Maybe 3.5. Historically very interesting and much more enjoyable than the other George Elliot I've read.

George Eliot's last novel does not quite ring true to me. Was she being too ambitious with her mix of characters and themes? It just does not seem to all work together. I plan to watch the BBC Andrew Davies video next to see what he makes of it.

I liked it quite a bit more after my second reading.

Another novel it feels absurd to rate with stars.

What an exhilarating and delicious experience. The novel wasn't new to me, but it's been over 20 years since I last read it. How wonderful to be reintroduced to the complexities of Gwendolyn Harleth, the delicately tuned sadism of Henleigh Grandcourt, the benevolent conventionality of Sir Hugo Mallinger, the yearnings of Daniel Deronda. George Eliot allows everyone his or her humanity--even Grandcourt. I revere her for creating some of he most nuanced and robust characters in English literature--not just here but also in Mill on the Floss, Middlemarch, and Silas Marner.

Oh, yeah, plot. Gwendolyn Harleth is a beautiful young women who is used to commanding the worshipful attention and obeisance of all around her. She suddenly finds herself penniless, and in spite of her reservations (and also an unsavory secret she knows), she marries the wealthy Henleigh Grandcourt, who proceeds to show her that he can go her one better in the arts of mastery. In the meantime, Daniel Deronda, an orphan raised to be a gentleman by Grandcourt's uncle, Sir Hugo Mallinger, rescues a young Jewish woman who is trying to drown herself in the Thames, and through her comes to solve the mystery of his own parentage. The themes of Jewish assimilation and separateness are just as pertinent today as in the 1870s, when Daniel Deronda was written.

As described above, Daniel Deronda may sound like just another big English novel, full of Sir So-and-Sos and money issues and orphans. But it's not just another English novel, even apart from the unusual Jewish thread. It's a whole world: above all the world of the human mind and heart.

Malgrado sia convinto che la lunghezza del libro sia un po’ eccessiva, penso che Daniel Deronda sia uno dei grandi romanzi dell’Ottocento. È innanzi tutto un grande ritratto del pregiudizio - e chi poteva scriverlo meglio di una donna che aveva adottato uno pseudonimo maschile per essere presa sul serio? È inoltre un capitale romanzo di formazione. Forse un anti-romanzo di formazione, dato che fondamentali per il protagonista non sono tanto le esperienze, quanto le sue relazioni con altri esseri umani, che aprono a una reciproca trasformazione. Deronda è un predestinato, un uomo che riuscirebbe in qualunque impresa decidesse di affrontare, ma senza certi incontri non potrebbe affrontare convinto quel destino verso il quale lo lancia la rivelazione delle sue origini.
L’inizio e il finale si legano su un tema di fondo: la felicità di qualcuno si lega sempre all’infelicità di qualcun altro.

It’s long, it’s a journey. But I enjoyed it and watching the characters learn from each other. Also felt not like a typical 19th century novel centered on just a woman and a romance, which was a great change.

I don’t even know where to begin… I haven’t been this impacted by a book in awhile… It is so profoundly layered, philosophical, perfectly plotted—not to mention incredibly emotional!! I read the last page with tears running down my face.

Daniel, Gwendolyn, Mirah, Grandcourt, the Meyricks, Mordecai—these are some of the greatest and most complex literary creations ever. The themes of identity, both hidden and known, personal transformation and growth, cultural heritage, racism, music and art, woven throughout the entire book and exquisitely brought together at the climax of the book, are indescribably moving and will stay with me forever.

Daniel’s vulnerability, kindness, self-sacrifice, and humility as he searches for who he truly is was particularly beautiful. I resonated so deeply with his feelings of not belonging anywhere, and his desire to treat everyone along the way with dignity and humanity as he himself feels lost.

George Eliot’s treatment of artistry and music is extraordinary. Her understanding of musical culture is so psychologically acute and insightful—I feel like making this recommended reading for my university students! Herr Klesmer is a wonderful character that confronts the tension between the reaches and limits of education with the realities of giftedness and inexplicable, raw artistic genius. Can someone truly be taught to be an artist? Or is it a God-given gift? He also embodies the reality of racism and prejudice that even respected members of the Jewish community faced in England during this time.

