If the book were “Gwendolen” I think I would have liked it more.

“She has the charm and those who feared her were also fond of her. The fear and fondness being perhaps both heightened by what may be called the iridescence of her character”
Book I, Chapter IV

If Rex and Gwen and ended up together, I think I would’ve liked the book more.
“It was all morning to then within and without”
Book 1, Chapter V

Creation of Mr. Grandcourt - 10/10
700 pages of mostly drudgery was almost worth it just for the Grandcourt and Gwendolen showdowns
“It was not possible for a human aspect to be freer from grimace or solicitous wriggling. Also it was not possible for a breathing man wide awake to look less animated [buuuuurn]….
The correct Englishman, drawing himself up from his bow into rigidity, assenting se weekly, and seeking to be in a state of internal drill, suggests a suppressed vivacity, and may be suspected of letting go with some violence when he is released from parade; but Grandcourt’s bearing has no rigidity, it inclined rather to be flaccid.”
[is this another burn orrr…?]

Wisdom mic drop incoming
“Attempts at description are stupidly: who can all at once describe a human being? Even when he is presented to us we only begin that knowledge of his appearance which must be completed by innumerable impressions under differing circumstances. We recognize the alphabet; we are not sure if the language.”
Okay, touché Master Eliot. Flexing her literary powers here. But also a bit ironic because in the 700 pages of this book, the descriptions of people that you can’t really know from mere descriptions, were NOT one of the things that tired me. In fact, I wished she had spent more time describing people and their behaviors under differing circumstances, and less time talking about Zionism and whatever else it is she talked about for 90% of the book that I have successfully already forgotten about because it was so boring.
But this musing piece is A+, reminds me of Tolstoy, reminds me why I read this book in the first place, Eliot is still a G.O.A.T even if this book isn’t.

Gwendolen is an interesting hero but she’s surrounded by boring men. If she were a 20 or 21st century gal, she would have slayed and not even bothered to give any of the characters in this book the time of day.
“I do not pretend to genius. I only supposed I might have a little talent.”

Klesmer is a prune.

Mrs Glasher is pretty legit too. Would this book be better if there were like no screen time for the male characters? Probably.
“These diamonds, which were once given with ardent love to Lydia Glasher, she passes on to you. You have broken your word to her, that you might possess what was hers. Perhaps you think of being happy, as she once was, and of having beautiful children such as hers, who will thrust hers aside. God is too just for that. The man you have married has a withered heart. His best young love was mine. You could not take that from me when you took the rest. It is dead; but I am the grave in which your chance of happiness is buried as well as mine. You had your warning. You have chosen to injure me and my children. You will have your punishment. I desire it with all my soul.
You took him with your eyes open. The willing wrong you have done me will be your curse.”
Dang. I would’ve screamed and gone into hysterics too. A friend of mine has been getting into Shintoism recently, and after each lost board game or disparaging comment, yells out “I curse you” and it’s enough to make me jump. But still less potent than Mrs Glasher’s curse!


Mrs Meyrick was cliche and too sentimental - but good for Mother’s Day quotes
“A mother hears something like a childish lisp in her children’s talk to the very last. Their words are not just what everybody else says, though they may be spelt the same. If I were to live until my son got old, I should still see the boy in him. A mother’s love, I often say, is like a tree that has got all the wood in it from the very first it made.”
Book IV, Chapter XXXII

Daniel - didn’t understand him not even by the end. Who is this guy? What’s his angle? Is he kind of lame??? Is he a saint? No one knows
“Much of our lives is spent in marring our own influence and turning others’ belief of us into a widely concluding unbeliever which they call knowledge of the world, while it is really disappointment in you and me.”

So what to make of it? This was difficult to read and I think of myself proudly as a George Eliot fan. I watched the BBC early 2000s version of this as a kid and was in love with Gwendolen and Daniel Deronda, terrified of Grandcourt, and confused why Daniel married boring Mirah at the end. But reading this was a very different and less rewarding experience in some ways. I’m not entirely sure why that is. I don’t think I fully understood what Eliot wanted to say about Daniel Deronda. But the ambiguity about his true feelings for Gwendolen added a little unexpected spice to the end of a drudgingly boring 700 page-too-long book. So what can I do, end with another quote.

“In the checkered area of human experience the seasons are all mingled as in the golden age: fruit and blossom hang together; in the same moment the sickle is reaping and the seed is sprinkled. One tends the green cluster and another treads the wine press. In each of our lives harvest and springtime are continually one, until Death himself gathers us and sows us anew in his invisible fields.”

