The mill on the Floss.

I enjoyed reading this book, for the most part, but had some problems with it, obviously. I've come to the conclusion that I just don't really care for these victorian novels. They are somewhat boring to me as nothing ever really happens and I have a hard time relating to the mindset of the characters. George Eliot tends to be long winded and go on and on describing something to the point of becoming boring. So, Maggie loves her brother more than anything, and yes, thats generally how younger sisters feel about their big brothers when they are children, but there comes a time when a young girl matures and takes off the rose colored glasses of youth and she can finally see the person her big brother has become and she naturally gives up her childish sentimental feelings for a more balanced and realistic appraisal. That never happens in The Mill on the Floss. Maggie never can view Tom as the self righteous, cold and critical jerk he is to her. She was supposed to be so intelligent and curious about life but she came off as a retiring nincompoop who could never make up her mind. She bends over backwards time and time again so that her brother will be happy and respect and love her but he never does. He can not because he just had no respect for her as a woman, as a thinking, feeling human being. He just forever saw her as silly Magsie. The ending was weak and felt like a cop out. That tom and Maggie should die in each others arms was just creepy, not moving. Weak sauce.

The end almost dropped this to three stars, but the overall is still a very strong and emotionally impacting story. There's some belabored dithering through the childhood of Maggie and Tom and sidetracks into the business doings of Tom as a young man that could have been much briefer in support of the narrative, but it could be that some of these details had an impact on my emotional connection to the characters.

It's almost as if Eliot really were writing for history, knowing that (of course) social mores change as generations progress - that a 21st century reader might need substantial background to understand how significant are the crimes of a young lady led briefly astray unchaperoned.

Setting aside the prolonged staging of the drama, Eliot is brilliant at developing human characters and providing natural and un-telegraphed plot complications. I do wish for a stronger resolution, but that is life, I guess, and that is what Eliot writes.