And the romance that inexorably develops between Daniel and Mirah is achingly beautiful. “I would rather share your griefs with you than another woman’s joys!” I mean, does it get ANY more romantic and beautiful than that?!

A top favourite of all time!! I absolutely can’t wait to reread this!! The fourth Eliot on my journey to be a completionist, and it just keeps getting better and better!!

A very poignant, powerful and emotional story about a Jewish relationship. Having studied about the German culture for gcse I was interested to read about this as it’s set before Hitler and set in the UK, highly recommended read

This is probably one of the most frustrating books that I've had to review since coming to GR. I enjoyed it tremendously, in parts; and parts of it left me rather bored and wanting to put the book down. But for some reason, I couldn't ... and I persevered ... and I think I'm glad I did.

Spoilers abound, in one way or another, because it is impossible to speak of this novel without them. Be warned, if you don't care to know what lies ahead..

I say that only because while the Jewish Question left me rather befuddled as to what Eliot was trying to accomplish here, the parallel stories of Gwendolen Harleth and Daniel Deronda are captivating in their own right.

Gwendolen is probably one of the most "modern" of women to come out of the Victorian writing scene -- her dilemma seems as suited to many women today, as it was to the condition of marriage in Victorian times. While I see that young women are seemingly moving forward independently with their lives, I see just as many who stay in sour and heartbreaking relationships because of financial reasons ... (and sometimes "because of the children"). Despite the magnificent strides we've made towards equality, there are many who struggle just as Gwendolen did. Her quest for autonomy, and self, mirror the angst I hear today: that search for "self-rule" hasn't lost any momentum in the 140+ years since this book was first published.

In a parallel line, Daniel struggles with his own identity, his sense of self having been robbed by not knowing the conditions or origins of his birth. In an ironic twist of fate, as can only happen in novels, he is, by birth, exactly who he wants to be: born of Jewish parents with the birthright he had longed to claim, and which now is rightfully his.

I'm completely befuddled with Eliot's attempt to inject the morality of Jewish nationalism and mysticism, especially as it is done in such a heavy-handed way. The reader finds it a struggle to weave through her convoluted reasoning -- more so because it doesn't feel that Eliot really knows what she wants to say. She simply jumps on a soap box, every 5 or 6 chapters, and rants to her heart's content, but to no purpose really.

At the centre of this Jewish reclamation is Mordecai a "consumptive visionary", whose physical condition seems to mimic the strength of Eliot's own argument: he is weakening, dying, struggling for air, and never seems to stay on point. He leaves his legacy to be picked up by Daniel -- upon whom it is thrust. It is interesting to note that Mordecai thrusts the weight of the future on someone only newly-revealed to the faith, and who himself struggles simply to understand it, let alone pick up its banner. Daniel's passion is real, if somewhat misdirected, for by his own admission, he knows not what he is doing.

The theme of consumption also rears its head in Gwendolen's life: consumed by her guilt for having robbed another woman of her due, she anguishes and withers into a mere shadow of her former self and is saved only by Daniel's faith in her. It is an irony in itself -- for she is saved by another man and not by her own strength: it is Daniel's faith in her that allows her to send him a letter to say "I will survive" rather than any intrinsic value she has garnered in herself.

It is little wonder I felt exhausted by this book: much like many of the characters, I struggled for breath between chapters, finding myself symbolically gasping/grasping for connecting ideas. They do eventually come, but one has to work really hard at achieving this knowledge.

This is not the usual George Eliot novel: I find reading her books as easy as falling off a log, into a slowly moving river; in this one, you fall into raging whitewater and struggle to keep from drowning in her convoluted ideology.

Nonetheless ...

I can't get Gwendolen or Daniel out of my head and find myself constantly re-evaluating what Eliot might have meant.

I suppose it deserves a re-read, and I must admit, will probably do just that. But also, probably not any time soon.

When I figure it all out, I'll come back to these pages to correct this rambling review.

How does she do it? In this novel, Eliot writes a novel which shares a theme or two from her others, and yet presents characters that greatly differ from any other. I hate to spoil anything, so I will only give the barest outline of the beginning: In the opening scene, we see a woman lose at gambling, and a man come to her aid. The next 100 pages show how the woman, Gwendolen Harleth, arrived at that point; the following 100 pages, describe how Daniel arrived at that moment at the outset of the book. From that point, a new element is introduced that gives the whole book a distinctive character. I will say no more than that on the plot. As always, Eliot has the most beautiful prose and is always leading her reader into sympathy with her characters. Highly recommended.