Daniel Deronda is not an easy book to read. If Middlemarch is a masterpiece of 19th century realism, Deronda is something else altogether. Like its predecessor, the narrative follows two main protagonists: Deronda, a young Englishman of uncertain parentage, and Gwendolen Harleth, a pretty, at times vain and spoiled daughter of a well-off family. The two meet by chance at the gambling hall of a swanky European watering place, where Gwendolen is doing her best to live in fashionable dissipation. The gentlemanly Deronda discreetly helps her when she loses everything at the roulette table. He doesn’t know that she is, in a sense, a runaway, and that her reason for being so is perfectly honorable. Gwendolen may share certain qualities with the shallow Rosamond Vincy in Middlemarch, but she is not entirely devoid of a sense of honor.

Gwendolen has been running away from one Henleigh Grandcourt, a rich, indolent playboy who is only one life away from inheriting vast estates and a peerage. Everyone, including her widowed mother and country parson uncle think that he is a splendid catch for her. Except that Gwendolen has secretly found out that he had fathered a number of illegitimate children with another woman, whom he is now ready to discard to be able to marry her. As long as her family remains well off, she has no pressing need to marry, and she keeps fending him off. But then all the family money is lost in a speculative bubble, and what can a pretty, essentially uneducated girl of modest talents do? She wants to sing for her supper, but is told that she is not talented and tough enough to be a professional singer. The only other alternative is to be a governess, a desperate option that she despises. She is too dutiful a daughter to let her beloved mother and sisters live poorly in a dinky cottage. Therefore, she (with a little nudge from her newly impoverished family) convinces herself that after all, Grandcourt is a suitable husband material. He seems pliable enough, and with her beauty and forceful personality, she figures out that she will have the upper hand in that marriage. She is unaware that in Eliot’s universe, marriage is a noose and a husband likes to be master. Soon, she finds herself at the mercy of the possessive, passive-aggressive Grandcourt, a control freak of the first order who is jealous of his wife’s emotional dependence on Deronda.

Gwendolen is an interesting character and her dysfunctional relationship with her husband is morbidly fascinating, but the Deronda side of the narrative suffers from the lack of character development. Deronda accidentally rescues a suicidal girl, Mirah, a Jewess who had ran away from her abusive father to find her family in London. He brings her to live with the family of Hans Meyrick, a painter friend whom he has helped in the past. In the course of searching for her long-lost relatives, Deronda develops an interest in Judaism, and under the influence of Mordecai, Mirah’s terminally ill brother, even becomes a Zionist sympathizer. But how can a goyim be a (proto) Zionist and also win the hand of Mirah the Jewess (who, despite being attracted to him is dead set against miscegenation)? Cue a letter from Deronda’s long lost mother, now Contessa Maria Alcharisi, who informs him that he IS a Jew (duh). She had given him up to be raised as an English gentleman when she decided to pursue her singing ambition.

The character of the Contessa is probably the most interesting one in the Deronda strand, although she immediately exits the stage after discharging her plot duties. Among the three women who aspire to be singing stars (Gwendolen, Mirah and herself), the Contessa is the only one who manages to succeed. But to achieve it she had to abandon her son, family and race. Success for a woman always comes at a price, often a steep one.

Deronda himself, despite being given lengthy, sometimes rambling monologues, is oddly amorphous as a character. We know that he is a rescuer of distressed damsels, and that he is almost saintly, but other than that he is a blank. Even his transformation from an English gentleman to a committed Zionist is not entirely convincing. It doesn’t help that the parts in which Eliot expounds about Judaism are perhaps aesthetically among the weakest in the book. It is mostly done through Mordecai’s rambling about ‘ruach-ha-kodesh’ and other bits of Jewish lore, as well as through scenes of a meeting, where talking heads discuss --- rather abstrusely --- proto-Zionist ideas. Eliot clearly had researched the subject extensively, but the regurgitated knowledge that she presents to the reader is patchy and quite tedious to read. Mordecai himself is so much the Suffering Jew that he virtually has no personality, a fact that holds true for most of the Jewish characters. It is surely laudable that Eliot strived to present Jewish characters in a positive light in the midst of rampant anti-Semitism in Victorian Britain, but what is gained in positive characterization is lost in the believability of the characters themselves. The Jews are too busy being model minorities to be real people.

Meanwhile, Gwendolen’s increasingly creepy husband drags her across Europe on a trip, which primary object seems to be to put the farthest distance between her and Deronda. While boating off Genoa, he accidentally drowns, thus releasing Gwendolen from the ‘empire of fear’ that he had created. Deronda, who happens to be there to meet his mother, rescues her. He notes that, while she herself did not do the deed, she actively desired her husband’s death. He also discovers that, in a vindictive move, Grandcourt had altered his will to prevent Gwendolen from inheriting the bulk of his property, bequeathing it to his illegitimate son instead. The novel’s end is inconclusive; Gwendolen learns to stoically accept her situation and Deronda, after marrying Mirah, sets off for Palestine.

