Die Mühle am Floss (1860)

I first read Mill on the Floss when I was thirteen years old. It was an English class assignment for my older sister, and, as I frequently did, I stole away to read the book while it was in her possession. I remember being blown away and the two of us discussing it at length, and I have always regarded it as my favorite Eliot, although I have read many others since and consider Middlemarch to be a masterpiece of literary achievement.

The thing is, I came to it this time from a much older point of view, and while I’m sure that the love story and the tragedy were the focus of my first reading, the familial love and the questions of how much we owe to the feelings of others, if those are soothed to the detriment of ourselves, are the central issues I found myself struggling with this time around.

Maggie is quick and bright, but her father, who loves her dearly, expresses a concern that such attributes are not an asset in a girl. Tom, her brother, is not suited for study, and would make a better use of his time by learning the business of the mill, but he must endure the schoolhouse because he is meant to make something more of himself. Frequently we see society forcing round pegs into square holes and wondering at the shavings that are left behind.

No one tackles the serious issue of morality with a more even hand than George Eliot. She does not turn away from the hard issues, which always puts me in mind of Hardy, and she does not tie anything up with a bow to make it seem sweeter than it is. Is there a breathing human being who thinks Maggie Tulliver got a fair shake? At one point in the novel Maggie says to Bob, “I haven’t many friends who care for me.” and Bob answers, “Hev a dog, Miss!--they’re better friends nor any Christian.” I tend to agree with him that a dog would have served Maggie better than most of the people she knew, but the saddest part, for me, was that there were people who loved her dearly but none of the love she received could outbalance the lack of understanding that she encountered so often throughout her life.

What drew me the most to Maggie was her unparalleled capacity for love, her willingness to see the fault in herself, while being so unwilling to find it in others. She is the first, and perhaps only, character in this book who sees Philip for the remarkable young man he is, without any regard for his deformed person. Her struggle to do the right thing costs her everything she has, and yet it is not for herself that she shows the most concern, it is for others. And, she never, ever forgets the bond she shares with her brother, Tom, or ceases to wish to please him and gain his respect and love.

Eliot is a genius at creating real people. There is not an evil person in this book, although there are many, many instances where evil is perpetrated. Wakem is a businessman who sees no problem in dealing harshly with Mr. Tulliver, but he is also a father who wants happiness for his son and makes difficult concessions in an attempt to achieve that end; Mr. Tulliver is a foolish man who acts without regard for consequences, but he is also a loving father, a champion to “the little wench” and a man so honest that his last breath is taken only when he knows all his debts have been satisfied; Tom is a boy who has to assume the mantle of a man too early and who dwells too much on what society will judge instead of his own intimate knowledge of who his sister is, but he sincerely believes he is right to cling to the stubborn, unforgiving past that haunts him and that the most important thing in life is to salvage the reputation of his family, even at the cost of his sister; even the Aunts are so misguided and simple-minded that their actions that seem cruel also seem to rise more from ignorance than from malice. These people breath and exist within the confines of the book, but it is easy to imagine that they breathed and existed outside of it as well.

Maggie is a girl moved to please everyone and blame no one. Maggie hated blame; she had been blamed all her life, and nothing had come of it but evil tempers. But, who can accomplish such a goal? It seems the harder she tries, the more isolated she becomes. What use was anything if Tom didn’t love her? She is at the mercy of others because she cares so deeply for their feelings and sensibilities, and yet life has seen fit to land her in the middle of the fray...she cannot please one without alienating the other.

The words that were marked by the quiet hand in the little old book that she had long ago learned by heart, rushed even to her lips, and found a vent for themselves in a low murmur that was quite lost in the loud driving of the rain against the window and the loud moan and roar of the wind. ‘I have received the Cross, I have received it from Thy hand; I will bear it, and bear it till death, as Thou hast laid it upon me.’

In the end, whether she is right or wrong in her feelings, Maggie is steadfast. She has been given a cross to bear that seems unfair and too heavy, but she tries with everything inside of her to bear it with faith and without complaint. How many of us could do the same? If one believes in only the present and the body, Maggie’s story is a loss, but if one believes in the soul, ah, then Maggie is purged to purity by the fire she endures.

Finally, there is the river. It meanders through this book from beginning to end and it brings with it all the joy and all the sorrows found there. Maggie and Tom revel in their childhood on the river, but we are told early on that the river once destroyed the town and so we know that the river is a duplicitous thing. Not since Dickens use of the Thames, has a river been so integral to the heart of a story, for the Floss represents the years that rush by, the hopes and expectations that are swept away without a trace, the love that brings joy, like the river when it is calm and still, but can be so destructive when it races out of the control of its banks. ( )

George Eliot paints people in a way that brings them to life. This book, is all about the contrast of personalities, the resonating effects of prejudice, and the challenges of conflicting ties. I loved it, even as I cringed at the behavior of many of the characters.

I did not like the ending. Not because Maggie died. I had been expecting her death from the moment she woke up on the boat, fleeing with her lover. What I hated was that in the end, it was the acceptance and love of her emotionally abusive brother Tom that brought Maggie peace. He didn't change at all, and I have no doubt that if he hadn't died, it would have only a matter of time before he was pushing her away and condemning her excessively once again.

My happy world ending would have had Maggie eventually realize how to navigate the narrow space between severing any tie that seems onerous, as Stephen Guest would have her do, and severing those that are truly unhealthy, as Maggie herself is unable to do, and thus finding happiness. But even an ending where Maggie dies miserable because she is trying to be true to a set of conflicting demands would have been preferable to giving way before the slightest friendly look from her brother.

All that said, I don't think we're supposed to be satisfied with the ending. I think this is supposed to be a tragedy, a tragedy not just because of death, but because Maggie, in the end, is never able to overcome the weakness that has haunted her from her earliest days. Eliot does not, I think, expect us to like or forgive Tom. ( )

4/26/22

Here's what I wrote after reading in 1990: "Reportedly autobiographical, the story of a yong girl, young woman growing up in rural Victorian England. Maggie Tulliver, intelligent, strong-willed, and loving faces family misfortune bravely and endures. The carelessness of others, however, bring her to ruin and, eventually, death." ( )

Reading George Eliot is anxiolytic. Sure — it can be overly sentimental for overly long stretches that seem to repeat themselves over and over again; the plot can be ridiculously improbable (the ending — my god!); and sometimes Eliot's philosophy gets a little too didactic and veers a little too close to a humanist reduction of Christian love ressentiment (in this book especially). But there is no author who describes people and the forces that drive them better than George Eliot: there is no author who makes me feel more pathos, more significance of my role in this strange little drama we're all enacting. And she is outrageously funny. The scenes with the Dodson sisters and their families recall Kafka at his funniest and most cutting — if Kafka had been birthed and reared in provincial 19th century England. Nothing cheers me up like George Eliot. ( )