It filled me with fervent love, so much so that, after being trained for years to shrewdly analyze every thought I had about novels, I found myself unable to speak intelligently about the one I cared for most. The first line of the novel tells us that the heroine, Dorothea Brooke "had the kind of beauty which seems to be thrown into relief by poor dress." Middlemarch embodied the same unconventional loveliness, made all the more apparent for its prosaic, provincial setting and seemingly workaday plot. I was less daunted by its length than by its mass – the extra weight in my backpack, my wrists buckling under its bulk when I tried to read it in bed.Īs I feared, the book engulfed me, though not how I expected.
Like many other readers, I first picked George Eliot's Middlemarch because I had to, as part of an undergrad seminar on the Victorian novel.
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