Despite a happy ending for Deronda and Mirah, the tone of the novel is somber, with very little of the sarcastic wit and humor that enliven Middlemarch. At certain parts, Eliot seems to abandon realism and descends into melodrama and insipid characterization, which makes it hard to continue reading. If you absolutely have to read one Eliot novel, pick Middlemarch instead.

3.5 stars.

Hovering between 4 and 5 stars - I definitely have less fun whilst reading George Eliot as opposed to Elizabeth Gaskell or Jane Austen but this book was full of fascinating characters that will stick with me for a very long time.
There were certain characters I was desperate to spend more time with.

2024 Review: Still five stars! I wanted to add a couple more thoughts here on this re-read. I love Daniel Deronda as a character. He’s one of my top favorite characters in all literature. I am longing for more about the Meyrick family. I want a whole novel just about them! I’m also longing for more of Rex and Anna. Brilliant side characters whom I want to have center stage.

I listened to the Juliet Stevenson audio this time around. She is brilliant so this is in no way a criticism of her. I don’t think George Eliot, as a whole, is well suited for audio. The intricate mix in her novels of commentary and plot make reading her novels physically as the best bet. I feel like I was not able to engage in this re-read as well as if I had been reading it. There’s just something about her writing style that I engage with best if I see it on the page or screen. Adam Bede and Silas Marner may be the exceptions here.


I was much more struck on this read by the incredibly sinister character of Grandcourt from the very beginning and that only increases as the novel progresses. He is Awful, and I’m so glad he gets his comeuppance in the one thing he definitely cannot exert control over.

This ambitious novel melds the stories of two very different characters, so perhaps it's appropriate that the novel itself seems a hybrid of a little bit of a lot of what we expect from 19th-century British novelists: the sensational melodrama of Wilkie Collins; the perfection of 'good' characters a la Dickens, along with his humor and irony (though Eliot's is more subtle); the satire of marriage customs and the problem of moneymaking for females who are trained to be helpless, reminiscent of the arguably-18th-century Austen; and the morality, compassion and authorial asides of Eliot herself. As only one example of the latter, Eliot literally excuses the faults of most of the characters (excepting the one true villain of the work) in sentences as superfluous as Gwendolen's younger half-sisters.

I was intrigued by Chapter 11 whereby we 'hear' the thoughts between the spoken words of Gwen and Grandcourt upon their first meeting. Since it's early on, I hoped for more such innovation in its prose. But it is ideas, more than any other element, that are much more in the forefront, especially in the case of its eponymous character, who is obviously a Jesus-figure. He's not the only one who is almost too perfect and it's a bit of a relief for the 21st-century reader when one of these characters suffers understandable jealousy, seemingly her only 'fault'.

Literary (as well as artistic and political) allusions abound and I enjoyed those that I caught -- classical mythology and The Divine Comedy stand out for me. Reading this novel is to know Eliot's brilliance and her genius.

Thanks to getting my book study group to read this book, I read and studied it.

People are very intimidated by length. So one person who typically reads everything didn't read this one. Others read but criticized, e.g., "needed an editor," "repetitive," or excessively wordy. One person, though, completed it in record time, and another has become an Eliot fan and has taken up Middlemarch.

The fiction I've read lately has tended to been written for the lowest common denominator, been of limited accessibility, or been such that I can see the puppet master working the strings behind the scenes. In contrast, I thought Daniel Deronda was wonderful. Not one word too many. Wise. Nourishing.

I was motivated by being a Jew to read this one. I had some faint idea of the thrust of the book, and that's why I read it (with a Jewish book study group) and not, say, Middlemarch. And I loved it. But, as I said, other group members didn't necessarily feel the same.

It took me about two months.

Now the book first focuses on the character of Gwendolyn, a spoiled rich girl. And focuses and focuses and focuses. We meet her when she's just had a gambling loss and, on the heels of that, finds out her family has lost its fortune. She's no longer a rich girl. Then we have her back story. That's the part that seemed to go on and on.

When were we going to meet the presumably Jewish guy, the title character, Daniel Deronda?

I didn't go to Wikipedia until just a day or two ago, after I had finished. I found out that Gwendolyn has been critically hailed as a key character in all of English lit. Deronda, though, has been considered "flat."

I think the critic's -- or reader's -- interests have to be considered here. The typical reader is just not that interested in the guy who is going to turn out to be the Jew.

