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curiousrae 's review for:
The Mill on the Floss
by George Eliot
Reading Middlemarch in my late teens was a turning point: it was when reading moved from a fun hobby to being something that offered emotional sustenance. This may have partly been because I was in a country far away from home - perhaps the novel just kept me grounded by allowing me to wallow in my native English.
With The Mill on the Floss, it was a joy yet again to experience Eliot's sharp but warmly compassionate insights into human nature. The characters seem to have been created with love, which makes them relatable, but the clear eye with which they are drawn prompted reflection on the insights they offered into personal experience. There were also some lovely turns of phrase: Philip felt indifference as a child of the south feels the chill air of a northern spring. (an example which might help me overcome an irritable prejudice against similes).
However, at times I found this a gruelling read. While Eliot's wider reflections on the world can be enlightening, or outline an idea more eloquently than you could imagine, some of the lengthier aphorising was difficult to wade through.
So, was I disappointed by this second Eliot experience? Some years have passed, so perhaps some of what I take from a book has changed. If this review has sounded somewhat cold, then perhaps it reflects my experience reading the novel: I found moments of reading joy, but these were kept at a distance by what was at times an overwhelmingly intellectual read.
With The Mill on the Floss, it was a joy yet again to experience Eliot's sharp but warmly compassionate insights into human nature. The characters seem to have been created with love, which makes them relatable, but the clear eye with which they are drawn prompted reflection on the insights they offered into personal experience. There were also some lovely turns of phrase: Philip felt indifference as a child of the south feels the chill air of a northern spring. (an example which might help me overcome an irritable prejudice against similes).
However, at times I found this a gruelling read. While Eliot's wider reflections on the world can be enlightening, or outline an idea more eloquently than you could imagine, some of the lengthier aphorising was difficult to wade through.
So, was I disappointed by this second Eliot experience? Some years have passed, so perhaps some of what I take from a book has changed. If this review has sounded somewhat cold, then perhaps it reflects my experience reading the novel: I found moments of reading joy, but these were kept at a distance by what was at times an overwhelmingly intellectual read.