs that he was reputed to love them; at any rate, his impulse to act just in that way started from such an interpretation. But when the amusing anguish burst forth in a howling bark, Grandcourt pushed Fetch down without speaking, and, depositing Fluff carelessly on the table (where his black nose predominated over a salt-cellar), began to look to his cigar, and found, with some annoyance against Fetch as the cause, that the brute of a cigar required relighting. Fetch, having begun to wail, found, like others of her sex, that it was not easy to leave off; indeed, the second howl was a louder one, and the third was like unto it. "Turn out that brute, will you?" said Grandcourt to Lush, without raising his voice or looking at him--as if he counted on attention to the smallest sign.And Lush immediately rose, lifted Fetch, though she was rather heavy, and he was not fond of stooping, and carried her out, disposing of her in some way that took him a couple of minutes before he returned." (Ch. 12)

And later in Daniel Deronda, we see a (possibly Maltese) tiny dog worn as a fashion accessory by Lady Mallinger:

"Lady Mallinger, with fair matronly roundness and mildly prominent blue eyes, moved about in her black velvet, carrying a tiny white dog on her arm as a sort of finish to her costume;" (Ch. 35)

The Maltese dog spurned by Dorothea makes a return appearance in Ch. 55 of Middlemarch, in the scene where Celia is persuading Dorothea to take off her widow's cap. Mrs. Cadwallader is stirring things up with suggestions of Dorothea's remarriage. "Sir James was annoyed, and leaned forward to play with Celia's Maltese dog." So it would seem that Celia got the puppy after all!

Middlemarch and Rigidity

2006-04-26T15:33:00.000-04:00

Middlemarch is an incredibly complex novel that can be seen from many different angles and in many different lights. Often compared to a web (Eliot herself uses the metaphor many times throughout the work) it is a little like the Hindu concept of the net of existence—each nexus of the fabric is a jewel that reflects all the other jewels in the grid of the universe. But though webs are flexible, there is a sense of rigidity reflected in many of the attitudes of the Middlemarchers themselves that contributes greatly to the conflict in the novel. And it is a habitual rigidity, a sort of inbred inertia, that causes a lot of the trouble among the inhabitants of Middlemarch.

It seems to me that the primary nexus in that vast web of connections that is Middlemarch is the symmetry of the Dorothea/Casaubon and Lydgate/Rosamond marriages. Although Dorothea and Lydgate have their faults—he more than her—both are practical idealists who unfortunately have been paired with impractical and headstrong partners. Dorothea is under Casaubon’s yoke as much as Lydgate is under Rosamond’s. If there are protagonists in Middlemarch—the novel seems to me unique in being practically free of any clear-cut heroes or villains—they are Dorothea and Lydgate.

Dorothea marries Casaubon chasing some false ideal of service to a great intellect since, being a woman in pre-Victorian England, the great intellectual quest has been denied her. She eventually finds that Casaubon is no great intellect, a fact of which he himself is well aware, and that his life’s work, the Key to all Mythologies, is nothing more than a Penelope’s cloth—a hopeless work that justifies his existence but can never be completed because it would expose him as the mediocrity he is. Her horror at finding that he expects her to go on weaving and unweaving this pointless fabric after his death is palpable. And the codicil to his will that prevents her from ever considering marriage to Will Ladislaw is the final link in a ponderous chain that binds her to him even in death. Casaubon’s chief failure, however, is stubbornness. It is his unwillingness to compromise with Dorothea that causes most of the strife in their marriage. His jealousy of his cousin, Will, however unfounded, is something he sticks by even in the face of proofs to the contrary, just as he sticks to his plodding and pointless scholarship.

Lydgate is under a similarly stubborn enslavement to Rosamond Vincy, the entitled daughter of the mayor of Middlemarch. Rosamond is a poster child for viciously passive-aggressive behavior. The more Lydgate struggles to free himself from the web of debt that she will not even acknowledge, the more she wraps him in it’s sticky shroud, until she has poisoned his relations with his uncle and with her own father. Eliot poses a paradox here—she surely doesn’t want to suggest that wives should blindly obey their husbands, yet Rosamond’s flouting of Lydgate’s specific orders is the root of terrible consequences. Her manner in this puts her husband totally in her power, for she always leaves him feeling that he is in the wrong no matter how outrageous her own behavior. And her rigid refusal to abide by his wishes drives spike after spike into the coffin of their marriage.

Of course, Rosamond is not Lydgate’s only problem. It is the rigidity of the other Middlemarch medical men that cast doubt on his methods in the first place, rendering his dearly bought practice worthless and his opinions suspect. And the fact that Lydgate is allied (in the town’s eyes, certainly not in his own) with the Bulstrode/Reform faction, labels him an outsider right from the beginning. Rigidity is an insider’s game, after all.

Bulstrode himself shows his own rigidity in his religion, but it is not only morally suspect characters in Middlemarch who are stubborn. Will Ladislaw shows his rigidity in his refusal of his uncle Casaubon’s support and later of Bulstrode’s money. Mary Garth shows hers in her refusal to help Featherstone alter his will in favor of Fred Vincy and her father shows his by his rejection of Bulstrode’s commission after hearing Raffle’s story. Each of these rigidities has consequences, some fortunate, some not, and Eliot remains as neutral as is possible in an author in order that we may see how a slight compromise here or there would have changed so many lives so drastically. Would Casaubon have suspected Dorothea and Will if Will had not been so adamant in breaking the connection to his cousin? Would Lydgate have been able to pull himself out of debt if Rosamond had acquiesced? Would Fred have inherited Stone Court if Mary had not been so rigid, and in doing so, would the whole Rigg/Raffles connection have fallen apart? Perhaps, but then there would have been no novel Middlemarch, although the town of Middlemarch would have certainly been a more peaceful place.

2006-04-24T12:15:00.000-04:00

I have a couple of observations to make about the last couple of chapters--
First, has anyone else noted the very offhand way Elliot deals with the children in this novel? Isabella pointed out earlier that there's only one line announcing Rosamund's pregnancy. Later, there are a few paragraphs devoted to the premature birth of her stillborn child, but the event is used mostly to demonstrate the direction her relationship is headed with Lydgate. She seems to recover in no time, and apparently has no lasting effects from her loss. And finally, Dorothea spends time with Celia and her baby, but doesn't seem particularly attached to it, while Celia's devotion to it is described in a distinctly satirical way. Which is funny, and spot on, and at the same time I wonder at the lack of warmth there.

Did GE have children of her own? It didn't look like it from the little bio in the front of my book, but I'm sure it's not very complete. And there is a strong bond portrayed between parents and older children, like Fred and his mother, Mary and her father. Do you suppose this would have something to do with a different attitude toward infants, when mortality rates must have been very high? Or possibly a distaste for small children on the part of the author?

The other bit I wanted to comment on was Bulstrode and his situation. I think the description of Bulstrode's gradual corruption by the world and his own desires is brilliant. It shows him in a much more human light, though he is still not a very likeable man. This paragraph is applicable to most of the characters in the book:

The spiritual kind of rescue was a genuine need with him. There may be coarse hypocrites, who consciously affect beliefs and emotions for the sake of gulling the world, but Bulstrode was not one of them. He was simply a man whose desires had been stronger than his theoretic beliefs and who had gradually explained the gratification of his desires into satisfactory agreement with those beliefs. If this be hypocrisy, it is a process which shows itself occasionally in us all, to whatever confession we belong, and whether we believe in the future perfection of our race or in the nearest date fixed for the end of the world; whether we regard the earth as a putrefying nidus for a saved remnant , including ourselves, or have a passionate belief in the solidarity of mankind.

Bulstrode is a man who is changed by the world, and by his desires, and things don't turn out the way he thinks they are going to. The world becomes a little darker, a little sadder, and it seems that is the trajectory many of Middlemarch's characters are following. Any comments?

My crush on Farebrother

2006-04-20T18:53:00.000-04:00

(Isabella's going to be so miffed if nobody posts! Where is everybody?!)

I haven't always had a soft spot for Farebrother. My first time through, I was 21 years old and much more taken with sexy Ladislaw and tormented Lydgate. The self-deprecating Farebrother came across as, well, an old fuddy-duddy. He steps out of the way of the happy young people, and he should. He's a geek and an antique.