He has been described as "too good." Well, he does have a moral compass, that's for sure. What's interesting to me is that he (or the omniscient author) thinks everything through. He lives the examined life. But when we meet him, he lacks a purpose. He's something of a dilettante. He's also something of a seducer, albeit one who seduces by being caring or sympathetic, but still! He's rather brilliant. He's overly attached and loyal to his guardian, Sir Hugo Malinger, perhaps occupying a position relative to Sir Hugo that's similar to Mr. Lush's (ugh!) position with regard to Henleigh Grandcourt (double ugh!). Is some of Deronda "flatness" that he simply doesn't conform to readers' expectations for a Jew? Or, more likely, that the critic doesn't understand or care that much about Deronda's journey?

I get it. He's a minority, so often awarded the consolation prize of "goodness" or "spirituality," etc. by the hegemonic class. Like Indians in England, or Native Americans and African Americans in America. Or women, for that matter. But is that particular consolation prize often awarded to a Jew? Hmm. If so in this case, George Eliot certainly goes to a lot of trouble over him.

I initially had something akin to the attitude that Deronda was too good, but less so as I read on. Hey! He works for me. The connection between Deronda and Gwendolyn: that's the thing. It works!

Take Gwendolyn: she is just a child. She's barely 21 when the action starts. And subsequent events don't go her way. She fails an ethical test. She is out-"crueled" by Grandcourt. She suffers and experiences temptation. She ends up having had a trauma. She resolves to do better. But, is she a tragic heroine? Would her role work without Deronda?

Maybe the critic has it backwards. Maybe it's the other way around. Consider that Gwendolyn may have been put in to hold the interest of readers who don't much care about the Jew, Jewish things, or, much less, the Jewish people. They don't know what Mordecai is waxing eloquent about and aren't that interested in finding out, if they even think anything is really there. For them we have a beautiful but selfish young English lady who gets her comeuppance and has her heart broken so maybe the light can shine in. In this viewpoint, she's there to keep readers hooked who don't comprehend George Eliot's major theme.

Who knows? Maybe Rex will show up again in Gwendolyn's future.

Deronda's love interest, the beautiful "Jewess" Mirah Lapidoth, is closer to meeting that criticism of too much goodness. She's well nigh perfect, even though abuse doesn't usually turn people into saints. Well, she does eventually exhibit a fault: jealousy.

By the way, this review may not spoil the book for you. I know somebody who (had the nerve to) first read Cliffsnotes to handle his intimidation by the book. And he said that didn't spoil the book for him. The villainy of Grandcourt, for instance, couldn't even be hinted at by Cliffsnotes, yet jumps off the page in the real thing.

I wouldn't recommend the Cliffsnotes thing, though.

Stop reading if you're worried about spoilers.

The book is a reservoir of wisdom. In fact I thought the book was a mixture of old (1876 vintage) and new, since some of the opinions and explanations the author inserts apply in the present and recent times (well, in my life) as well. For instance, like the young who can't be influenced for the better by their elders, but who find counsel (not to mention chemistry) with a member of their own generation. Like the expectation of another, older relative that you (the reader) will be obliged to carry on their uncompleted life task. Like the romantic delusions of a young woman as to her power and influence once bound by matrimony. It's surprising that these tidbits and musings hold water today; they do so through the power of literature.

This is the only book the author wrote about her own (Victorian) times. So it's not a historical novel in the usual sense. To us it's history, but it was her present.

Some of the stuff that may seem unrealistic to the average reader is real. For example, the hatred of being a Jew by Daniel's mother. I have seen this before, in the person of Rahel Varnhagan von Ense, née Levin, who, earlier in the same century, held a major Enlightenment salon in Vienna. These women were caught between a rock and a hard place: being emancipated yet not acceptable to society. If George Eliot knew about such things, it's because she'd done her homework.

Or the role of Jewish women in the theater. That too is real. "Rachel," referenced early in Daniel Deronda is Elisa-Rachel Félix (1820-1858). And there's "the divine Sarah" (Sarah Bernhardt). These were stars who attracted both love and loathing. Apparently there was a preHollywood connection between Jews and the stage.

And Herr Klesmer! So, a Jew could be allowed in society if he were a genius or a prodigy.

The antisemitic ideas sprinkled throughout this book prevent a version of what we'd call color-blindness if we were talking about Black people. Despite how uncomfortable the expression of these ideas might be for the average reader, to leave them out would constitute a genteel erasure.

For those who are fond of calling out antisemitism, here's a chance to see that not all who voice it are "evil." There can be good people who haven't had occasion to think otherwise. This book could be such an occasion.

Why I included this book on my "bibliotherapeutic" shelf:
The dominant message to Jews from Western civilization is not a pleasant one, and sometimes that's all one hears. It's woven throughout literature and art.
Depressing.