Daniel Deronda is one of those long, Victorian novels that embrace, seemingly, the entire world and its time. The focus is on two characters: Gwendolen Harleth and the title character, Daniel. Gwendolen was the more interesting character than the saintly Daniel. She is selfish, willful, charming, and, ultimately, wanting to be better than she is. She suffers many trials, some because of her selfishness but some, maybe the biggest caused by the limitations imposed on a woman in the 19th century. Her chapters move quickly and are highly engaging.

Many of the chapters about Daniel address the Jewish situation in England at that time and are interesting for that insight, although I found them slow going. The desire for a Jewish homeland appears very differently in light of today's issues but was a revolutionary movement in its time. Daniel's relationship with the wise, prophet-like character Mordecai is interesting but I found his relationship with the Jewish Mirah more dramatic and easier to follow.

Overall, I'd say that Gwendolen is the great triumph of the novel. The book was worth reading if only for her story but, as always, Eliot's insights and asides about the human condition was well worth the read. I enjoy the way the author freely speaks out in these 19th century works, before we erased their visible presence. Much as I love contemporary literature, I find these visits back to the 19th century both soothing and enlightening.

The writing, while sometimes brilliant is more uneven than in Eliot's greatest work, Middlemarch. Reading this book, while satisfying, awakened a hunger to reread that work, soon I hope!

Eliot is one of the finest writers ever and reading her again brought me back to my old love for her. So worth the time to read, especially if you enjoy 19th century literature. If you haven't read much in that century, I would recommend going to Middlemarch first. If you love that, then certainly read this great work as well.

This is one of my favorite books. George Eliot probably has to be one of the best authors that I have ever read. Her psychological insight into each character is so amazing and her analysis of human nature is quite profound. Gwendolen Harleth, much as you despise her, is very vividly portrayed and there is an interesting reality in all of her words and actions. She is a revealing character and, though most people do not have her outright selfishness, yet I think most could relate to some of her characteristics to a greater or lesser degree. Daniel Deronda, on the other hand, though he is sometimes considered "too perfect" is actually another very well done character. His compassion and kindness are balanced hand by his indecisive, rather vacillating nature throughout the book. The plot is interesting and has several twists to it. I love this book and was sorry to be finished with it and look forward to reading it again.

My stars. I am astonished at this. Thoughts below, in no particular order:
1. The way this woman writes women means passing comments, asides, fundamental motivations, and personal hopes in her characters all make me feel seen in a way I have hardly ever felt.
2. I am fascinated by the fact that this is the first book of hers where I can remember there being a character who could even halfway be described as a villain—their defining characteristic being a commitment to self-pleasure and domination of others is telling.
3. George Eliot has one of the most interesting relationships with faith I have ever come across, and it inspires a sort of holy envy in me. She is consistently impressed by the way religion—any religion—can elevate its most sincere followers. The fact that she wrote this massive, complex, incredibly constructed novel to refute anti-Semistism is the obvious part (yes, it could be termed Uncle Tom’s Cabin for a different minority with all the associated issues, but there is so much more depth of writing than Harriet Beecher Stowe could have even attempted, let alone executed in her emotional sledgehammer (which was itself incredibly affective and effective)), but she has also written similarly lauded Methodists, Christians, etc. plus she loves Charles Lamb who loves Quakers. It feels like she admires commitment to faith and its transformative power in a way few religious people do. (Shoutout the the cameo the Book of Mormon got from this book published in 1876).
4. The only times I have read 800+ page novels and never felt like a single word was wasted were when I read this and Middlemarch. Truly impressive, that.
5. Thanks to a passing comment from Claudia Bushman when I saw her in Relief Society a couple weeks ago, I’m reading through all of George Eliot’s works, and I am utterly converted to a new favorite author. I actually quite regret that I read Daniel Deronda, her last novel, before the remaining two. This is the perfect end to her career, and going back to Felix Holt (written ten years earlier) and Scenes from a Clerical Life (her first collection of work, usually referenced as early materials she expounded on for later books) will be a major downshift.