Ah, times change. I'm now closer to Farebrother's age than Dorothea's. His renunciations look different from here, more poignant and complicated. I've been there and done that -- with significantly less grace.

Here's what I admire this time around:

Although he's in the wrong career, he doesn't get down about it. He does what he can to pursue his entomology on his own time. There's a lot to be admired in a passionate amateur.
Although he's in the wrong career, he doesn't shirk his duties. When Fred asks him to speak to Mary, he takes the charge as a clergyman and manages to be simultaneously compassionate and dispassionate. He doesn't undermine Fred's case, and goes so far as to speak up when he sees Fred slipping.
He doesn't try to conceal or rationalize his shortcomings. There is no pretense with Farebrother, and being honest with himself helps him deal with others compassionately.

Much of this book seems to be about disillusionment and failure. Farebrother has weathered both with grace and humility. Maybe I don't so much have a crush on him as want to be him when I grow up. Disappointments will come whether we will it or no; he offers us a model for dignity, philosophical equanimity, and good humor in the face of life's sucker punches.

(Interestingly, his approach also fails at one point. But that section is not yet under discussion here, so I'll save "Farebrother vs. Dodo: Deathmatch!" for another time.)

Members update

2006-04-14T00:27:00.000-04:00

In case you didn't already know, life goes on. We've lost one member for certain (Gaelicgrl) (maybe others?). Meantime we've officially gained Lelia. Sam's gone to Spain for 3 weeks, but promises to check in on us when he returns. Myself, I leave in the morning for 10 days or so, and won't have internet access.

I've never bothered to slap a counter on this blog, but I've stumbled across a number of mentions of this site across le bloguemonde. Rest assured that if other people aren't reading Middlemarch along with us, they're at least reading about our trials and tribulations.

There is also the occasional colourful commentary I don't know how to alert you to.

Enjoy Book V.
"The Dead Hand" — what a great title.
Just one little line to tell us Rosamond's pregnant?!
That codicil's a bit much, don't you think? Confound Casaubon!
Do you think they're in love already?
And what about Mary and Farebrother — do you figure it turns out for the best?
Did anyone else freak out at the last couple paragraphs? I was stunned.

The Reform Bill: Middlemarch's political backdrop

2006-04-13T12:49:00.000-04:00

I must admit that my eyes glaze over whenever Middlemarch touches on politics. From some of your comments, it sounds like I'm not alone.

After doing a bit of research, I returned to text and was amazed to find how little politics there was. My ignorance simply blew it out of proportion.

However, politics is clearly part of the book. Middlemarch was published in 1871-2, but its setting is the 1830s. Eliot is at times quite colourful in describing the past of 40 years previous as ancient history, implying how greatly times had changed.

From The Oxford Companion to English Literature:

The Reform Bill of 1830 widened the parliamentary franchise by extending the vote to include the rich middle classes, and removed some of the inequalities in the system of representation by redistributing members of Parliament to correspond with the great centres of population. The Bill was introduced by Lord John Russell (1792–1878) in 1831, and carried in 1832. The Reform Bill of 1867, which more than doubled the electorate, extended the franchise to include many male members of the industrial working class, and Bill of 1884 took in (with the exception of certain categories, i.e. lunatics, convicted criminals, and peers) all males over 21. In 1872 voting by ballot was introduced. Women over 30 were enfranchised in 1918; and women over 21 received the vote in 1928. In 1969 an Act was passed which lowered the age of all voters to 18. The question of reform is a principal theme in many Victorian novels, notably in G Eliot's Middlemarch and Felix Holt.

While Eliot did not see most of those changes, it is important to note that they all stem from that one little bill that Sir James opposes and that Mr Brooke supports without seeming to fully understand.

Early in chapter 6 we learn that Brooke "took Peel's side about the Catholic Bill."

(I'm using Wikipedia as reference for what follows, not that it's by any means an authoritative source, but for the sake of ease — the nature of the information is such that it's easily verifiable.)

Robert Peel was born to one of the richest textile manufacturers of the early Industrial Revolution (the elder Robert Peel was most noted for reform of working conditions during the first part of the 19th century) and was a star of the Tory party.

(Note to our American friends: Tories are Conservatives; Whigs are Liberals.)

Catholic Emancipation in the United Kingdom occurred during the late 18th century and early 19th century and involved reducing and removing many of the restrictions on Roman Catholics (eg, re property ownership, and therefore voting rights). In 1829, the Duke of Wellington and Sir Robert Peel, against their previous judgements, introduced and carried another major Catholic Relief Act, removing many of the remaining substantial restrictions on Roman Catholics in the UK.

I assume Mrs Cadwallader's accusation against Brooke refers to finally relenting to grant Catholic relief.

At the end of chapter 35, Featherstone "was dead and buried some months before Lord Grey came into office."

Lord Grey:

In 1830, the Whigs finally returned to power, with Grey as Prime Minister. His Ministry was a notable one, seeing passage of the Reform Act 1832, which finally saw the reform of the House of Commons, and the abolition of slavery throughout the British Empire in 1833. As the years had passed, however, Grey had become more conservative, and he was cautious about initiating more far-reaching reforms. In 1834 Grey retired from public life...

(Mr Brooke supports Grey (ch 46).)

The Reform Bills, Act of 1932:

This act not only re-apportioned representation in Parliament, thus making that body more accurately represent the citizens of the country, but also gave the power of voting to those lower in the social and economic scale, for the act extended the right to vote to any man owning a household worth £10, adding 217,000 voters to an electorate of 435,000. Approximately one man in five now had the right to vote. Some sources say only one in seven.

For many conservatives, this effect of the bill, which allowed the middle classes to share power with the upper classes, was revolutionary in its import. Some historians argue that this transference of power achieved in England what the French Revolution achieved eventually in France. Therefore, the agitation preceding (and following) the first Reform Act, which Dickens observed at first hand as a shorthand Parliamentary reporter, made many people consider fundamental issues of society and politics.

My understanding is that the county in which Coventry (the model for Middlemarch) is set was divided into two districts, thus increasing its representation in Parliament.

Understand that the Bill was contentious: the motion was carried with a government majority of one vote.

It's also argued that:

the influence of the gentry was still strong in the Parliamentary composition and there was still great disparity between the population of constituencies. Indeed some argue that the power of the rich had been increased. Some working men who had previously held the vote were disenfranchised when some less common (and generous) franchisement systems were abolished after the standardisation of such systems nationwide.

At the end of chapter 39, Eliot makes it quite clear that nobody understands the full implications of the political machinations. Nobody knows what's best for them.

From chapter 51:

Mr Brooke, necessarily, had his agents, who understood the nature of the Middlemarch voter and the means of enlisitng his ignorance on the side of the Bill — which were remarkably similar to the means of enlisting is on the side against the Bill.

Brooke calls Ladislaw "a kind of Shelley, you know." In 1819, Shelley wrote the essay "The Philosophical View of Reform," his most thorough exposition of his political views, and soon after created a journal call The Liberal.

Relevance?
All of this has to do with the rise of the Middle Class. It is the perfect backdrop for Middlemarch's characters to be struggling with the themes of tradition vs modernity, societal expectations vs the claims of the individual. Progress, social/industrial but personal too. The character's bear all the symptoms of middle class: for the first time in history (am I exaggerating here?) people have the time and money to worry about what to do with their life, where to extend their charity, what causes to support.

Eliot sums things up nicely as chapter 37 starts (emphasis mine):

The doubt hinted by Mr. Vincy whether it were only the general election or the end of the world that was coming on, now that George the Fourth was dead, Parliament dissolved, Wellington and Peel generally depreciated and the new King apologetic, was a feeble type of the uncertainties in provincial opinion at that time. With the glow-worm lights of country places, how could men see which were their own thoughts in the confusion of a Tory Ministry passing Liberal measures, of Tory nobles and electors being anxious to return Liberals rather than friends of the recreant Ministers, and of outcries for remedies which seemed to have a mysteriously remote bearing on private interest, and were made suspicious by the advocacy of disagreeable neighbors? Buyers of the Middlemarch newspapers found themselves in an anomalous position: during the agitation on the Catholic Question many had given up the " Pioneer " — which had a motto from Charles James Fox and was in the van of progress — because it had taken Peel's side about the Papists, and had thus blotted its Liberalism with a toleration of Jesuitry and Baal; but they were ill satisfied with the " Trumpet," which — since its blasts against Rome, and in the general flaccidity of the public mind (nobody knowing who would support whom) — had become feeble in its blowing.