It's widely believed that with victimhood comes power.
But power thus derived is a poison pill. If you can help it, don't touch it with a ten-foot pole.

Daniel Deronda lets us hear another message emanating from society.
These days, it's derided, associated with crazy Dispensationalist fundamentalists, and made fun of by my peers (sometimes including Jews whom I think don't know any better). That's the way it's swept under the rug.

It's good to hear there's a secondary message. Even if it's not dominant, it's there.
Thank you, George Eliot.

This book is an addition to two of my sub-genres. First, the category of Jews who were raised not knowing they were Jews. I have read four or five of those, but if I'm not mistaken, this is the first one that isn't post-Holocaust. It may also be my first such account that's a fiction. Second, the category of a young protagonist impacted and changed by the influence of someone in their own generation -- important to me since I myself had that experience.

I need a sixth star to rate this one.

2023/109

Was he handsome or not? Perhaps his big, green eyes that usually lit up his features, or maybe his genuine, contagious smile—he used to smile even when his eyes showed the sadness in his soul—were the cause of my falling head over heels for him. I met him the first day in Greek class during my second year in college (2015); that day it never crossed my mind that he would become someone I used to care for. We were not even friends about one year after, but rather just two classmates whose passion for the Greek language and culture was beyond explanation, nor did I imagine he would be into guys as well. It was not until the end of our second semester when I bumped into him while going to the subway. He was going there too, apparently was late for a dentist appointment or something of that kind. He was carrying a book in his hands, I noticed. 'Stephen King?,' I said, after a long pause when neither he nor I were able to strike up a conversation. 'I have only read It, and it took me almost six months to finally finish it. A good book, don't you think?' 'Absolutely! Oswaldo,' he said, 'I never thought you would be into SK. I'm reading this, halfway through it, but taking my time.' As soon as he said that, he showed me a paperback edition of Cujo and I took it, then proceeded to read the blurb. 'I have noticed that you always have a book with you, M., I wish I could read as much as you do, you know, it seems like a nice hobby,' said I. Before we arrived at the subway station he had told me he had read 35-ish King's books, apparently his favorite author, and that he could recommend some of his novels to kick off my own journey having read It, 'see you later, Oswaldo, are you going into the station? I'm going this way.' Later that day, for some reason I couldn't explain back then I knew he would become someone special to me; I wasn't sure why or how, but I somehow knew it. I had started to feel something for him.

It was by the end of our fourth semester, and after what it seemed a genuine friendship between the two of us—not only had I asked for his number and talked to him via Facebook, iMessage, and whatnot, but we had also had some face-to-face conversations for the past ten months, sometimes randomly, and at times eating a snack before class, doing some homework in the library, and the like—that he told me he was Jewish. It was completely out of the blue; we hadn't been talking about anything that might've led us to that particular topic. He just said it while waiting outside of the building where we took class together. 'I must confess I'm such an ignorant person regarding Jewish people; the only thing I know is that they are super rich,' I laughed, thinking I had just told the perfect joke. 'That is... very stereotypical, Oswaldo, though it is true. I mean, my parents are rich, not me, but whatever,' M. said, smiling as he always did. 'The thing is that my mother can't bear the idea of my being gay, she has never been able to accept it, and our relationship has been very dry ever since I told her. She found out, actually, but in the end nothing changed.' 'So sorry to hear that. For what it's worth, my coming out to my parents was not all "color de rosa"[1] at the beginning, I mean, eventually they supported me through this, but my mother thought I might be confused as I was 15 when I told them. I guess it's always difficult for our parents somehow. But, does your mother not accepting your being gay have something to do with being Jewish?' He didn't respond at once, but after a moment he said 'yeah, I guess so. She cares about things that are too banal, for me at least. For instance, I couldn't eat pork growing up, then I didn't care, I tried it, my mother found out and was mad at me for weeks. She takes Jewish life too seriously, which is not how it works for me. I guess being Jewish and gay is not a good combination after all.' No sooner had he said that, chuckling, than our professor Anny, a cheerful woman from Πειραιάς who always greeted her students with a friendly grin on her face, suddenly arrived at the place we were and after saying 'γεια σας παιδιά!' went directly to our classroom. We followed her and said no word on the topic we were concerned about. We had no words to say.

