![]() (The day after our conversation, Mead tweeted: “recurring question theme from Canadian interviewers: Did you ever think “how dare I write this book?” #thingsAmericansdontask”.)īut it was an approach that came naturally to Mead. It’s the kind of approach to a novel-particularly a classic one-that university trains out of most of us. In Middlemarch, Mead sees stripes of Eliot’s experience as well, My Life in Middlemarch emerging as a curious blend of biography, autobiography and literary analysis. You can’t but read him in middle age and see the stripes of that in your experience.” ![]() “You realize that he was just a very sad, middle-aged man who messed up. While in her early experiences with the novel, Mead identified with Dorothea Brook’s inchoate longing, years later, it would be Casaubon who she’d view with sympathy. And even the same stories and characters are subject to change. “With a book as complex as Middlemarch, literally there are different stories you can appreciate at different times,” she says. “A really good book can speak to you at a different stage of your life,” she told me during a recent telephone conversation Not simply a celebration of George Eliot’s novel, however, Mead’s book is a testament to the strange alchemy of the reread. Middlemarch is the novel that New Yorker Staff Writer Rebecca Mead has returned to again and again, as she sets out to explain in her new book, My Life in Middlemarch. Because what a foundation, its purview so large and dense, the force of its moral sweep. ![]() It almost seems remiss now to admit that I’ve read Middlemarch just once, and not until I was too old for it to become the foundation of my being. FebruOn Rebecca Mead, her Life in Middlemarch, and the Strange Alchemy of the Reread
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