It was a time, according to a noticeable article in the "Pioneer," when the crying needs of the country might well counteract a reluctance to public action on the part of men whose minds had from long experience acquired breadth as well as concentration, decision of judgment as well as tolerance, dispassionateness as well as energy — in fact, all those qualities which in the melancholy experience of mankind have been the least disposed to share lodgings.

These are complicated times, and like Middlemarch's inhabitants, their politics are messy mixes of opposing forces, of both good and bad.

Still bored? Confused? (Still middle class?)

On Politics

2006-04-13T12:07:00.000-04:00

A number of people have been complaining about the political chapters, and I would like to address that briefly.

If you seriously try to untangle Middlemarch politics, it will drive you crazy. The key to everything is the Reform Act of 1832 (Wiki and an English site) - this is what they're debating, and what divides the parties. Basically, the Act would enfranchise the middle class (one in seven adult males, according to that second site). While that doesn't sound like a very good percentage in these egalitarian times, it was enough to significantly reduce the power of the gentry in urban areas.

Now, this needs to be taken in context with the book. I am on somewhat shakier ground here, so those of you who have studied English history in more detail, please chime in. One of the big themes of the book, it seems to me, is class relations. You have your Freshitt, Tipton, and Lowick gentry on the one hand, and your sturdy industrialist middle-class Middlemarchers on the other. You have people who blur those lines: Lydgate, who has abandoned his class (if not its tastes); Ladislaw, whose grandmother married beneath her; Farebrother, who as a clergyman is able to walk among all classes. You have people who aspire to be a different class (Rosamond) and people with very rigid ideas of who can associate with whom (Sir James; Mrs. Cadwallader, her personal history notwithstanding). You have Vincys snubbing Garths. This stuff is everywhere.

Is it ironic that Brooke, as gentry, should be supporting Reform? Very. But Brooke, bless his heart, is one ball short of a billiard table. Ladislaw, I believe, recognizes that his candidate is an idiot, but until the Reform is passed, it is possible that someone like Ladislaw would not be able to have a political career of his own. He sees Brooke as a necessary stepping stone toward getting the right legislation passed.

Other class-subverting forces are at work as well: the railroad that's being built (hope that's not a spoiler; I can't remember if it's been mentioned yet). Industrial capitalism (which is elevating people like Bulstrode). Money, medicine, morality, there are cris-crossing lines everywhere.

Sorry this is unfocussed -- I have a little boy here who keeps interrupting. But I hope this will start some discussion of the topic. I thought the politics was dull my first time through as well, but it seems a lot more central on a second reading. Hope I've given you a fresh eye for it, anyway.

Muse-ings

2006-04-12T17:25:00.000-04:00

Ha! I'm caught up! I was just about to post that I seem to characteristically finish each "book" exactly one week behind schedule but then I double-checked and found, to my surprise and delight, that having finished Book V just this moment, I am right where I'm supposed to be! Woohoo!

I am absolutely shocked to see how many of you have actually finished the entire book already. This has been an interesting and eye-opening experience for me; I can see that my attention span has dwindled from years of reading breezy, modern, fast-moving literature. In the words of Dorothea, "I am very slow. When I want to be busy with books, I am often playing truant among my thoughts." I often have to go back and reread an entire page when I come to the end of it and realize that I have no idea what I just read.

But I'm liking it very much. As so many of you have said, there is much deep thinking represented here. I am contantly scribbling profound passages into a notebook, and still I get the feeling that in trying desperately to keep hold of the story, I'm passing over more of these passages than I'm catching. This copy I'm reading is from the library, but I broke down and ordered a copy from amazon this morning. I can tell that this is a book that will benefit from rereading.

Most of my "profound passages" seem to have to do with the disillusionment of Dorothea. And yes, I would definitely say that this book is "modern" in that Dorothea's mistaken belief that she could find fulfillment in living through a man is one that is all too familiar today, too. In fact, I just yesterday came across a book review of a new novel called Memoirs of a Muse that shares this same premise:

Tanya is a girl who escapes her unpopularity by dreaming that she will become the muse of a great writer. Her favorite is Dostoyevski, and she chooses as her own inspiration his mistress, Polina, who was immortalized as a character in The Brothers Karamazov and The Idiot. Dostoyevski's wife, Anna, to whom he dictated The Gambler, seems a mere stenographer to Tanya; a muse "influences the great man's work," she believes, in some glorious, "magical way."Throughout the book, as she moves from her youth in the U.S.S.R. to her first years as a young woman in New York City, Tanya interweaves her own story with that of the affair between Dostoyevski and the actual Polina (Apollinaria Suslova), a story that is a mix of fact and Tanya's romantic fantasies. Only after she joins her émigré aunt and uncle in New York, almost halfway through the book, do we learn that the novel's catchy title is ironic. "Memoirs of a Muse" is the name Tanya gives to her diary about her days as an inspiration—others might say kept woman—of an American writer, Mark Schneider. The section about their affair becomes more satiric, with its sly portrait of a pretentious, not-quite successful writer in middle age and his navel-gazing Manhattan literary world.

Maybe I'm just seeing Middlemarch everywhere, but can't you just see Dorothea and Mr. Casaubon in there? And really, couldn't young women today benefit from reading:

It was this which made Dorothea so child-like, and, according to some judges, so stupid, with all her reputed cleverness; as, for example, in the present case of throwing herself, metaphorically speaking, at Mr. Casaubon's feet, and kissing his unfashionable shoe-ties as if he were a Protestant Pope. She was not in the least teaching Mr. Casaubon to ask if he were good enough for her, but merely asking herself anxiously how she could be good enough for Mr. Casaubon.

Um, show of hands? Anyone here not thrown aside her reputed cleverness in order to partake of this stupidity?

Well, I just wanted to check in and say that I'm here, I'm humming along in my reading, and I'm liking the book a lot in spite of its plodding pace and obsession with local politics. And as soon as Memoirs of a Muse is in paperback, I'm so there.

A Word Game

2006-04-12T12:34:00.000-04:00

I finished the book late last night. There is so much to talk about, but I know we are all at different stages in the book, so I thought we could play a game while we're waiting for everyone to finish.

What word or words come to mind in response to this book.

My word is: Modern

Another is: Complete

Will you play?

Feel free to disagree with me.

Dorothea's Lost Dog

2006-04-12T11:20:00.000-04:00

"Dorothea Brooke has always irritated me; in fact, she makes my flesh creep. My allergy to this saintly, statuesque heroine, whom everyone else seems to adore, should disqualify me as a lover of Middlemarch, but I hope it won't: when I first read the novel as a junior in college, its greatness made me shiver, but I shivered at, and with, poor Casaubon, struggling with an intractable book and a hectoring wife, and I still do."

These are the opening lines from an essay by Nina Auerbach who is a Professor of Literature at the University of Pennsylvania. I caught this book, "Middlemarch in the Twenty-First Century", edited by Karen Chase as it was being cataloged in my library and took at peek at the essays, and the Auerbach one caught my eye. I want to read it all the way through, but I am afraid it will give too much of the book away (and I have lots to read yet). So I will check it out and read it later. I was quite surprised since Dorothea seems quite a beloved character. At first I was not too thrilled about her (case in point the dog she refused as a gift, which the essay does refer to), but she has grown on me since she married. Now she seems more human maybe. I was also surprised to hear Auerbach say poor Casaubon--so far I have not felt poor Casaubon at all! It is interesting to see such a completely different perspective.

In case you might be interested in this book, it was just published by Oxford University Press. Some of the essays include: "What's Not in Middlemarch", "Space, Movement, and Sexual Feeling in Middlemarch", "Dorothea's Lost Dog", and "A Conclusion in Which Almost Nothing is Concluded: Middlemarch's 'Finale'." Hmm.

Three Love Problems

2006-04-08T23:57:00.000-04:00

I'm having trouble counting.

Eliot is, I think, a careful writer. So why is Book IV "Three Love Problems," not simply "Love Problems"?

I count:
1. Mary and Fred. Fred had expected something from the will and that Mary could not then refuse him, but the will doesn't go his way. Mary meanwhile feels responsible for this. The two of them don't even interact in this book. I guess this qualifies as a love problem.