Later in winter that year, one very cold day when living in Mexico City seemed the worst decision I could've ever made, we were in Greek class, when suddenly Anny said: 'Παιδιά, θα ήθελα να δούμε τον διάλογο στην σελίδα --- στο βιβλίο μας, πρέπει να το διαβάσετε με τον συμμαθητή σας δίπλα σας. Αρχίζουμε;'[2] Fortunately for me, I happened to be seated next to M. that day. In the middle of our activity, I asked him a stupid question, or it seemed to be a stupid one back then: 'so, you don't celebrate Christmas, do you?' I had said to M. that Christmas is for me the most special tradition and the best one ever created—no discussion allowed—and that singing carols was a thing at home, especially back in the day when I was a little child. Sometimes my mother and I would sing carols with other people in our block, carrying candles while roaming the streets of our little town. Only the moon and our candles to guide our path. Hardly had I asked my question when M. stared at me as if saying "what's wrong with this guy." 'My family doesn't celebrate it per se, as for me, I usually celebrate with friends and with my boyfriend, ex-boyfriend actually. I used to spend Christmas with him and his family, but now I'm just chilling at home, having dinner, and watching movies. Not that much. Are you going to ask me now if I had my own Bar mitzvah? If we celebrate Hanukkah? The Sabbath? The Jewish New Year? Seriously, what's wrong with you?'

I was speechless. I couldn't even give him a proper answer. What was I thinking? Asking random questions just because he is Jewish? I could tell why he was so angry, so upset that I might be asking this and that. I knew he didn't like the idea of being Jewish, not because he was ashamed of being who he was, but because of that he and his family were not that close. One day he told me about his father. 'He doesn't live with us,' he said, looking at the horizon one afternoon while we were in Las Islas, the beautiful, central gardens of our college. 'He left a long time ago when I was eight, probably nine. I see him only a few times during the year. Three, four times, maybe. He has another family, and it's none of my business.' That was the story, then. An estranged father and a mother who couldn't even look his son straight in the eye. I wanted to hug him so badly, but I couldn't. On the one hand, I was very much into him those days, I wanted us to be more than just friends, maybe not lovers, but I wanted him to see me as someone you can rely on; alas, it was not possible for any of us. On the other hand, I just hoped to forget that I had some feelings for him, not romantic ones, just feelings. I wanted to get rid of them before it was too late for me, for us; I was also broken, and I knew I couldn't help him, as much as I knew he couldn't help me either.

When reading Daniel Deronda I couldn't help but remember my friend M. as George Eliot introduces some characters who are dealing with the fact that they are Jewish. I saw how, in the story, people might be so judgmental about it, how they are so rude to people just because of the fact of being Jewish. 'That's why I never said to people that I'm Jewish,' M. told me the day after I asked that stupid question. 'Because either people look at me as though I were an outlandish piece of s**t, or they ask me questions, albeit amicably, as though I were an outlandish piece of s**t. I just don't like that. I'm not asking you questions about your Catholic life, am I?' 'Actually I'm not religious, but I get your point. I'm sorry. It must be difficult, and I promise I won't ask anything related to that again.' A promise I kept until the last time we talked.

Eliot is not only able to perfectly depict her characters and their storylines, but also she manages to create a very complex world in Daniel Deronda, where many plots converge in the same path, with not only one, but two main characters. Daniel Deronda, who is a young man trying to find out who he is and where he is at this point in life, and Gwendolen Harleth, a 'spoiled child'[3] who is so ahead of her time, but whose decisions might lead her life in the wrong direction. Reading—listening to[4]—their stories is one of the best experiences, literature-wise, I've had this year, and Daniel Deronda has definitely become my favorite George Eliot novel thus far. As far as Victorian books go, it is furthermore one of the most enjoyable readings, mainly because Eliot's narrative is at its finest. She definitely pulled it off.

In the summer of 2018, when we were about to take our final exam and conclude our Greek course after three years, M. told me there would be a bar mitzvah ceremony in two weeks, it would be his second cousin's. Our friendship had been fading away in the past months, perhaps in the past year, and we were not even as close as we used to be in the middle of our Greek adventure. He invited me, I guess just because he felt he owed me something after all these years of friendship. I thought it was that way because his invitation came out of the blue after many days of dead silence between us. I was also sure he knew about my feelings for him the previous year, but we never talked about it. Anyhow, I couldn't make it. I had to leave Mexico City and go to Buenos Aires within a month, and my life was upside down at that time. I wish I could go and see what this tradition is like by myself, but alas, it is not possible. That was, perhaps, one of the last times I saw M.—maybe the last one—that I can recollect; at least I didn't see him after taking our exam that day, our last day in that classroom that had been our 'Greek home' for the past three years, a starry night in June that I still remember so vividly and that reminds me of him—we don't have many starry nights in Mexico City, that's why they are so special. By the day I'm typing this review, I have neither seen nor heard from my dear friend, but I guess by now it would be too late to say 'γεια σου, τι κάνεις;' to him again. Clearly and unmistakably, he was handsome indeed.

