In her book, My Life at Middlemarch, author Rebecca Mead manages to capture the many unarticulated feelings impressed upon me when I read George Eliot’s Middlemarch. Mead’s book illuminates the life of George Eliot and how she came to write her epic piece of work, including personal insights from the Mead’s own life and impressions of the novel in a beautiful convergence of past and present.

Rebecca Mead focuses on the idea that while certain books have to power to change us as readers, these books also grow with us as we mature. Just like you can never step in the same river twice, Mead asserts that you can never read the same story twice; both the reader and the text are transformed by time and the events that have passed with it. While I felt like Mead spent a great deal of time discussing the details of Eliot’s life, it gave me a different perspective into the lives of the characters of Middlemarch. I could see a little bit of Eliot in all of the residents of that little imaginary town as well as those who were dear to her, after spending most of the novel seeking out incarnations of myself and those I know as the various townspeople.

One focus of the book that I found slightly disconcerting was the focus on Eliot’s physical appearance. I do not think that Mead was wrong for including this information, but this focus felt heavy-handed at times. In spite of my reservations, I admit that, especially for women, one’s physical appearance affects the outcome of one’s life in small or large ways. It is inescapable; you cannot run away from your own face. Perhaps my discomfort came from the fact that while I do not style myself as a “great beauty”, I do not feel burdened by a particularly homely appearance. I did wonder if Mary Garth was made to be exceptionally plain in tribute to her creator, and I felt gratified when Mead all but confirmed the connection between the two.

Perhaps my favorite discovery in reading My Life in Middlemarch was Eliot’s departure from organized religion. I was impressed with the presentation of morality in Middlemarch, and took pleasure in learning that such a tone and outlook was provided by someone who could be considered a secular humanist. As someone who has departed from her own branch of faith but not her morals, I felt at home with Eliot’s brand of ethics.

As a whole, Rebecca Mead’s companion book to Middlemarch felt like a perfect wrap-up to Eliot’s novel. While certain aspects felt repetitive or self-gratifying, the work expanded my understanding and my appreciation for Middlemarch. I cannot help but look forward to my second reading of the novel, wondering whether book will change me, and how it will change with me throughout the years.

Emily Fleischhauer