2. Dorothea and Casaubon. There's disagreement over duty to Will, not to mention misunderstanding, lack of communication, jealousy — does that really count as only one problem?

(Oh, but Casaubon is an ugly man. By the way, here's clarification on Casaubon's capacity for jealousy, at the end of chapter 37: "Poor Mr. Casaubon was distrustful of everybody's feeling towards him, especially as a husband. To let any one suppose that he was jealous would be to admit their (suspected) view of his disadvantages: to let them know that he did not find marriage particularly blissful would imply his conversion to their (probably) earlier disapproval. It would be as bad as letting Carp, and Brasenose generally, know how backward he was in organizing the matter for his "Key to all Mythologies." All through his life Mr. Casaubon had been trying not to admit even to himself the inward sores of self-doubt and jealousy. And on the most delicate of all personal subjects, the habit of proud suspicious reticence told doubly.")

Then:
There's Ladislaw's problem: love for a woman beyond his reach.

There's also the question of Lydgate's financial prospects and the possibility of ending his engagement to Rosamond, but neither party in question sees it as a real problem; it's more a temporary glitch, no matter what may be foreshadowed by these sentiments.

So that's less or more than 3 love problems, depending. Did Eliot mean simply to show that there were problems in each of the 3 main threads, even if they're somewhat unbalanced and not in the least like each other?

Chapter 39

2006-04-08T18:56:00.000-04:00

I'm not very good at writing about literature but wanted to check in to say that I found Chapter 39 to be a gorgeous and immensely satisfying chapter. I think it shows Eliot at her best--able to bring the personal and political-the interior and the exterior of a person together in believable, recognizable and illuminating ways.

What did I love about it? Passages like these:

* "Will, the moment before, had been low in the depths of boredom, and, obliged to help Mr. Brooke in arranging "documents" about hanging sheep-stealers, was exemplifying the power our minds have of riding several horses at once by inwardly arranging measures towards getting a lodging for himself in Middlemarch and cutting short his constant residence at the Grange; while there flitted through all these steadier images a tickling vision of a sheep-stealing epic written with Homeric particularity. When Mrs. Casaubon was announced he started up as from an electric shock, and felt a tingling at his finger ends."

*Dorothea sharing her "belief" with Will:
"That by desiring what is perfectly good, even when we don't quite know what it is and connot do what we would, we are part of the divine power against evil--widening the skirts of light andmaking the struggle with darkness narrower."
(Will): "That is a beautiful mysticism--it is a--"
(Dorothea): "Please do not to call it by any name....You will say it is Persian, or something else geographical. It is my life. I have found it out, and cannot part with it."

*I also loved the visit to Mr. Dagley and how the description of Dagley's ignorance in the end emphasized Brooke's ignorance.

*This is from an earlier chapter, but I am very tickled by the fact that Mrs. Cadwallader keeps calling Casaubon, Thomas Aquinas. It pleases me to no end.

Slowing down?

2006-04-06T10:28:00.000-04:00

I can't help but notice that posting/commenting has been a bit slower over the last week. Is the schedule too fast? too slow? Are you encountering text-related sutmbling blocks (language, characters) that could be discussed here?

Depending on your comments, I'll consider posting a revised schedule for the rest of the book. Anyone?

And All Those Other Writers in "Middlemarch"...

2006-04-05T13:02:00.000-04:00

The more I read “Middlemarch” the more I keep coming across references to other literature. George Eliot must have been fantastically well-read; I’d love to get my hands on an annotated edition so I can see all the references I’m missing. Here are the ones that have already made me smile:

“Why, you might take to some light study – conchology, now: I always think that must be a light study. Or get Dorothea to read you light things – Smollett – “Roderick Random”, “Humphrey Clinker”: they are a bit broad, but she may read anything now that she’s married, you know. I remember they made me laugh uncommonly – there’s a droll bit about a postilion’s breeches. We have no such humor now.”

The scene he is referring to is the one where Humphrey rides alongside a coach containing the woman he loves, wearing too-small pants which have ripped apart moments before. I can just see Mr. Brooks laughing himself silly over it. Later in Book 3, we meet Borthrup Trumbull, who is of a more serious bent.

“You have an interesting work there, I see, Miss Garth,” he observed, when Mary re-entered. “It is by the author of “Waverly”: that is, Sir Walter Scott. I have bought one of his works myself – a very nice thing, a very superior publication, entitled “Ivanhoe”. You will not get any writer to beat him in a hurry, I think – he will not, in my opinion, be readily surpassed. I have just been reading a portion at the commencement of “Anne of Jeerstein”. It commences well.”

My advice to you, Mary, is that you'd better not spend too much time on someone who worships Walter Scott.

How about you, fellow readers? Any other allusions I'm missing?

Waiting for Death: general impressions and about Fred

2006-04-03T12:49:00.000-04:00

Well, I'm glad that the death turned out to be Featherstone's, as I'm still enjoying waiting for Casaubon's, and I don't think I could bear Fred's, though it's twice now that Mrs Vincy has been likened to Niobe (whose children were slain!) just before bad stuff happens to Fred, so the next time there's a Niobe reference I'll hold my breath, maybe just set the whole book aside.

I like Fred. I'm not entirely sure why. He's a bit of a fuck-up after all. In a way, he's the most modern of Middlemarch's characters; that is, suffering from a modern phenomenon prevalent in Western societies, and certainly one I can relate to: not quite knowing what to do with one's life while feeling a burden of expectation that one has to do something, being comfortably enough middle-class that one is given the luxury of time and to some degree the assurance that one will be bailed out of one's scrapes. I think it's my generation's strength and failing that we're raised with the notion that we can be anything we want to be, we should pursue our "calling," love our work, and this often results in a lot of time-squandering, failed schemes pinned on our dreams rather than our realities and better judgement, and disappointments. I know a lot of Freds.

Mr Garth likes Fred too. One of the most poignant moments for me, thus far, is when he asks Mary for her savings. I have the distinct impression (though I can't quite pin it to the words in the text) that, knowing and approving their love for each other, he has no intention of telling her the full truth, at least at this point, that Fred is at fault. (Of course, when he learns that Mary already knows, he does have that conversation he'd've liked to postpone.)

There are lots of similarities coming to light regarding all our characters. As Rachel pointed out, Dorothea and Lydgate are paralleled, certainly structurally as our main personae — their characters have a common seed in idealism and their behaviours are contrasted as defined by their circumstance, but the male and female experience are so different that it's difficult to pinpoint similarities between them. Meanwhile, I see Lydgate as a young potential Casaubon. Fred strikes me as a young Farebrother (how old is he, anyway?), in their uncertainty regarding their vocation and their indulgence in "vice." Dodo and Fred share the experience of the possibities of youth and their quest for something meaningful. Mr Brooke on first meeting Ladislaw (way back in Book I) saw him as like his younger self. In the end, of course, each of them is absolutely unique, but I'm starting to see this as a novel of possibilities — how a character's choices and actions determines who they become. (I wonder too if some of the other players might be a potential Featherstone or Mrs Cadwallader.)

A propos of nothing, my favourite sentence (from the beginning of ch 27): An eminent philosopher among my friends, who can dignify even your ugly furniture by lifting it into the serene light of science, has shown me this pregnant little fact.

And a question: Would you, not knowing the contents of the wills, have acted as Mary did, refusing Featherstone's request? (Did she do the right thing?)

Lydgate Screed, part 1

2006-03-31T00:08:00.000-05:00

(NB: I can't stop spoiling, however hard I try. Doing my best, here, but I am manifestly cursed. If nobody reads or comments on this before finishing the book, I will totally understand.)

I have always liked to say, regarding Middlemarch, that there are Dodo people, and there are Lydgate people. Oh, I suppose there may be folks who identify equally well with both, but I don't know. Frankly, I don't want to know.

I think some of my impatience with Dodo is that she is so thouroughly curtailed by society. She has noble thoughts and genuinely wants to do good, but her social position (as a woman and as gentry) has her hemmed in on all sides. It's not her fault, but it drives me crazy.

Lydgate, on the other hand, is a man. He can go anywhere he wants, do anything he wants, pursue his intellectual passions wherever they might take him. His thoughts are as lofty, in their own way, as Dodo's, his intentions as good.

And, as has already been demonstrated at least twice, a fat lot of good it does him!