----

[1] a Spanish saying that means, albeit not literally, 'sunshine and rainbows.'
[2] 'Guys, I'd like you to go to the dialogue on page ---- in our book, you must read it with your classmate who is next to you. Shall we start?'
[3] Whether she is a spoiled child or not is up to the reader. We had a very good discussion on this topic in our book club, where two people concluded she was indeed a spoiled child and two said she wasn't. Let's find it out.
[4] Audiobook recommendation: the one narrated by Jill Tanner. A hidden gem on Audible.

My rating on a scale of 1 to 5:

Quality of writing [5/5]
Pace [4/5]
Plot development [4.5/5]
Characters [5/5]
Enjoyability [5/5]
Insightfulness [5/5]
Easy of reading [4.5/5]
Photos/Illustrations [N/A]

Total [33/7] = 4.71

I've been trying to put my finger on why I found Daniel Deronda so much more effort to read than Middlemarch and Adam Bede. It is just as psychologically insightful and cleverly characterised. Perhaps I wasn't in the right mood for it? I found the characters interesting but not as compelling as Dorothea and the plot a little slow. I remembered the broad outline of what happened from the 2002 BBC adaptation. This starred Hugh Dancy as Daniel and Romola Garai as Gwendolen, both brilliantly cast. These memories undermined some of the suspense, I think, although they also encouraged me to read the book in the first place.

Nonetheless, I never considered giving up as the writing is so polished and the characterisation so astute. Gwendolen Harleth is a striking, well-realised, and appealingly unlikeable character, if that isn't too much of an oxymoron. Her similarities to Daniel's mother and the man she marries are deftly shown. Gwendolen and her husband are similarly self-involved and affected, but because he's a wealthy man and she's a woman with no money of her own he crushes her. Both also rely upon people who they treat in an offhand, callous manner. As we see Gwendolen's perspective, it is easy to understand why she marries while simultaneously clear from the start that the marriage will be terrible. I liked her distinctive manner of speech and ironic wit:

"Say what you have to say without apologising, please," said Gwendolen, with the air she might have bestowed on a dog-stealer come to claim a reward for finding the dog he had stolen.

Although the book is named after Daniel Deronda, Gwendolen does her best to dominate it. The split between their perspectives seems particularly clever after reading the introduction in the Penguin edition I got from the library. This discusses the initial reception of the novel, which was published in instalments. The first couple were largely concerned with Gwendolen and hold little hint of Daniel's later path. As the Jewish characters and community became more important to the narrative, reviewers became more critical. Antisemitism in Victorian England is a major theme in the latter half of the book and reviewers proved the novel's point by objecting to its inclusion. Some even suggested that Daniel's story should be removed completely and the novel should only be about Gwendolen! For 21st century readers the depiction of Jewish life and discussion of Zionism in 19th century England are historically interesting. I found Daniel's relationships with Mirah and Ezra touching; they provide a contrast to his dynamics with Gwendolen and Hans Meyrick.

Although Daniel's chapters have a more ponderous quality than Gwendolen's, I think the most powerful scene in the whole novel is his meeting with his mother. He realises that she deliberately left him without regret and that her form of love is not what he hoped for. It's a vivid and emotionally wrenching conversation. By contrast, I did not find the ending as memorable. While Daniel Deronda is magnificently written, I didn't enjoy it as much as I expected to. The three stars are thus more a reflection of the reader than the book itself.

Not my normal story at all; I do tend to more light reading, thriller, adventure, but at times I do try to explore more challenging stories. This was definitely one of those. It's a true classic, well-written and intelligent. The story focusses on two main characters, Gwendolen Harleth, a selfish, young lady who thinks the world revolves around her and Daniel Deronda, a gentlemen, searching for himself. This search has many aspects, the simple one being trying to ascertain who his parents are as he has grown up under the protection/ guidance of Sir Hugo Mallinger from childhood. This also involves more internal searching, who is he, why does he think as he does. He is a caring individual, selflessly helping friends and strangers; his flighty school friend Hugo Meyrick, the lovely Jewess Mira and even Gwendolen.. There is so much in this book, unspoken love, a brief study of what it is like to be Jewish in those times, death, romance, etc. I was very surprised how much I enjoyed the story and as I worked my way through the initial pages to get accustomed to the style of the time, it was published in 1876, I enjoyed it immensely. As much as Gwendolen irritated me to no end with her selfishness, at the same time, there was an inkling of sympathy for the plight she finds herself in (even if much of it is due to her own actions) and ultimately.. well, I won't go there. It's a heavy tome, but well worth reading. I'm very glad I did.

