So, I thought I would put this pandemic lockdown to good use by reading a couple classic novels that I have somehow never read. The first on my list was George Eliot’s Middlemarch. Set in the 1830’s in the fictional provincial town of Middlemarch, this sprawling epic is the story of the intertwined lives of a set of families who deal with the calamities that befall their fortunes and reputations in mid 19th century England. I have always been told that this is Eliot’s masterwork and one of the finest novels ever written in the English language. Well...
See, here’s the thing. You know that nagging feeling you get when you read anything by Jane Austin that she is way smarter than you? Yeah, well...its twice as bad with George Eliot. This woman could lay down a simple declarative sentence like nobody’s business, with a mixture of grace and intelligence that makes this writer want to give up writing altogether. There is no way in hades that George Eliot would ever write a sentence like...See, here’s the thing...for example. However, having said all of this, she has that dreadful habit of English writers of a certain time where one gets the feeling that she is being paid by the word. Holy crap, (another expression she wouldn’t have been caught dead using) does she go on and on and on about inconsequential things! Reading this book felt very much like surviving a gauntlet. You just had to plow through the psychological motivations of crossing one’s frail hands on one’s lap to get to the part where something startling happens. Many of the characters in this book are so exasperating in their foolishness, so desperately dense, and so lacking in any ability of getting to the freaking point, you find yourself fighting the urge to give the thing up. But then you encounter a scene rendered with such beautiful writing, such immense talent on display, you find the courage and determination to trudge on...and ultimately you are rewarded. But, seriously, what in God’s name was Dorothea thinking marrying a stiff like Casaubon? A 20 year old woman marries a 49 year old dried up academic and then is shocked to discover that they have nothing in common? And how tedious is Fred Vincy with his worthless laziness, general lack of ambition, and sense of entitlement? Well, I will not retell the story here. If you want to know what happens, read it yourself. Despite it’s frustrations, I’m glad I did.
My morning routine includes emptying the dishwasher while I wait for my coffee to brew. This morning, at the outset of this task I happened to reach for the blade of the chopper ninja thing and sliced my thumb. Have you ever tried emptying a dish washer at 5 am with a bleeding thumb? I don’t recommend it. Of course, it doesn’t help matters that I am on so many blood thinners that even the most minor abrasion produces rivers of blood. Eventually, I prevailed. All the clean dishes are properly put away, the thumb has finally stopped bleeding, and now I can concentrate on the thrill I feel at the gathering wave of storms due to hit us here in Short Pump today. The line of storms on the radar is impressive. There promises to be high wind, thunder and lightening, and heavy downpours which will bring minor flooding! Why this sort of forecast excites me so is a perplexing question since I share a house with Lucy the Lunatic, a dog preternaturally inclined to erratic behavior in such weather, including but not limited to emptying her bladder on inconvenient surfaces. But still I love thunder storms. Don’t you?