Lydgate is railroaded into choosing Tyke over Farebrother (*sob!* Farebrother is like, my serious crush this read-through!). Lydgate ends up engaged to Rosamond almost without understanding how he got there. Both are his own big fat stupid fault -- let's be frank, here! He may be a good doctor with modern methods (she is less clear on whether he is actually a good researcher), and he has social graces but surprisingly little social judgment.

These parallel characters, Dodo and Lydgate, female and male, are one of Eliot's masterful strokes in this novel. It would be so easy and tempting to tell the story of a woman hemmed in by circumstance -- it's much more interesting to be able to demonstrate that men, for all their advantages, do not necessarily find it easier to stay on track to achieve great things.

Do Lydgate's attitudes toward women work to his detriment? Hell, yes! But more on that in Screed #2!

Discuss amongst yourselves

2006-03-27T12:04:00.000-05:00

A few days ago, Ella was deliberating over what to say about Book II:

My own post is coming; I think it's going to be on Mr. Farebrother's collection of freaky pickled animals, and the symbolism therein. Or I might run out of steam and post something short, lurid, and grossly italicised like "Can you believe Lydgate's affair with that French actress? What was he thinking?"

Ella chose to write about something else, but I still think these topics merit consideration. Really, what was he thinking?

I loved chapter 15!

It made me laugh:

A great historian, as he insisted on calling himself, who had the happiness to be dead a hundred and twenty years ago, and so to take his place among the colossi whose huge legs our living pettiness is observed to walk under, glories in his copious remarks and digressions as the least imitable part of his work, and especially in those initial chapters to the successive books of his history, where he seems to bring his armchair to the proscenium and chat with us in all the lusty ease of his fine English. But Fielding lived when the days were longer (for time, like money, is measured by our needs), when summer afternoons were spacious, and the clock ticked slowly in the winter evenings. We belated historians must not linger after his example; and if we did so, it is probable that our chat would be thin and eager, as if delivered from a campstool in a parrot-house. I at least have so much to do in unraveling certain human lots, and seeing how they were woven and interwoven, that all the light I can command must be concentrated on this particular web, and not dispersed over that tempting range of relevancies called the universe.

(Note that this is the first time the narrator uses the first person.)

It made me cry:

For in the multitude of middle-aged men who go about their vocations in a daily course determined for them much in the same way as the tie of their cravats, there is always a good number who once meant to shape their own deeds and alter the world a little The story of their coming to be shapen after the average and fit to be packed by the gross, is hardly ever told even in their consciousness; for perhaps their ardor in generous unpaid toil cooled as imperceptibly as the ardor of other youthful loves, till one day their earlier self walked like a ghost in its old home and made the new furniture ghastly. Nothing in the world more subtle than the process of their gradual change! In the beginning they inhaled it unknowingly: you and I may have sent some of our breath towards infecting them, when we uttered our conforming falsities or drew our silly conclusions: or perhaps it came with the vibrations from a woman's glance.

More great lines from Book II:

"I have not yet been pained by finding any excessive talent in Middlemarch." (Lydgate, ch 13)

"Not of the least use in the world for him to say he could be better. Might, could, would — they are contemptible auxiliaries." (Mary, ch 14)

It had already occurred to him that books were stuff, and that life was stupid. (ch 15)

Knowledge seemed to him a very superficial affair, easily mastered: judging from the conversation of his elders, he had apparently got already more than was necessary for mature life. (ch 15)

And poor Dorothea! — "the light had changed" (ch 20):

How was it that in the weeks since her marriage, Dorothea had not distinctly observed but felt with a stifling depression, that the large vistas and wide fresh air which she had dreamed of finding in her husband's mind were replaced by anterooms and winding passages which seemed to lead nowhither?.... Having once embarked on your marital voyage, it is impossible not to be aware that you make no way and that the sea is not within sight — that, in fact, you are exploring an enclosed basin.

tiny post

2006-03-25T21:26:00.000-05:00

I was falling a little behind in my reading, but I've had a chance to catch up in the last couple of days, and I have to say, I've really been sucked in by the last part of Book Two, and what I've read of Book Three. Dorothea's reactions to Rome were so beautifully put-- I remember my astonishment there at the vibrant, crazy jumble of the ancient and modern (the difference being that I loved it). I was also fascinated by the discussions about painting, but I felt it was a little off topic, so I wrote a long post about that on my own site. If you care to read it, it's at Mad Mutter.

I'm also struck at how perfunctory and businesslike the decision to marry was. I guess it has a lot to do with the fact that these unions were often about financial support for one party or the other, and it also occurs to me that if you can't have sex before marriage (at least if you're a woman) you're a lot more likely to speed up the whole process. I don't think I'm supposed to talk about Book Three yet, so I won't say any more.

How Many Plots Can We Fit Into One Book?

2006-03-23T18:12:00.000-05:00

I am beginning to feel like Eliot has crammed at least three books into one, and I am having trouble keeping it all straight. Not the kind of trouble where you forget who is related to whom, and can’t remember the difference between Ladislaw and Lydgate, but the kind where you find yourself following three or more plot lines without knowing which is the important one.

Plot One: Dorothea’s development from idealistic young girl to jaded woman. Players include Dorothea, Chasaubon and Will Ladislaw; themes are of disappointment, disillusionment and resignation, plus unexpected adoration on the part of poor Ladislaw. Defining moments include arguments, misunderstandings and passionate avowals.

Plot Two: Lydgate’s introduction to Middlemarch society. Here we have Lydgate, of course, and all the other important men in Middlemarch, from Farebrother to Bullstrode to Thesiger. Here the themes involve religion and politics, both of which come heavily spiced with satire. The defining moment of this plot, so far, is the vote on who gets to be the hospital chaplain.
Plot Three: Fred Vincy’s descent into debt and dishonor. (All right, the dishonor hasn’t happened yet, but I’m positive it will). This one centers around Fred’s relations with his father and uncle Featherstone. The theme of this one is weakness, foolishness, and hopelessness, plus greed. And the defining moment of this plot is when Fred hands his mother the money from his uncle and asks her to keep it safe, as he can’t trust himself with it.

I don’t think it really bothers me to find all this jammed into one novel, since the stories and characters are related, but my question is: can there be a singular theme to a work like this? Or is Eliot just making a point about the human difficulties we all share, no matter what our circumstances are?

More yokes

2006-03-23T11:43:00.000-05:00

Celia in chapter 1 was labelled a yoked creature.

Now Mr Vincy "felt his neck under Bulstrode's yoke." (ch 13)

Lydgate, young, and refusing to be yoked (ch 15):

He was but seven-and-twenty, an age at which many men are not quite common — at which they are hopeful of achievement, resolute in avoidance, thinking that Mammon shall never put a bit in their mouths and get astride their back, but rather that Mammon, if they have anything to do with him, shall draw their chariot.

Farebrother (ch 17) (on the difficulty of independent thought/opinion):

"But then you must be sure of having the value, and you must keep yourself independent. Very few men can do that. Either you slip our of service altogether, and become good for nothing, or you wear the harness and draw a good deal where your yoke-fellows pull you."

There's an interesting point in SparkNotes related to the idea of being yoked:

The blurred definition of "debt" carries social pitfalls. Bulstrode and Featherstone deliberately keep the matter of "debt" indistinct. They leave the question of "debt" somewhere in between its strict financial meaning and the vaguer notion of personal obligation. In this way, it never really becomes clear when the "debt" is paid.

Just a Quick Thought

2006-03-23T10:12:00.000-05:00

I've just started Book 3 (so, I guess I'm right on schedule here) and something has occurred to me. We have Dorothea, who is so young and dreads her naivete and ignorance. She marries dried up (how many times has he been described this way?) old Casaubon with the idea that he is just the man to help her become the woman she should be. But, really, he's the man who would keep her from ever being worldly and/or wise.

However, we meet up with Will Ladislaw again, and find out he's a much better guy than our first impression of him. In Rome, at least when we meet up with them in Rome, Dorothea is miserable. Her honeymoon is figuratively over, before it is even literally over. When I was convinced that Casaubon would only be happy when he succeeded in making her youthful bloom wither on the vine, Ladislaw reappears. He instigates an appreciation and the beginnings of an understanding of art and beauty. I found myself really beginning to like Dorothea and the idea of the woman that she could become. I sure hope he turns up at Lowick very soon.