Although not George Eliot's best work, Daniel Deronda is still worth reading. Eliot's attempt to explore Jewish mysticism is difficult to muddle through, even with copious footnotes. Her portrayal of Gwendolyn is far more compelling and complex than that of the saintly Deronda or the overly simplified Mirah. Frankly, I found myself wondering most at Gwendolyn's reliance on Deronda. She was a more interesting character when she was hopelessly flawed.

My favourite Eliot so far I think and her last novel. There are two strands to the novel. There is the attraction between Deronda and Gwendolen Harleth with all its vicissitudes. Then there is the depiction of the Jews and the Jewish question. Deronda discovers his Jewish origins and goes on a journey of discovery. Eliot even ponders the idea of a Jewish homeland as Deronda is drawn into early Zionist politics. Eliot’s approach here is in contrast with other Victorian novelists; especially Dickens and Trollope. Eliot does illustrate some of the tensions within society with the reaction of some of the other characters to Deronda as he explores his Jewish roots.
There have been attempts and proposals to amend the novel to maintain only one theme. Leavis felt the Jewish section was weak and should be removed to focus on Deronda and Harleth. Some Jewish commentators have felt that the Deronda/Harleth sections should be removed. The TV adaptation in 2002 focused on Deronda and Harleth and there was virtually no mention of the Lapidoths. Eliot certainly reflects the general attitudes towards the Jews in society at the time. The character of Mordecai is an interesting one and is based on Emanuel Deutsch. He reflects the mysticism and visionary nature of early Zionism. Of course Eliot is still a Victorian novelist and doesn’t mention circumcision, although maybe she does indirectly:
“If his father had been wicked – Daniel inwardly used strong words, for he was feeling the injury done him as a maimed boy feels the crushed limb which for others is merely reckoned in an average of accidents – if his father had done any wrong, he wished it might never be spoken of to him: it was already a cutting thought that such knowledge might be in other minds.”
Deronda does come across as being rather too good, perhaps with a bit of a saviour complex with messianic overtones:
“Persons attracted him, as Hans Meyrick had done, in proportion to the possibility of his defending them, rescuing them, telling upon their lives with some sort of redeeming influence; and he had to resist an inclination, easily accounted for, to withdraw coldly from the fortunate.”
Eliot also uses other tropes. The relationship between Gwendolen and her husband Grandcourt is a case in point, being a play on Ovid’s version of Diana and Actaeon (it has the archery, virginity and hunting) and the use of water at the end also fits, even if in an inverted way. The relationship is also an example of what would now be called Coercive Control:
“Of what use was the rebellion within her? She could say nothing that would not hurt her worse than submission. Turning slowing and covering herself again, she went to her dressing-room. As she reached out the diamonds it occurred to her that her unwillingness to wear them might have already raised a suspicion in Grandcourt that she had some knowledge about them which he had not given her. She fancied that his eyes showed a delight in torturing her. How could she be defiant? She had nothing to say that would touch him—nothing but what would give him a more painful grasp on her consciousness.”
And:
“He delights in making the dogs and horses quail: that is half his pleasure in calling them his,” she said to herself, as she opened the jewel-case with a shivering sensation.
“It will come to be so with me; and I shall quail. What else is there for me? I will not say to the world, ‘Pity me.'”
It is also worth remembering Said’s critique of this novel saying:
"Eliot uses the plight of the Jews to make a universal statement about the nineteenth century's need for a home"
Said finds Deronda’s departure for the East as:
“uncomfortably close to the imperial adventurism common among Englishmen of his time and class, who go off to the colonies to find a role and make a reputation”
It’s an interesting and complex discussion which doesn’t take away from the greatness of the novel. This has been a bit of a rambling tour round some of the issues. Despite a few flaws I really enjoyed this.

I wrote my senior thesis on this novel, lo some quarter century ago. Listening to it on audiobook via my beloved Juliet Stevenson had a Flowers for Algernon quality. I know I once had very deep thoughts about the intersection of colonialism and feminism in this last and not least of Eliot's novels. I caught echoes of that this time around, and certainly Deronda's status as the chosen proto-Zionist (and a few choice passages on the comfortable status of the assimilated Jews in Germany) have the same time machine eeriness as they did then. And what oh what of Daniel's foreskin, the missing signifier that generated much analysis (and giggling) in my senior seminar? Largely though, my middle-aged brain can no longer build those giddy undergraduate castles in the air (or on the screen of an Apple II, as the case may have been).

Mostly, this time around, I was able to just enjoy Eliot's glorious prose tripping off Stevenson's no less gifted tongue. It shall always have been better with me for having known Eliot, and Daniel, and Gwendolyn and all.