Book: a book that changed me

Bel Mooney on George Eliot's 'Middlemarch'

Bel Mooney
Saturday 13 December 1997 19:02 EST
Comments

Your support helps us to tell the story

From reproductive rights to climate change to Big Tech, The Independent is on the ground when the story is developing. Whether it's investigating the financials of Elon Musk's pro-Trump PAC or producing our latest documentary, 'The A Word', which shines a light on the American women fighting for reproductive rights, we know how important it is to parse out the facts from the messaging.

At such a critical moment in US history, we need reporters on the ground. Your donation allows us to keep sending journalists to speak to both sides of the story.

The Independent is trusted by Americans across the entire political spectrum. And unlike many other quality news outlets, we choose not to lock Americans out of our reporting and analysis with paywalls. We believe quality journalism should be available to everyone, paid for by those who can afford it.

Your support makes all the difference.

When did you first read it? I first read Middlemarch when I was in the sixth form at Trowbridge Girls' High School. My wonderful English master, Denis Boulding, advised me to give it a try. I had read Silas Marner and The Mill on the Floss but he said that to read Middlemarch was a different order of experience and that he felt me "mature" enough. The lure of flattery is easily as powerful as that of literature.

I can still remember the heady, addictive fall into George Eliot's provincial world, the greedy reading in the solitude of my bedroom, the desperation that Dorothea should not marry Casaubon nor Lydgate be trapped by the poisonous Rosamund Vincy. Still I can revisit, in imagination, the powerful emotions aroused by my first reading of George Eliot's sublime closing paragraphs. They never fail to move me to tears, and I do not believe there are finer words in the whole of our literature.

Why did it strike you so much? It spoke to me of the vast dignity and potential of what is ordinary, and of the imaginative sympathy with all living things, part of the redemptive function of art. Its sweep was equal to Doctor Zhivago's, even without the framework of great political and historical events. I read with awe Eliot's account of how the vainglorious Mrs Bulstrode finds humility and love in forgiving her husband the disgrace he brought upon them: " ... now that punishment had befallen him it was not possible for her in any sense to forsake him". Was any other writer capable of such knowledge and such compassion? At 17 I doubted it - and still feel the same. I heard Martin Amis dismissing the morality of Eliot, maintaining she tells people what not to do. What arrant nonsense! She says, "This, right and wrong, is what people do, how they are and willy nilly, it is all capable of being understood."

Have you re-read it? I have re-read Middlemarch four or five times, and writing this, itch to revisit its world soon. Each time I find the novel even greater, discovering things in it as if for the first time.

Do you recommend it? Like a religious fanatic I would convert all to my faith; read Middlemarch and hold a glass to your own soul, in its infinite possibility of greatness.

Bel Mooney's fifth novel is 'Intimate Letters', Little, Brown pounds 15.99

Join our commenting forum

Join thought-provoking conversations, follow other Independent readers and see their replies

Comments

Thank you for registering

Please refresh the page or navigate to another page on the site to be automatically logged inPlease refresh your browser to be logged in