I could be totally wrong, but, doesn't Ladislaw seem like the catalyst to make Dorothea blossom?

2006-03-20T22:28:00.000-05:00

I figured I would weigh in with some observations before we move on to the next book, which is soon (yikes!).

First off, I was struck by how often Eliot makes reference to the social constraints the characters are operating under, the roles they are all expected to play. I think one of the defining characteristics of Dorothea is that she is not temperamentally suited to play out the role she's been assigned by society. My sense of Dorothea is that she is intelligent and intellectually curious. She's also a romantic idealist and very very young. She doesn't know her own mind, and as she is a part of her social context, she can't imagine being the one in charge, even though in an equitable world, she would be. I think that's probably where the martyrdom stuff comes from-- if you can't take action on your own, or play the hero, then you passively keep up with what you were doing until someone gets fed up and kills you. And then oh boy you can be a hero! Or a saint, even. I guess posthumous glory is better than no glory.

When she thinks of marriage, I don't think she's looking for a love match at all, or even for a practical arrangement where she might have some freedom-- I think in that sense Sir James could work out well for her, in that she could probably finagle as much leeway as she wanted:

"Sir James had no idea that he should ever like to put down the predominance of this handsome girl, in whose cleverness he delighted. Why not? A man's mind--what there is of it--has always the advantage of being masculine, as the smallest birch-tree is of a higher kind than the most soaring palm, and even his ignorance is of a sounder quality. Sir James might not have originated this estimate; but a kind of Providence furnishes the limpest personality with a little gum or starch in the form of tradition."

She wants more of a mentor who will give her legitimate entry into the world of knowledge, which has been deemed inappropriate for a young woman such as herself. She says:

"The really delightful marriage must be that where your husband was a sort of father and could teach you even Hebrew if you wished it."

My feeling about that is, well, eeeew. But then, I live in the twenty-first century.

And she meets her match for naivetee in Mr. Casaubon, who has a lot less excuse for it. She's a trophy for him, a sweet young thing to prop up his vanity. He loves the fact that she looks up to him, and he notes that she is at least somewhat intelligent. Which he respects only to the point that it allows her to understand what he's talking about. You get a real feeling for his indifference when he insists on asking Dodo's sister Celia along for their honeymoon. Again, eeew. I think Dorothea's true self mostly shows itself in the flashes of irritation and hurt she feels in this case, and in others where she's slighted for her lack of knowledge, or when she oversteps her social boundaries and is firmly put in her place.

Ummm, and those are some thoughts. A few of many. I'm hoping Dorothea and Casaubon get back soon, though. I'm having a little more trouble getting attached to the new batch of characters. And my new least favorite is Mr. Bulstrode. Ugh.

Catching Up

2006-03-20T18:08:00.000-05:00

I had an all day class on Saturday and brought Middlemarch with me to read on the train ride there and back. I tuned my ipod to Beethoven, Schubert, and Mozart and escaped to England. I guess the book has captured me, because I'm already well into Book Three.

What impresses me about Eliot's writing here is that she seems to understand human nature so well. She makes you see through every character in this book. Almost every character in this book has flaws (except perhaps Kitty so far), and yet if we don't have affection for them, we are at the very least sympathetic. Dorothea reminds me of a very dear, idealistic friend of mine when she was younger, and also at times myself at her age. But there's a part of me that sympathizes and slightly identifies with Mr. Casaubon. stuck in his ridiculously broad and outdated research topic, with no hope of catching up with the latest scholarship on the question.

It's like Eliot has this way of piercing through people so we can see them from the inside and outside at the same time. In a similar way, she pierces through the layers of class and politics of Middlemarch. She also has an incredible sense of humor while addressing serious issues. Moreover, the personal and political are intertwined.

So, I'm looking forward to see where she leads us. And I'm going to catch up with all your posts so far tonight if I can, though my daughter threw up and I might be in for a long night.

Who do you identify with?

Piksea puts in her two cents on Miss Brooke (the book and the character)

2006-03-20T12:14:00.000-05:00

I've been staying away from the site until now to avoid being swayed by everyone else's thoughts about this book. As soon as I hit the publish button, I will begin a thoughtful study of what all of my fellow Middlemarch readers are thinking. I love how much more you can get from having so many perspectives. First I get my thoughts in order and then I see new ways of looking at the story and consider new aspects. I'm sure what some of the other women are saying will clear some of my questions up, or maybe bring up new ones for me to consider.

I'm not sure how the reader is supposed to feel about Miss Brooke. Dorothea Brooke starts out being described as not as beautiful as her sister and that people actually begin a relationship with her prejudiced against her for this, as though she is somehow physically disagreeable. However, as soon as people talked to her they fell for her personality and discovered that they found her to be their ideal of beauty, personality and cleverness. This would all be fine, except that when we are introduced to Dodo she just doesn't live up to the hype. She was so self-righteous and disagreeable, often just for the sake of being disagreeable. Although we're told how clever she is, she seems to be more of a clueless know-it-all. I know I wasn't crazy about her, because when I went through the notes I took as I was reading, I actually found an entry in my notebook that said, "She hates puppies. Who hates puppies, for goodness sake?" Hardly a damning character flaw, or is it?

Please excuse my pop culture reference point here, but when we start to meet the men and they are falling over themselves for Dorothea, I got a very Meredith Grey impression. You know how on Grey's Anatomy the main character started out pretty messed up emotionally and not really very nice? And, how every man instantly fell in love with her? I didn't get it on the TV show and I'm not getting it here. This changed greatly for both of these characters as their stories progressed, which was a point in their creators' favor, for me at least (feet of clay, and all that).

Now I keep pondering whether Dorothea will be a romantic self-fulfilling prophecy, dooming herself to a life of pious sacrifice, which she certainly seems to want so desperately. Or if she'll wind up miserable in that loveless marriage. Maybe I'm the silly romantic but, if my fiancé told me to bring a friend to keep me company on my honeymoon, I think there would be some warning bells going off. If this should wind up being the union that would be both Dorothea and Casaubon's ideal for happiness, then yippee! for them. Instead, I think Dorothea has found a way to be a martyr without any of the good causes that those martyred saints had going for them.

However, the focus of Book One changes for the last few chapters and I found that sort of telling. First, as we get closer to the wedding it would seem that the only strong feelings about this marriage are expressed by the people who are against it. The couple themselves have very tepid feelings toward the actual union and each other. Sure, Casaubon didn't need to marry and hadn't expected to want to, which should be meaningful. And, Dorothea is in love with the idea of being schooled by this, by all accounts, very dry learned man. By the last two chapters of the book entitled, Miss Brooke, there is no mention at all of the titular character at all. That doesn't seem to bode well, does it?

A Groom With A View

2006-03-20T00:25:00.000-05:00

A couple of things I have to say before we move on to Book 2, (and I am well into Book 2), first regarding Edward Casabaun, who is basically described as 'death warmed over', this quote: "She is grace herself, she is perfectly lovely and accomplished. That is what a woman ought to be: she ought to produce the effect of exquisite music. Plain women he regarded as he did the other severe facts of life, to be faced with philosophy and investigated by science." (Ch 11) So basically it sounds like he is looking for an ornament, rather than someone to share a life with. Poor Dorothea, she is looking for so much more than that! Interesting that his cousin, Will, also relates Dorothea to music.

Also from Chapter 11 I liked this quote: "Fred's studies are not very deep," said Rosamond, he is only reading a novel." I'll bet Ms. Eliot enjoyed writing that one! As well, I liked the quotes from Mrs Cadwallader that Kimbofo mentioned.

Two Friendships

2006-03-16T11:21:00.000-05:00

One of the things that I enjoyed about “Miss Brooke” was Eliot’s descriptions of the two female friendships of the chapter. Rosamond Vincy and Mary Garth are firm friends, as well as cousins, but their relationship is quite different from sisters Celia and Dorothea Brooke. Yet there are some striking similarities as well.
All four characters are very different. Celia Brooke is described as sensible and practical, the natural counterweight to her sister Dorothea’s impossibly high ideals and passionate devotion to various causes. Later in the book, we meet the other two girls: Rosamond is pretty, bored, and very concerned with the thought that she might be forced to marry some local man, while Mary is described as plain and shrewd, but honest.
The dynamic between Mary and Rosamond seems to be one of good-humor and enjoyment in each other – they are the same age and have known each other all their lives. But Rosamond’s insufferable vanity (which I suppose we must excuse if Lydgate finds her so very attractive) causes a kind of mild bitterness on Mary’s part. For instance, when the two girls stand before a mirror:

“What a brown patch I am beside you, Rosy! You are the most unbecoming companion.”
“Oh, no! No one thinks of your appearance, you are so sensible and useful, Mary. Beauty is of very little consequence in reality,” said Rosamond, turning her head towards Mary, but with eyes swerving towards the new view of her neck in the glass.
“You mean my beauty,” said Mary, rather sardonically.

On the other hand, Celia and Dorothea are sisters, and see much more of each other than Rosamond and Mary. This closeness leads to a much more interesting relationship, one in which Dorothea takes the lead, bounding ahead with ideas and plans while Celia gently tries to influence her sister’s opinions. Dorothea’s selfishness leads her to believe that her life is an exalted one, that she has been chosen to plan better lives for the local tenants or, later, assist with Casaubon’s noble work. The placid Celia, despite loving her sister and admiring her ideals, is well aware that Dorothea is headed for disaster. Eliot shows this odd mix of tenderness and stubbornness in the scene where Dorothea announced her engagement:

“It is right to tell you, Celia, that I am engaged to marry Mr. Casaubon.” Perhaps Celia had never turned so pale before…When she spoke there was a tear gathering.
“O Dodo, I hope you will be happy.” Her sisterly tenderness could not but surmount other feelings at this moment, and her tears were the tears of affection. Dorothea was still hurt and agitated.

Yet there is real affection in both these relationships, and if Eliot pokes fun at all four characters, she does so with an unsharpened stick.

Mrs Cadwallader

2006-03-15T14:47:00.000-05:00

Mrs Cadwallader, the rector's wife, has fast become my firm favourite. She's that kind of gossipy woman we all love to hate. You know the type. She's a little mean with a dash of nastiness thrown in. Perhaps you could call her poisonous.

Put her in a room with Sir James and the delightfully withering bitching about Casaubon begins.

In chapter 6 she describes him as "a great bladder for dried peas to rattle in!"

In chapter 8 she makes fun of his scholarly nature. I laughed out loud at her response to Sir James' comment that Casaubon had no red blood in his body. "No. Somebody put a drop under a magnifying glass, and it was all semicolons and parenthesis," she declares.

Later she adds, "Oh, he dreams footnotes, and they run away with all his brains!"

Miaaaaoowwwwwwww.

Does anyone else think her venomous behaviour is a bit out of the ordinary given she's married to the rector!?

More on pacing

2006-03-15T11:33:00.000-05:00

I almost wrote this as a comment to Monica's post ("Pacing..." below), but decided that, being a prig in the Fred Vincy sense of the word, I needed a little more space than that.

From Margaret Drabble's introduction to my edition:

The section of the plot that concerns Dorothea Brooke was not part of her original plan: Lydgate was to be her central character, in a "Study of Provincial Life" peopled by Vincys, Featherstones, Garths, and other people in the middle walks of life. The work went slowly: she interrupted the flow to study, with characteristic attention to detail, medical encyclopedias and lives of doctors... and toward the end of 1870 broke off completely to start a completely different project -- a story called "Miss Brooke"...

Which is the beginning of our story now.

I had forgotten how big the block of Dorothea was at the beginning of this, and found myself becoming (absurdly) impatient to get to the rest of them. But I think that's only because I've read it before. Lydgate, Fred, Mary, even Rosamond, were all friends of mine from previously, and I missed them.

However, I think it's an effective beginning in that it places us squarely in Dorothea's very limited world. From her vision, as well as ours, Casaubon and Sir James really are her only two choices -- given that range, I might have chosen Casaubon too. When the world finally opens up to the reader (and even later to Dorothea, for her uncle, not usually overprotective, doesn't think his party of townsfolk is a suitable place for his nieces), then we're forcibly struck by the fact that Dorothea has been making her choices in extreme ignorance.

It's this wider world -- the provincial and yet somehow enormous population of Middlemarch -- that I love best about this book, but I had not appreciated before how the pacing allows Eliot to underscore Dorothea's isolation first. Gender isolates her, as well as class. I'm sure we'll all have a lot more to say about that as the book progresses.

Dodo and Kitty

2006-03-15T10:32:00.000-05:00

The initial focus of Book I is, of course, "Miss Brooke" — Dorothea. The prelude sets her up to be a modern-day Theresa, a victim of circumstance, a swan who will always remain among ducklings. Dorothea is our heroine, for whom we should feel sympathy. We're supposed to root for her.

So I was greatly surprised to find, within the space of just a few pages, that I don't particularly like her. (Yet I'm compelled to read more about her.) Her contradictions. Her obliviousness. She has Ideals, but her charity does not seem to extend to her daily relationships. She's proud.

Her case is not helped by the affectionate appellation her sister applies. Dodo. No doubt it's a term of endearment commonly used to refer to the Dorothys of the world. But I wonder if it had the same connotations — silliness, stupidity, extinction — in Eliot's time.

Celia on the other hand: Kitty — sweetness, perhaps ingratiating?

I'm struck by the relationship between these sisters. They bicker. They push each other's buttons, deliberately. (I like that they bicker. It makes them so real.) Of course they love each other, but they express also that cattiness so often attributed to women, found among those who are thrown together by circumstances (family, coworkers) not entirely of their own choosing — the instinct to resist the "yoke" (end of chapter 1) of relationships already predetermined.

Since they could remember, there had been a mixture of criticism and awe in the attitude of Celia's mind towards her elder sister.

I rather think, at this early stage anyway, that this is the attitude most of the characters hold towards Dorothea, and the one that we readers are also expected to take.

Do you like Dorothea? Celia? Do you relate to one or the other, see your relationship with your sisters in them? Is Dorothea also "yoked" into her role of elder sister?

(My own sister is 13 years older than I am. We have the benefit of having not grown up together; we came to know, and like, each other as adults. But there are still yokes.)

There are hints that things will not go so well for Dorothea and Edward Casaubon, and I don't doubt there will come a time when indeed I will feel sympathy for her (but not yet). Do you support Dorothea's choice of Casaubon for a husband? While I don't like the look of him and I think she acted impetuously, I would've chosen the same way — the attraction of heart and/or mind over "a good match."

Edward Casaubon

2006-03-14T17:00:00.000-05:00

So that we should know what he looks like:

His manners, she thought, were very dignified; the set of his iron-gray hair and his deep eye-sockets made him resemble the portrait of Locke. He had the spare form and the pale complexion which became a student; as different as possible from the blooming Englishman of the red-whiskered type represented by Sir James Chettam.

From The Victorian Web:

The "portrait of Locke" is most likely to be Kneller's of 1698, of which at least fourteen different engravings exist; see Freeman O'Donoghue, Catalogue of Engraved British Portraits Preserved in the Department of Prints and Drawings in the British Museum (London: Trustees of the British Museum, 1912), III, 79-81. Dorothea might have seen the version by R. Graves (no. 13 in O'Donoghue) which appeared as the frontispiece to Locke's An Essay Concerning Human Understanding (London: J. F. Dove, 1828). The Leweses owned a copy of this edition; see Baker, The George Eliot-George Henry Lewes Library, #1311.

Not exactly my type. (I think the words paint a prettier picture than does the portrait in question.)

Pacing...

2006-03-14T16:52:00.000-05:00

As a wanna be writer...I am really appreciating the pacing of the book--Eliot manages to pack all sorts of pithy aphorisms, caustic comments on Middlemarch-ians, and plot points into the work, yet it breezes along. I'm reading it online--can't say that's possible with too many classic works.

I appreciated the quick deftness she employed to move Dorothea out of center stage, whisking her off to her honeymoon so that we can spotlight Lydgate and his arrival to Middlemarch. It's all very soapy, in the best possible way.

I Live Too Much With The Dead

2006-03-14T04:20:00.000-05:00

I love the dialogue in this book. One of my favourite lines so far:

"I live too much with the dead. My mind is something like the ghost of an ancient, wandering about the world and trying mentally to construct it as it used to be, in spite of ruin and confusing changes."

The slang of prigs

2006-03-13T22:14:00.000-05:00

I find Eliot's language is light and easy, while laden with meaning. It's both poignant and funny, and at all times strong and clear. I doubt Eliot would ever sacrifice clarity of meaning to following the prose fashions of the day.

Each page offers up a fresh batch of the quotable, be they pithy aphorisms or more detailed observations.

My favourite lines thus far are from an exchange in chapter 11:

"...All choice of words is slang. It marks a class."
"There is correct English: that is not slang."
"I beg your pardon: correct English is the slang of prigs who write history and essays. And the strongest slang of all is the slang of poets."

What's your favourite line?

George Eliot Country

2006-03-10T17:25:00.000-05:00

I've never had any interest in visiting Nuneaton or Coventry, but now that I know this part of England is called 'George Eliot Country' I am a little tempted.

Apparantly both towns are filled with Eliot memorials. There's a local hospital sporting her name (where the wards are supposedly named after the characters that filled her books - how charming), a giant statue of her hulking over Nuneaton's pedestrianised shopping mall and - something that really tickled my fancy - a pub where you can down a pint in her honour!

If you want to find out more, I highly recommend this website, which provides a wealth of information, including photographs of real life locations that were important to Eliot and featured in many of the books she wrote. And, if you're really keen and fancy a trip to the UK, Nuneaton and Bedworth Borough Council is organising special guided coach tours in the summer.

Oh, I am so tempted!

2006-03-09T18:38:00.000-05:00

I just came across this, a Trojan War blog written by Eurylochus, one of Odysseus' men (via Orange Crate Art) and it looks like a fun read.

I am so tempted to try something like this with Middlemarch, maybe a blog by Dorothea! Like I need another blog project, but on the other hand it would help me to summarize each chapter, right?

UPDATED: So let us begin

2006-03-08T21:08:00.000-05:00

with Book 1 (chapters 1 through 12), posting thereon to begin Wednesday, March 15. Let's try to follow the natural breaks and aim for a book a week, with discussions opening on Wednesdays (yes, I changed my mind).

Dates have been listed in the sidebar.

(as opposed to, as previously suggested:)
with chapters 1 through 10, posting thereon to begin Tuesday, March 14.

Subsequent blocks of 10 chapters will be tabled for discussion each Tuesday to follow. Once tabled, material will remain open, all posts, comments, questions welcome; that is, not limited to the chapters of the week but can (should!) include all chapters to that point.

If you're reading ahead, please refrain from posting on, or referring to, those chapters until the set date. (I'll try to list dates in the side bar.) If you're behind, please look to post titles and headings and your own best judgment to ensure the book's not spoiled for you.

Let's give it a couple weeks, see if it's easy reading or hard slogging, if there are more natural breaks to work by, if we develop a group rhythm, etc.

In the meantime, and at any time, feel free to post on topics of a more general nature: quotations, background material, related articles...

Does anyone have an uglier edition than this?

2006-03-08T18:06:00.000-05:00

Before we get into anything important about "Middlemarch", I am curious about what editions we are all reading. When I signed on here, I was positive that "Middlemarch" was included in my beautiful Modern Library Eliot Omnibus ("Best-Known Novels of George Eliot"), but, alas, it is not. So off I went to the local public library, where I found the hideous copy above, the Harcourt Brace & World edition from 1962. I've ordered the Modern Library edition (I think it's 1950? 51?) from Alibris but I'll be reading this one until the ML arrives, and I'm interested to see how the two books compare. How about you, fellow Marchers? Have you already bought your "Middlemarch"? Where did you get it? What are your thoughts on your copy's typeface, illustrations, footnotes, etc. so far?

So far, I am underwhelmed by this edition. Aside from the ugly cover, it is printed on thin paper, so the type bleeds through. There are no illustrations or footnotes, unless you count the penciled ones in the margins, and the sole piece of prefacing information is : "George Eliot. Born at Nuneaton November 22nd 1819. Died in London December 2nd 1880. 'Middlemarch' was first published in 1872." which seems to be leaving a great deal of information out.

Pace and schedule

2006-03-07T21:47:00.000-05:00

It wasn't my intention to set a pace or schedule for reading Middlemarch. Mostly because I'm not very good at keeping to them. I can set them though.

The fact is: I've read 8 whole chapters, and I'm loving it, and I'm bursting with things to say already, and as much as I hate to put the book down, I have little opportunity even to pick it up this week or next (pesky paying work is keeping me busy), let alone post my thoughts in a coherent fashion.

Also, I realize some of you are still waiting on copies or finishing up other projects.

So I'm asking for a show of hands, majority rules.

Do you want a schedule? It may serve as motivation for some. (Given that's it's 86 chapters, I think 5 (to 10?) would be reasonable, certainly forgiving — anyone who lags behind one week can probably make it up the next. Make no mistake: I will read ahead, but I can refrain from posting on the matter. We could set dates on which chapters would be opened up for discussion.)

Or would you prefer an anarchic free-for-all?

Ideas?

Spoil me once, shame on me...

2006-03-06T16:56:00.000-05:00

Er.

Since everybody is going to be reading at different rates (and some have read it before!) can we have a bit of policy-hashing here regarding spoilers?

I don't want to be giving things away in advance, obviously. We could put the word "spoilers" in the title (which strikes me as somewhat inelegant...). We could put "Chapter Whatever" in the title, so folks would know not to read the post if they hadn't read up to that chapter. We could put the body of the post under the fold (can you do that in Blogger? I haven't figured out how yet). We could just not sweat it, and know that we're reading other people's posts and comments at our own risk.

Preferences? Suggestions?

The gender question

2006-03-04T14:35:00.000-05:00

Is Middlemarch a women's book?

Big question, I know, about which we may have plenty to say later, but I had to ask because: 1. It scores high as "women's watershed fiction" but less well if at all on general, male-dominated "best novels" lists, and 2. It seems we're all women here.

For the time-being, I am seriously interested in a show of hands on a more specific question: Do you know any men who've read Middlemarch (other than my friend David)? Do they like it or are they indifferent? Do they find it all "influential" as many women readers seem to?

Introductions!

2006-03-03T15:34:00.000-05:00

I can already tell I don't know everyone who will be blogging here. Could we all just take a minute to introduce ourselves? And anyone who's planning to lurk but not post, please introduce yourselves as well. Tell us as much or as little as you like -- I just want some kind of handle so I can tell everyone apart!

I'm Rachel, a cartoonist and trying-to-be writer, living in Vancouver, BC, with my personal physicist and our two-year-old. I've read Middlemarch before, and consider it one of my top ten favourite/influential novels. I'm rereading it because it's been twelve years and I think I need a refresher.

Who else is here? Don't be shy!

Welcome

2006-03-03T13:56:00.000-05:00

We're here to read George Eliot's Middlemarch. No pressure! No reading schedules! No commitments! If you're not enjoying yourself, read something else!

I've wanted to read it for rather a long time but simply haven't gotten round to it. Till now.

Weirdly, Middlemarch doesn't appear on many of the top 100 lists floating about (according to my quick and dirty research), but it did rank in the top 10 of BBC's "Women's Watershed Fiction," and its opening ("Miss Brooke had that kind of beauty which seems to be thrown into relief by poor dress.") is number 58 on the recent list of 100 Best First Lines of Novels.

But it's the prelude that sold me:

That Spanish woman who lived three hundred years ago, was certainly not the last of her kind. Many Theresas have been born who found for themselves no epic life wherein there was a constant unfolding of far-resonant action; perhaps only a life of mistakes, the offspring of a certain spiritual grandeur ill-matched with the meanness of opportunity; perhaps a tragic failure which found no sacred poet and sank unwept into oblivion. With dim lights and tangled circumstance they tried to shape their thought and deed in noble agreement; but after all, to common eyes their struggles seemed mere inconsistency and formlessness; for these later-born Theresas were helped by no coherent social faith and order which could perform the function of knowledge for the ardently willing soul. Their ardor alternated between a vague ideal and the common yearning of womanhood; so that the one was disapproved as extravagance, and the other condemned as a lapse.

Am I a Theresa? Are you?

At this point, I expect I'll be posting my thoughts as they occur to me, perhaps as I digest chapter by chapter. Feel free to respond, ask questions, summarize your own readings, post links to background material — whatever works for you.

All encouragement, questions, comments, clarifications, insight, and theses welcome!

(Email me, or leave a comment below, for group-blog membership allowing you to post your own entries.)